Page 5 of Huge Dynamite
Sighing, I force myself to put Seth Hardy out of my mind.Come on, Holly,I remind myself.He was only here tonight because his motorcycle buddies were hurt. It had nothing to do with you.
Collecting myself, I take a deep breath. “Yes?” The hell with it. Clicking off my phone, I shove it into my jacket pocket. I’ll return the text to my mother later tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. Or maybe, with the way I’m feeling tonight, never. Does she really need to know what I’m wearing to dinner at the country club this weekend? No doubt it’s some version of the same damned dress I wear every weekend. After the night we’ve just had—saving the lives offourteendifferent bikers—dinner at the country club sounds fairly inane.
Turning away from the nurses’ station, I catch Robert standing there, grinning at me. I can practically feel the nurses swooning behind me, and why not? Dr. Robert Covens is a catch. He’s around six feet tall and keeps himself in great shape. He likes to say he’s naturally in good shape, but I know his body comes from three sweat sessions a week on his Peloton.
Personally, I think working for something is more admirable than just having it handed to you, but he doesn’t agree. That’s why he also won’t admit the caramel-colored highlights in his side-swept, perfectly mussy hair aren’t put there by the sun. Good grief. The sun? I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Please. We’re ER doctors who work the nightshift. Weneversee the sun. But his bright blue eyes are natural, and putting the whole package together, he is handsome. And smart.
And considering the night he’s just had, I’d expect him to show some kind of wear and tear. But after his shower and break, he looks even more perfect than he did before his shift started. Crap. Doesn’t it just figure. I can’t help myself. I go ahead and roll my eyes just this once.
Yes, Dr. Robert Covens would make any sane woman’s heart race and toes curl. So, what—exactly—is my problem?
“You okay, kid?”
Kid? I’m twenty-eight to his thirty-three. I’m hardly a kid. But he means it as a term of endearment. So, what does he want?
“Mm.” Holding up my tablet with the list of my patients and their conditions, I force a smile. “Just busy.” Gripping the tablet until my knuckles whiten, my breathing becomes shallow. Truthfully, I’m not okay. In fact, I’m so fed up with everything, I just want to tear off my white coat and run screaming through the lobby and out onto the street—letting the cool Arizona night calm me. It’s really all I can do to stand here acting civilized, so I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping it will ground me and slow my racing heart. As soon as I can break free from Robert, I’m going to rush into the women’s locker room and gnaw at my almost-nonexistent fingernails.
Sighing, I glance at my destroyed nails. They, like everything else I do, are an embarrassment to the great Dr. Elijah Boling and his wife, Monica Boling—my parents. No matter how much my heart longs for a change, everything I want, everything Ineed to experience—from getting a tattoo, to opening my clinic, to hooking up with a really hot biker—would be sacrilege to them. No, there’s no time for me to live my life; I’m too busy perfecting it.
Robert furrows his brow and scoffs. “Busy? Now? This is nothing to you. Look at what you did earlier tonight. With all the other cases we had, you single-handedly saved that biker hemorrhaging from his femoral artery.”
Glaring, I correct him. “Chris.”
“Excuse me?”
“The biker I was working on. His name was Chris.”
“Okay. Who cares? They all sound alike, look alike, and act alike, anyway. The point is you saved him, and with that amount of blood loss, most doctors would have called it. You’re a rock star, Holl.”
Ah, flattery. Nodding, I place my tablet on the station and cross my arms. Whenever Robert kisses up to me, it means he wants to get laid. But the thing is, I don’t. Not by him, anyway, and that’s a real serious problem.
I don’t want Robert, because I have my sights set on a certain biker who was my patient about a month ago and whom I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since.
Then, when he showed up here tonight, it was like my body began having all these primal responses I didn’t even know I was capable of having.
“Holly? How about breakfast later? I know how much you love French toast.”
“Breakfast?” Here I am fantasizing about beinghadby Seth Hardy—and I’m pretty sure just thinking about him the way I do crosses all kinds of ethical lines—and Dr. Robert comes at me offering French toast. But it’s not like he’s actually offering to makemebreakfast. French toast is the breakfast I always end up cooking for him whenever we hook up. Robert’s not so big on doing for others. “Um, I don’t think so, thanks.”
Discreetly, I glance at my smart watch. 11:15 PM. It’s like time is standing still. Suddenly, the area around the nurses’ station grows so warm, my cheeks flood with heat and perspiration forms under my armpits. I can’t stand here anymore. I need to move.
Glancing back at the nurses who are practically mooning over Robert, I shake my head.He’s all yours, ladies, I want to scream, but of course, I don’t. Instead, I leave word that I’m taking a half-hour break and to text me if there’s an emergency. Rushing away and stopping in the locker room just to grab my wallet, I take off toward the side of the hospital and the large, shiny, silver revolving doors with Robert on my heels.
“Holly?” Touching my arm, he slides in next to me in the revolving door.
Crap.
“What’s going on with you tonight?”
He speaks over my shoulder, and his warm breath sits heavily on me. Closing my eyes to keep from freaking completely, I take a deep breath. Whatiswrong with me tonight?
“Holl? We’ve been together for almost two years. You can tell me—”
“We are not together,” I snap. Mercifully, the door deposits me on the sidewalk by the side entrance of the hospital. “We haven’t been together for a long time now.”
“I know.” His expression hardens. “It’s been six weeks, and I’m getting tired of waiting, Holl.”
“What?” Incensed, I storm away and then turning, I march back up to him again. “If you’re tired of waiting, then don’t.” Throwing up my hands in exasperation, I shake my head at him. “I don’t want you to wait for me. There’s nothing to wait for. Yes, we dated once upon a time. But that was a year ago.”
