I don’t need a 3:30 p.m. warning that a kiss will happen later that night, nor do I need to know more about my parents’ sex life.
Gag!
“You’re no help.” I return my signature scowl and brush past her to the fridge. Her smirk and taunting eyes follow me. I can just feel them on me as I put the leftovers on a plate and grab a glass of water before taking it to my TV room on the opposite side of the house. They are basically banned from going into my space.
My big screen.
My recliner.
My gaming systems and virtual reality equipment.
After I finish the leftovers and play Xbox for an hour, I grab a shower and hop into bed with a book in my hand and Dr. Hawkins dominating my thoughts.
Just as I double-check the alarm set on my phone, it rings. It’s him.
I contemplate letting it go to my voicemail, but since he’s all I can think about, it seems silly to ignore him. Maybe he wants to give me a better heads-up on the kiss.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dorothy. Are you in bed yet?”
“Why? Are you calling for phone sex?”
He coughs on his “no.”
“Good. I’ll need a heads-up on that too. Well …” I giggle. “I suppose you’d be calling for a heads-up, so …”
“Wow, maybe I should call back when you’re a little more groggy. I didn’t anticipate this level of … feistiness.”
“Sorry. Why are you calling me?”
“I was feeling pretty good about myself. I had a great day at work, especially in the lab. I got in a long jog this morning and an evening hike. The rings on my watch have circled so many times it would make you dizzy. Anyway … I felt the need to be knocked down a few pegs, so I thought, who better than Dorothy Mayhem to do the job. And sure enough, within five seconds of answering your phone, I’m feeling completely cut off at the knees. Thank you.”
I like his brand of sarcasm, which says a lot since, in general, I don’t like sarcasm. It’s like the smallest letters on the eye chart. I have to focus pretty hard to read them, and even then, there is a little guessing involved. They use those really tiny letters just to make sure no human feels perfect.
Dr. Hawkins takes his sarcasm way over the top, delivering it in an unmistakable package. No guessing involved.
“I’m glad I could help. Is there anything else you need from me?” I fold over my pillow and prop my head up on it with my phone glued to my ear and a smile pinned on my face. Part of me finds it odd that he called. I mean … no one talks except on a need-to basis and usually only in person. But I like his voice, and for that I’m willing to forgo my favorite form of communication—emojis.
“Julie has Roman this week. And I’d really like to see your striped flirting dress and those wedge shoes that tie around your ankles. What are the chances you could make that happen for your favorite doctor?”
“Ha! I’m not sure Dr. Hathaway wants to see me in my dress and wedges, but if you’d like to see me, then I could check my schedule. No promises.”
“And there I go … slipping down another peg. Thank you.”
I laugh, beaming with pride because I’m joking with him, and it’s actually easy. “You’re welcome.”
“Bring the dress to work tomorrow. And the shoes. We’re going out when your shift is over.”
“It’s not over until eight.”
“I know.”
I pinch my lower lip and tug on it, wrinkling my nose. After work I walk. Then I eat and journal. Then I game while eating more food. Shower. Bed. I’m not sure how going out will fit into my schedule.
“Maybe.”
“Great! I’ll be waiting by your car.”
“I said maybe. And let’s meet at the restaurant … if we meet.”
“When we meet. And just text me your favorite restaurant. Goodnight, Dorothy.” He ends the call before I can get in another protest. Another maybe. Another reason to cancel on him.
“Great …” I mumble, setting my phone on my nightstand. Just what I need, something to obsess over at work tomorrow.
CHAPTER TEN
Going Down
I close my exercise and activity rings before seven Saturday morning. Nervous energy alone would do it, but I take a long bike ride just to be on the safe side.
Sleep?
It evaded me at all turns. I’m a night owl and a terrible sleeper anyway, but Dr. Hawkins calling me sent me over the edge. Sleep didn’t have a chance against my brain working through all the possible scenarios to our Saturday night date.
Are we going to eat? I need to know this so I can study the menu.
A bar? If he expects me to drink, I will have to get a ride home. Total light weight. But then I won’t have my car for tomorrow, so drinking isn’t a viable option.