Page 62 of Doctorshipped
“Right?” Fiona asks. “That was so fun!”
“A balmy evening like this one calls for something extra to cool off,” Grant says as if he needs to justify letting loose.
He’s back in clinical doctor mode, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss that fun-loving man who was spraying me with abandon only minutes ago.
“You can borrow some scrubs to cover your clothes so you don’t get mud in your car. And, Fee, go change so you’re ready to leave.”
All plans of tutoring are out the window.
Fiona heads inside and Grant leans toward me, extending his hand.
“Sorry about that. I got … um. I got carried away.”
“Kinda fun getting carried away, isn’t it?”
“Fiona brings it out in me.”
“Well, thank goodness for her then.”
I take Grant’s hand and those proverbial zings shoot through my fingers and up my arm. His hand is so much bigger than mine, strong and capable. I’m simply having a physical reaction to being touched by a man. Don’t get overly-excited. Nothing but physiology is at play here. I can feel a zing. I’m the zing-master. Zing zingity zing zing. I can zing with the best of them.
Once I’m on my feet, Grant’s hand still wraps around mine. Our eyes meet and he asks me, “Are you sure you’re okay?” in this soft, careful voice.
The women at the salon were so wrong. Grant’s not cold. No. Grant Peppers is hot. And I’ve got to get some space between me and him quickly.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
I pull my hand away and instantly feel incomplete, which is bad. So bad. I brush my palm down my pants.
Grant stands near enough that I could reach out and touch him. So, on an impulse, I do.
I boop him on the nose.
Not only that. I say, “Boop,” when I do.
“Did you just say,Boop?”
“You betcha.” I’m committed now.
“You tapped my nose and said,Boop.”
“That I did. Get over yourself, Peppers. I booped you.”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“I’ll just get you a pair of scrubs.”
“Good. Yeah. Thanks.”
Great. To top off the awkward Boop sundae, my verbal skills have completely short circuited.
From over his shoulder, Grant says, “You don’t need all that makeup.”
What?
“What if I want it?”
“Your choice,” he says. The screen door clatters behind him. I hear his last words vaguely as he walks more deeply into the house. “You just don’t need it.”
