Page 12 of Six Month Wife
Gone are the scrubs. Now it’s jeans and a t-shirt that fit him way too well for this early in the day. His hair’s slightly messy, like he ran a hand through it on purpose, and those same enticing blue eyes glint like he’s in on a joke I haven’t heard yet.
Shit, am I drooling?
I knew it! He's a customer. That's why he seemed so familiar.
He leans casually on the counter, all easy confidence and swagger. “Hey there. Adair, right?”
I blink, recovering. “Twice in one week? You stalking me, or really committed to your vitamin intake?”
I instinctively look down to see if he's wearing a ring.He wasn't at the hospital, but some men don't wear them at work. If he performs surgeries, it's entirely plausible he wouldn't.
But, he still isn't. And there's no tan line.
I look back at his face, and his mouth turns up in the cutest smile.
“Had to see what all the fuss was about.” He nods toward the fridge behind me, then back at me. “Happened to see an article about the place and recognized you in the picture from the ER, so wanted to check it out. Maybe try to reintroduce myself on the right foot.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Indeed,” he says, voice low and smooth. “Though I am into pressed juices.”
“I can appreciate a man who pays attention to what he puts in his body.”
Especially when I’d love for him to put something of his into mine. God, I can be such a slut.
I turn to grab a bottle, needing space but instantly regretting giving him my back. “This one’s beet, cayenne, ginger, and coconut water. Clears toxins. Boosts energy. Might even soften your response to over-reacting crazy women in your ER.”
“Intense,” he says, his gaze lingering a little too long. “Sounds like someone I might have met…”
I glance back. “If you’re trying to flirt, it’s going to take a little more to make up for your dismissiveness the other day. Just saying.”
He smiles like he’s getting started. “Not flirting, here for the juice. And, I wanted to check on how your friend’s doing.”
“She’s fine. Already back in LA. Had one of those scooter things delivered to the hotel within the hour. You’d have to know Jenna to understand.” I hand him the juice. “No thanks to your stellar bedside charm and swift care. But we’re resourceful ladies.”
I give him a hard time because somehow that is our established banter. But inside, I'm intrigued by him and the fact that he made the effort to stop by.
“Ouch.” His grin curves, amused. “How long are you going to hold that against me?”
I lean on the counter, mirroring him. “Steel trap,” I say, pointing to my temple.
“Oh, you’ve got a good memory, huh?” His question almost seems like a challenge more than a real question.
His fingers trail the edge of the brochures while he smiles sheepishly, like he knows something I don’t. “You’ve done a nice job with this. It’s a cool space. All you?”
I nod. “Every chaotic inch.”
“I have to admit. When I saw your picture in the article today, it felt like the universe was telling me I had to explore further.”
“Well, aren't you a romantic?”
That earns a real laugh from him. His eyes smile when he laughs, showing off slight lines at the outside corners of his eyes, and for some reason, they make me melt inside. It softens as he glances around, then back at me.
I ring him up for the juice, and he slides his card across the counter.
He taps one of the old brochures with his knuckle. “Didn’t it say you do massages too? If you have any openings, I'd love to snag one.”
I pause, caught off guard. “Used to. I cut the spa services a few months ago. Citrine’s scaled down. We’re less pampering, more power shots, lotions, and beauty products.”
