“Negative.” I shake my head.
His brows furrow. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah… very.”
Without breaking eye contact with the screen, Hawk sighs. “Just because you liked her panties doesnotmean you need to go flirt with her.”
I grin, slowly and without shame. “Of course it doesn’t.”
Gunnar exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, already tired of my bullshit. “Then why did you change your shirt three times?”
As I pull on my boots, I glance over my shoulder with a shit-eating smirk. “It’s not because they were cute. It’s the fact that they matched her pouty pink lips that has me heading over there.”
“We’re on afucking job,” Gunnar snaps.
“And I’m doing fucking recon, Dad,” I shoot back as I reach for the doorknob.
Hawk glances up, and his searing gaze locks on me. “You screw this up?—”
“I won’t,” I interrupt. “I’m not touching anything I shouldn’t.”
“She’ssomething you shouldn’t,” Gunnar grumbles, knowing it’s going to fall on deaf ears.
I wave them off and step out into the heat, still grinning to myself. Truth is, I’m not just thinking about her little panties or pouty lips.Although they have both been on my mind.I can’t stop thinking about the way that little thing squared her shoulders like she could take on the world with nothing but a stethoscope and that spunky attitude.
Yeah… Recon.
When I pull up to the hospital, I’m still in awe that a swift breeze hasn’t caused this place to collapse in on itself yet. At registration, I sign in under the name John Roberts and walk with just enough of a limp to sell my injury. The triage nurse leads me back to a curtained-off exam room. “Ankle?” she asks after a brief, yet thorough, physical assessment and vitals check.
“Yeah.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Which one?”
“Dealer’s choice.”
She tries to hold it back, but there is no mistaking the tiny chuckle that rattles from her as she scribbles something in my chart. “Wait here. Dr. Hart is available.”
Perfect.
A few minutes later, the curtain pulls back, revealing Blake Hart in powder-blue scrubs, her walnut hair pulled back tight, and dark circles that don’t dull the softness of her chestnut eyes one bit. Her eyes focused on the chart in her hands, she asks, “John Roberts?” After closing the curtain and turning, she stops short when she sees me, her entire body stiffening with annoyance. “You.”
“Me,” I agree, warmth curling in my chest.
Her gaze flicks to the chart in her hand then back to me. “Like I told you the other day, I don’t know where she is.”
“Did I ask?”
She blinks at me, clearly thrown by this turn of events, then huffs, “Then why are you here?”
I tapthe chart in her hands with my finger. “Because I think I sprained my ankle.”
She looks at the chart, then down to my ankle. Her gaze falls on my face before glancing at my ankle once again. She sets the chart on the counter and crosses her arms. “You have got to be kidding me.”
I offer my best innocent smile. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Yes.”
“Rude.”
