Page 56 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
“Discounts for everyone but billionaires, millionaires and raccoons,” I say.“Good guy.”
She mutters something under her breath about small towns and chaos, then taps her fingers on her thigh again, this little rhythm serving as her emotional Morse code.
I wish I could pull her into a hug.Tell her she doesn’t need to fix anything.But she’s not there yet.And I’m not twenty-four anymore, trying to fix everything.
“They’ll love you,” I say instead, quietly.
Her tapping stills.
“My dad’s patients.They’re good people.”
“I hope so,” she says softly.
“You don’t need to hope,” I tell her.“When you were a nursing student, you talked a woman through a panic attack in a bus by discussing a romance novel’s hero fictional sex life when she told you she was a fan of Lady Grey’s books.”
“I did that.”
“And you’re the one who reminded me Kellan was still Kellan when he was struggling.You’ve got this.”
Her smile is small.But real.She relaxes her arms.
“And the scrubs?”I add.“Top tier.Very festive.Very professional.Very...unreasonably hot.”
She raises a brow.“Really?”
“Just an observation,” I say, letting my gaze travel down the length of her scrubs, taking in how the fabric hugs her curves in all the right places.“Something about the way you wear them.Like you’re ready to take charge of a trauma case or calmly talk a panicked parent through their kid’s fever.Competence wrapped in holiday spirit.”I lower my voice.“Makes me wonder what it would be like to be your patient, Foster.To have all that focus, all that clinical precision, directed entirely at me.”
Her cheeks flush, but there’s a hint of a smile.“You’d be a terrible patient,” she mutters, but there’s heat behind the words.
“Probably,” I agree with a grin.“But I bet you’d be an exceptional nurse anyway.”
She raises a brow.“Is this your pitch?”
“Well, I have more,” I say, lifting my shirt enough to show the scar she must have seen last night.“Like this.”
Her hand reaches out without hesitation.Fingers graze my skin like she did hours ago.Clinical, but reverent.Her touch traces the jagged line where a rescue collie bit me during an emergency splint.My muscles tense involuntarily under her exploration, and her eyes flick up to mine, catching the reaction.
“Sensitive?”she asks, her voice dropping into that professional tone that shouldn’t be sexy but somehow is.
“Only to you,” I admit, watching her pupils dilate slightly at the confession.
She continues her examination, each brush of her fingertips sending electricity through my skin.There’s something intimate about letting her study my scars in the daylight.
“Did the owner hold a grudge?”she asks, her voice soft as her thumb traces the edge of my scar, lingering at the raised tissue.
“She was grateful.The dog, though?”I smile.“Still growls when I walk into the room.Doesn’t mean I stop treating him.”
Her eyes meet mine, understanding flickering in their depths.“Not every patient loves their doctor.”
“Or their nurse,” I agree.“Some people won’t connect with you, Eve.That’s just reality.Doesn’t make you any less exceptional at what you do.”
Her fingers pause their movement, brows drawing together slightly.“Chuck always said my bedside manner needed work.That I was too clinical.”
“Chuck was an ass,” I say simply.“Most of your patients will love you, respect you, be grateful for your care.And the few who don’t?Because there’s always going to be a few who don’t.Well, it is what it is and it may not even be about you.”
The tension in her shoulders loosens, just slightly.She raises an eyebrow, studying me with that penetrating gaze.“You do this a lot, don’t you?Help everyone else while taking the bites yourself.”
I shrug, caught in her assessment.“Speaking of taking bites—” I gently catch her wrist, bringing her focus back to us, to last night.“I didn’t hide anything from you yesterday.And neither did you.You let me see everything, Eve.And you were beautiful.All of you.Not everyone has to see all of you.But don’t hide because you think they don’t want to see you.”
