“They should be with you soon.”
“God, I hope so.” He grabs the pen from me and signs on the lines I’d placed ‘x’s beside.
After he’s done, I close his curtain and scurry back to the front window. When I’m two feet from my desk, my mouth drops open, and I gawk at the man on the other side. Trey Collins. My high school sweetheart. The only boy I’ve ever loved. And, lost. My heart slams against my chest.
Dr. Maxwell is with a patient in exam room eight. Crap. I twist to the right. Nurse Rivera is in room three. Everyone is busy with patients. Shit. Don’t be a pussy. That was twelve years ago.
I straighten my back and take in a deep breath. At the same moment, he peers inside the window. His face turns white, and he looks like he’s going to pass out. Shit. I yank open the window. “Are you okay?”
The muscle in his jaw tics. “Yeah, I’m great. Thanks for asking.” His eyes flash with a wave of anger I should have expected, but it still slices me to the core.
Be professional. “How many I help you?”
For several seconds, his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say a word. Then he clears his throat. “My arm got cut on a site. It needs stitches.” His mouth barely moves as he grits the words out between his teeth.
My gaze travels from his hazel eyes, down his sharp cheekbones, over his broad chest, to land on his forearm. His tattoo-covered forearm. Holy shit. When did he get all those tattoos? So, not the point. Focus. I study the bandage tied around his arm. The scrap of material is soaked in blood. “What did you do?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. Just another scar to help me get inside another woman’s panties.” His voice drips with disgust.
What an asshole. I jerk back and click on the mouse. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
Pressing my lips together, I motion with my head for him to leave the window. Screw you. I stare at him with utter distaste. “Try not to drip any of your blood on the floor. I don’t want the custodian to have to clean up after the trash.”
His jaw flexes as his teeth grind together. The ‘fuck you’ is evident in his eyes. He turns on the heel of his boot and marches to an open seat while muttering. It’s likely the ‘fuck you’ was said out loud as well as in his eyes.
My hands shake as I try to click on the mouse to open the billing screen. Shit. I roll my eyes. I didn’t get his insurance card. Too fucking bad. I’m not calling him back up here and starting another conversation with him.
When I moved back to town last month, I knew it was possible I’d run into him, but the likelihood was nothing compared to the reality.
The sweet boy I’d loved has been replaced by a man with an extra fifty pounds of muscle, covered in tattoos, and an asshole attitude. What hasn’t changed? He’s sexy as fuck, and my heart still slams in my chest when I see him. Some things never change.
Chapter Two
Trey
Motherfucker. After twelve years of being ghosted by Natalie Westbrook, she’s here in the flesh. And damn it if she doesn’t look better than she did at high school graduation. The freckles which dotted her nose and cheeks are gone, and the red in her hair has muted into a gorgeous shade of auburn.
Damn, dude. Didn’t know you knew the shade of auburn. I snort and slam my heel into the white tiled floor. Shit. The lady beside me clutches her son closer to her chest and shifts her weight to her other hip. Yeah, I’d want to get away from me too.
I rub my hand over my face and twinge as the pain radiates up my arm. Shit. Stop moving it.
“Ms. Barker?” Natalie’s musical voice calls out through the waiting room, and my betraying cock twitches.
Son of a bitch. I grind my teeth together and breathe deeply. After holding it in for several seconds, I exhale. Deep breathing works for childbirth, it should be a cure for dumbass erections that pop up for no reason.
Why in the hell isn’t it working for me? I’m not trying to pop a newborn out of my dick. All I’m trying to do is exist in the same airspace as the woman who ripped my heart out of my chest and smeared it across the gravel with the heel of her knock-off tennis shoe.
“Yes?” Ms. Barker glances up from her seat. She’s across the room from me, and her impeccably brushed hair shines under the florescent lights.
I frown and glance between the two women. Nothing seems wrong with Ms. Barker. Is Natalie going to send everyone in first and let me bleed out on the floor?
“Come on in through the door, and we’ll get you to your father’s exam room.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Barker nods toward Natalie, hitches her purse on her shoulder, and walks across the waiting room.
Okay, maybe, she isn’t going to intentionally watch me die. There are fifteen other patients and family members waiting to be seen. Should I go somewhere else? Surely, County General would be less busy.
When I glimpse back to the window, Natalie’s face is bright red, and she jerks around to face the interior of the ER and away from the waiting room.