Page 33 of Hearts on the Table
“I could have taken you home.”
“I didn’t want to impose,” I whispered, closing my eyes when his thumbs brushed slow circles across my belly.
“It would be a bad idea for me to ask you to stay, right?” His mouth skimmed against my jaw. One of his hands crept slowly around to my back, heading towards my ass.
“I, um. Yes.”
Sam froze, pulling away just a few inches. “Yes? Bad idea?”
“Yes. Yeah,” I repeated, shuffling further away. The modicum of space between us opened the floodgates to the irate, protective voice in my head that had been muffled by his lips. It was reiterating—rightly so—that I’d had a major shock seeing Katie today and I’d only just agreed to not-date this man and even if I’d known him for years, it was entirely too soon to get compatible with him on his kitchen floor, no matter how tempting that sounded.
He followed me to the front. We stared at each other in the doorway as a black sedan idled on the curb. “Thank you, Sam, for today. For everything today. The tacos and the rescue and…all of it.” Now that I was breathing in the fresh night air, thanking him for kissing the crap out of me seemed a little too desperate.
“You’re welcome. For all of it.” The car beeped from the curb. He stopped me when I turned to go. “Wait. One more, please.”
I grinned so wide our teeth clashed together, but something about even that was still sexy. My driver honked louder this time, and I broke away, panting. “Not dating.”
“Not even a little.”
He watched me check the plates of the car before I hopped in. He was still watching as I rolled away.
Chapter 13
Lainey
For a non-date, it was really pathetic how much I thought about it for the rest of the week. Somehow, our schedules never seemed to align, which meant unless we were grabbing a quick bite in the lounge or chatting between surgeries, we were stuck texting if we wanted to have any sort of substantive communication.
At least, I was. Sam wasn’t super talkative to begin with. I was hoping he’d be easier to engage over text. I discovered that while he was down to flirt and happy to banter, he waited for me to initiate our conversations.
And thank God that I did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known what to wear (gym clothes, then stuff for walking around) or what to expect (hit the gym, then walk around).
Bright and early Saturday morning, I met him in front of my building wearing a matching workout set that I’d spent too much time deciding on. I’d stuffed my duffel with a cute little romper and my makeup bag, which had never even seen the inside of a gym before.
He put his emergency lights on when he hopped out to open the door for me, despite there being only a few cars on the road. The butterflies in my stomach rioted, which was ridiculous. I’d known this man for years. Walked shoulder to shoulder with him down the hospital halls countless times. But the simple brush of his hand against my shoulder made me want to wiggle.
The shimmer in my stomach didn’t go away, especially after he handed me an insulated mug of iced peppermint tea after sliding back behind the wheel. He looked good in his athletic shirt that stretched across his chest perfectly and dark gray workout shorts that hugged his thighs. It wasn’t anything special, but dang was it attractive.
After a few pleasantries, we lapsed into silence. The quiet drive felt cozy and charged. I could feel the potential energy building up between us.
“I guess I thought you’d be chattier on a non-date.”
Sam’s eyes flickered over to me. “You look incredible today.”
“In my workout clothes?” I laughed. Maybe I had spent a little extra time putting some bounce in my ponytail and swiping on a layer of mascara (both ridiculous because they’d fall the second I started to sweat), but I wasn’t sure I looked any better today than I usually did.
“Yes.” Sam’s response was quick and emphatic. “The leggings.”
“The leggings. Booty guy, are you?”
“With you, everything guy.”
I nearly inhaled my tea. “I’m flattered.”
“Well, you know—hmm.” He pulled his car into a spot by the gym, eying the lime green Jeep next to us. “I didn’t know she’d be here.”
“She?”
“My mother.”
