Page 14 of Beneath the Scars

When we got to my apartment, he asked me to wait in the entryway so he could check out my small one-bedroom place first. It was refreshing, cute, and totally unnecessary. But it woke up the stupid butterflies when he grabbed my hand to stop me from walking in, and they haven't stopped since.

I'm well aware of how stupid it is to be crushing on him, but my body is revolting, and no matter how much I'm trying to talk it down, Becky's voice keeps cheering me on.

That little voice in my head thinks I deserve some fun. Some attention. Even just a bit of affection.

That little voice keeps forgetting that my face isn't the only part of me that's scarred. And I'm not just talking about my physical blemishes.

My Dad, the kids at school, at university, and even the dickheads at med school had done their best to mark my soul too. Each cruel word doing its best to break me down and remind me how pitiful I am.

The knock on my hotel room door brings me back to the present, reminding me why the stupid butterflies had taken residence.

"Lillian? It's Byron. The food's ready." His smooth voice only sends the assholes aflutter even more, and I push up from the bed where I've been fretting for the last ten minutes.

"Coming," I call out, grabbing my jacket before smoothing my hair.

He smiles at me when I open the door, his eyes sparkling. "I hope you're hungry. I might have ordered a little too much food. It's one of my biggest faults. Never allow me to get food when I'm hungry."

He beckons for me to go first and shut my door behind us.

"Starving, thank you," I respond, his jovial mood infectious. "What are we eating tonight?"

"Italian. The receptionist has a cousin or friend or something who works at a place close by. They don't normally deliver, but she called in a favor for me."

His room is on the same floor as mine, a couple of doors down, so it doesn't take us long to reach it. Opening the door for me, he invites me to enter before him.

"Good! If it's the place I think it is, we're in for a treat. They have the best lasagna. It's a pity we're not dining there because they have the best house wine."

The delicious smell of garlic and butter wraps around me as I step into the room, and my stomach gives an embarrassing rumble, eliciting a chuckle from Byron.

"Oh, good. Youarehungry, too." He smiles, softening the teasing as he rubs his flat abs.

As he unpacks all the containers from the plastic bag, along with some tableware he must have gotten from room service I realize what a huge mistake I've made. I'm handling this like some kind of date, completely forgetting the purpose of the evening.

"Dammit! I forgot my laptop in the room. The whole point of dinner was so I could work through the reports for you!"

Byron frowns at me as he opens the large container of steaming pasta.

"Lillian, I don't expect you to get through them in one night." He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He lowers his voice as he shares the next sentence with me. "And I have to admit, I quite like the idea of just sharing a meal with you, Lillian, instead of the very intimidating Doctor Gale."

His words shock me almost as much as they terrify me.

See, Lily. The pretty boys can like you too.

Those stupid fucking butterflies take flight all over again. They're so loud I almost can't hear what Byron says next.

"If I'm being honest, I've been looking for a reason to call you again since I made such a mess of our first meeting."

Becky's voice is laughing in my head, and her obvious enjoyment at the surprising attention is annoying me. Maybe I am going a little insane.

I don't have the first clue what to say to Byron, and the longer the quiet stretches between us, the more awkward it becomes.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I overstepped," he quickly fills the silence. "Please. Forgive me, Lillian. Forget I said anything. I'm an idiot." He pushes away from the table and shakes his head as he takes in the food stacked all over it. "You've got a creep being all inappropriate and sending you frightening messages while we're working on a serial killer case together. I'm crossing all kinds of professional boundaries." He starts closing up the food containers. "Here. Let me walk you back to your room with the food. You can work on the reports. Or not."

I can't help it. This time, it isn't even the Becky-sounding voice that pushes me to do it. But he looks so adorable, flustered, and endearingly awkward that Imustput him out of his misery.

I get up from the table, and he steps closer to hand me the bag filled withallthe takeout containers. Taking it from him, I step into his personal space, carefully placing the huge bag back on the round table without paying attention to where it lands or if I even get it on the table.

"Maybe inappropriate isn't a bad idea," I whisper, staring at him. My voice is soft, quiet, and wavering just the tiniest bit. "Maybe inappropriate is exactly what we need right now."

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