Page 12 of Blind Date with a #Doctor
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Just—damn, Aspen.”
She grins, pleased. “Glad you approve.”
“‘Approve’ isn’t the word I’d use,” I mutter, putting the truck into drive before I do something reckless like kiss her senseless.
* * *
Dinner is fun. Flirty jokes and lingering looks. Conversation that never slows down. Aspen teases me about how clearly flustered I was when I picked her up.
I tease her about pretending not to love the fact that she got me flustered.
We talk about our weeks. She tells me about an absurd case she’s handling, and I tell her about a kid at the clinic who keeps naming his stuffed animals after me.
And the whole time? She keeps dragging her finger around the rim of her wine glass, casually destroying my will to live. By the time the check comes, my brain is screaming, it doesn’t want to end the night yet.
Before I can figure out my next move, she makes it for me.
“So,” Aspen says, pushing her plate aside, “I think we should go bowling.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Absolutely. But first, I need to change.” She glances down at her dress.
Suddenly, I’m imagining her out of it, which is not helpful.
“You cool if we swing by my place first?” she asks. “Promise I won’t take long.”
“No problem. I’d like to see your place.”
She gives me a look. “You want to see my place, or you want to see me change?”
I grin. “Both.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. And I don’t miss the way she shifts slightly in her seat. I think she likes this as much as I do.
Her place fits her. It’s cozy and warm. Lived-in but put together. Soft blues and creams, built-in bookshelves, candles that smell like cinnamon and vanilla. And then there are the photos. I wander while she disappears into her bedroom.
There’s a framed picture of her and her brother. Some shots of her with Kendra. A handful of old photos—childhood Aspen with missing teeth and wild curls, grinning at the camera like she owned the world.
It makes something tighten in my chest. I imagine a little girl with those wild curls that looks a lot like Aspen and a little like me.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I turn to find her standing in the doorway, now in a thin sweater and jeans, looking so effortlessly gorgeous.
We step closer to each other like we’re being pulled together by some invisible string. I reach for her, fingers trailing over her waist, and her breath hitches. The air between us snaps tight.
“I should change more often,” she whispers, gaze locked on mine.
I smirk. “I’d offer to help next time, but I think we both know how that would end.”
Aspen laughs softly, tilting her chin up, closing the last few inches of space between us. I don’t even think about it, I just kiss her. Our kiss is slow at first, almost careful. Then she makes this tiny, perfect sound, and I’m gone.
I slide a hand into her hair, pulling her closer, and she melts against me, gripping my shirt like she needs to hold on.
Aspen pulls back first, breathing unsteadily, cheeks flushed. “Carter.”
I groan, pressing my forehead to hers. “We have to leave, don’t we?”
