Page 52 of Falling into Place
When she opened it to let him in, he took in her red cheeks and puffy eyes and went on high alert, everything in him going tense. “What’s wrong?”
It was that motherfucker Benjamin, wasn’t it? He’d never liked that guy. He’d never met him, but it didn’t matter.
She waved a hand with a sniff and a grin. “Nothing, I was just watchingThe Notebook. I was too invested to turn it off after you texted, but maybe I should have.” He stepped inside and she shut the door. “I cry every single time.”
He’d never understood that. “I’ve never cried at a movie,” he admitted.
She froze midstride. “Never?”
“Nope.”
Everyone has a weakness,Coach had said to him once. He’d had a minor breakdown in the locker room after a visiting player taunted him with his mom’s death, and Coach had been his usual hard-assed self, trying to get him back out there.The trick is to figure out what your opponent’s is but never let them see yours.
He hadn’t cried in public since. Not even at his dad’s funeral—he’d managed to keep the tears contained until he was in his car. Alone.
Carly just blinked at him. “Have you seenTitanic?”
“Yeah.”
“Marley and Me?”
“Yep.”
“Toy Story 3?”
“Close, but no dice.”
“The Fault in Our Stars?”
“How long is this gonna go on?”
“I’ve just never heard of such a thing.” She crossed her arms, and he registered the white tank top and black leggings she wore. He’d never seen her in loungewear before. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a pair of clear-framed glasses. Something about her natural, relaxed state and the crumpled tissues in her hand made him want to step closer and do something completely irrational, like pull her into his arms.
Or maybe that was residual protectiveness from seconds before when he thought she was missing her asshole ex-boyfriend.
He didn’t let himself consider the third option: Coach was right and he did, in fact, have a thing for Carly Porter. Seeing this whole pseudo-Bachelorthing to the end was important to him and his family, and sneaking off to mess around with his stylist wouldn’t do anyone any good.
“You look great, by the way,” she said. Her gaze tracked to his shoes and back up. “You must have an excellent stylist.”
“She’s okay.”
She arched a single brow.
“A little bossy, to be honest.”
She laughed. “You like when I tell you what to do.”
He did, actually. Which was strange, because he’d been ordered around so much in residency and fellowship that his absolute favorite part of being an attending was making the decisions on his own, independent of anyone else. Sure, he always sought out advice when presented with a particularly difficult case, but asking for input was his choice.
With Carly, she pretended he had a say, but they both knew he didn’t.
“You look good, too,” he said without thinking.
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed and she smiled at him. “So you’re really not gonna tell me about the date?”
“Not worth it. Trust me.”
“I’m sorry, Brooks. I’ve been there. Dating’s hard.”
