Page 17 of Paging Dr. Hart
Ugh. What is wrong with me?I’m acting like Amy when she first saw Ethan. Like the rest of the female staff who stop and gawk as he walks by. Not that he looks back at those women. I haven’t seen him flirt with anyone…yet.
“Tiffany?”
A minty smell from the gum he chews breezes over me.
“Hmm?” I put the last pencil back in the bag, deliberately ignoring his gleeful smirk.
“What’s this?” Ethan holds the book out. It’s a cheesy romance, a rom-com, my favorite. A couple kisses passionately on the cover, and a tasseled purple bookmark sticks out. When I see what Ethan has, a blush warms my cheeks. I make a grab for the book, but he moves it just out of reach.
“Give that back,” I demand, petulant as a child.
“Not until you tell me about it.” He’s clearly enjoying himself.
“Geez, Ethan, I think you need to go back to school if you can’t recognize a book when you see one,” I say sarcastically.
He’s not deterred by my snarky tone. “I know it’s a book. A romance judging by the cover. Why is it in your backpack?”
I roll my eyes so hard they probably do a somersault in my head. “Because I’m reading it, genius. Back in the days before you came along, I used to get some downtime. I’d read a chapter or two during work. You know, in between patients or at lunch. When I could eatby myself.” I pin him with a glare and snatch the book away, quickly shoving it into my bag, wanting it out of sight before it can embarrass me further.
Ethan doesn’t fall for my insults. He’s grown used to my occasional snide remarks. Instead, he goes back to sit in his chair. Pushing with his long legs, he leans the chair back. Under his weight, it tilts dangerously, threatening to tip over and dump him on the floor. Defying gravity, the chair holds. Ethan puts his hands behind his head, lacing his fingers together. “I’m surprised, is all. I hadn’t pegged you as a romance reader.”
Because I’m such an ice queen.
“I like them, those books.” I cross my arms over my chest and tuck in my chin. “They’re a nice escape. Totally different from my normal life.” Why did I say that? It makes my life sound lacking, which isn’t true. I like my quiet existence.
“Different, huh? You don’t have a boyfriend?” Now Ethan’s the one blushing.
“I have lots of boyfriends.”
His head snaps up, eyebrows slashing together.
Laughing at his expression, I clarify. “Book boyfriends, that is.” I gesture to the paperback, now safely tucked away in my bag. “Much more reliable than real-life boyfriends. They’re there when I need them and go away when I don’t.”
Ethan taps a finger against his pursed lips and stares at me intently. “When was your last boyfriend?”
A green-eyed boy with a wicked smile flashes through my mind. “It’s been a while,” I answer vaguely and squirm, not liking how intimate this conversation has gotten. “I do have a significant other at home, though.” I make my voice low and suggestive. “He’s very clingy, always wanting my attention. He sleeps with meeverynight.”
Ethan’s eyebrows rise to his hairline.
“It’s my cat, Fred. Rescued him my first year of college.” I smile, remembering how it had taken an hour and a can of tuna to coax the terrified kitten out of the storm drain. My smile fades as I also remember how much I had identified with the tiny orange cat. After all, we were both orphans.
“He’s thereallove of my life,” I tell Ethan, watching his startled expression slowly transform into understanding. “How about you? Any special ladies?” I put a light, teasing tone into my words, happy to redirect the conversation away from myself. In my experience, people enjoy talking about themselves more than they like learning about someone else.
“No girlfriend right now.” He’s taken his lab coat off and hung it over the back of his chair, leaving him in faded blue scrubs. Ethan’s biceps flex as he raises his arms over his head and then back down to his sides, stretching. I could name every rippling muscle in his corded forearms, but I don’t.
“Why? Are you hard to please?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, curiosity overwhelming my better judgment. I shouldn’t care, but it’s interesting to learn what makes Ethan tick.
“No. I just know what I want.” He has the rubber-band ball in his hands again, throwing it up and catching it.
I rest my chin in my hand and regard him, noting how serious he looks, how he purses his full lips as he concentrates, tracking the movement of the ball through the air. Ethan’s a bit of a mystery. He’s always calm, cheerful, and confident. Easy to see the surface, but harder to get a glimpse of what lies underneath.
That’s the thing about mysteries—they’re just begging to be solved.
“What do you want, then?” I ask, all my attention focused on him.
“Someone who will be an equal partner. A woman that I admire. Who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to tell me what she thinks.” His answer is quick and sure, like he’s given this some thought. He tips his head to the side and pauses, searching for the right words. “I guess I also want someone who likes me as I am. Who believes I’m good enough without having to change or improve. I suppose most people want that. Acceptance.”
“Oh.” I had expected a flippant response, not this. There he goes again, being open and honest. There’s no way I could be that vulnerable. Thrown off, I’m not sure how to respond. “Well,” I say, “hope you find her.”
