Sugar Creek’s very own doctor stands before me like some kind of testament to perfect genetics and professional tailoring. He rakes a hand through his hair. At least he has the decency to look ashamed of himself.
“Son of a cat fishing bitch… Branson?”
“See, I knew you knew my name wasn’t Brandon.”
“I can’t believe I fell for this,” I mutter, my cheeks burning with humiliation as I turn and hit the button to recall the elevator. “I don’t date liars.”
“Alex, wait. I didn’t lie to you. Harkness is my middle name. My parents really were that cruel.”
I wheel around to face him and gesture at his chest, anger churning through me. “And you expect me to believe that was your picture? Really? Mr. Clean-Cut is secretly covered in tattoos?”
He steps toward me, loosening his tie.
“What are you doing?” I ask, taking a step back.
Branson unbuttons the collar of his white dress shirt. He gets almost toe to toe with me, and he’s so tall I have to crane my neck back to meet his eyes. His fingers flick open the second button, then the third, and then a fourth. Under the starched material, familiar tattoos cover his skin, and despite my irritation, I have to admit they’re even more beautiful close up.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open behind me, but I’m frozen in place as I stare up into Branson’s intense eyes.
“If you want to go, I won’t stop you. But I would really like for you to stay.” I’m so close to turning and storming out of here, but there’s too much sincerity in his voice to ignore. “Please.”
8
Branson
Alex gazes up at me, eyes wary. I deserve that. But she’s close enough that I can feel the heat from her body as those soft eyes flick from my chest to my face and back again, doubt replacing some of the anger.
“Arms,” she says, crossing her arms under her breasts and giving me an expectant expression.
I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt, rolling my sleeves up three times so she can see my partial sleeves. She reaches out, her finger tracing the circular outline of one of my favorites. She tilts her head back, looking up into my eyes.
“Explain this one.”
I laugh. “You’re going to force me to explain my nerdiest tattoo on a first date? Are you sure you don’t want to know about the tiger on my side?”
Alex wordlessly taps the swirling, overlapping circles, her expression icy.
“Alright. It’s Gallifreyan for ‘The moment is coming’.”
She squints for a couple seconds, lips pursed. “Fine. I’m already dressed up. One hour. I’ll give you one hour.”
I grin broadly as the elevator door closes behind her. “Thank you.” I want to take her hand, but there’s a good chance she’ll smack me if I try, so I step back and gesture to the table. She steps around me and I try not to stare at her ass as she walks to her seat, but I wouldn’t classify my attempt as successful. I sit across from her and start buttoning my shirt back up. She looks me dead in the eye until I get to my tie, and then her eyes focus on my fingers, a hint of pink warming her cheeks.
“What are you thinking about over there?” I ask with a grin.
Alex scowls at me. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
“I promise, I’m not that complicated.”
“Then why the elaborate ruse? You knew it was me the whole time.”
“I did,” I admit, pouring a glass of wine for each of us. “But if you’ll recall, you weren’t a huge fan of me the first time we met. Or the second. Or literally any other time after that.”
“So, lying was your solution?” Her back is ramrod straight; lips pulled into a frown. It shouldn’t be adorable, but it is.
“Now hang on there, sweetheart, I didn’t lie. Everything I told you was true. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“That’s a lie of omission, don’t split hairs, and don’t call me sweetheart.” Her arms are crossed, but she releases one hand long enough to pick up her wine. I watch as she brings it to those pink lips, trying like hell not to stare.