God, her legs are sexy. I’m also trying to keep my gaze from her phenomenal cleavage, but it’s a losing battle. Her words confuse me even more, though. I’ve come up with nothing in all the time I’ve spent thinking about it.
I tug at the ends of my hair. “What the hell does thatmean?”
“Come on, now. Have you always been respectful like this?”
I scoff. “No. I was an absolute menace when I was younger, but I’ve matured.”
Her mouth drops open. “I’m surprised you would admit to that.”
“And I don’t understand your shock.” I narrow my eyes. “You knew me when I was younger?”
“I never said that.”
“Where exactly are you from again?”
Her lips fall apart and her eyes dart to the side. I’m under the distinct impression I’ve made her nervous, though that seems ridiculous. I thought she was unshakable.
“I told you,” she says, “most people have never heard of it.” She stands there staring at me for a few more moments, then turns toward her friends, who watch her. “I’m gonna head back.” She mutters a goodbye and scurries away.
I watch her go before moving toward the door again. I’m going to lose my mind trying to figure this out.
I’m getting pissed off again too. I mash the button for the rideshare app with more force than necessary as I think about it. She despises me, evades all potential explanations, and admits to being hateful without any promise to do better. I’ve tried several tactics, and none of them have worked. I’m done with her games.
I’ve worked up a good temper by the time I have my next meeting with Kendall. She’s beat me to the conference room, and when I walk in, she doesn’t even look up from her phone at me. Her hair lies in a thick braid over her shoulder, and she wears her glasses, a picture that elicits an unfortunate stern teacher fantasy in my brain for half a second before I quell it. I keep thinking of how she looked in that stupid dress at the karaoke bar. Not to mention her sultry voice. The vision has been playing out in my brain for the better part of the week.
I settle myself in the chair next to her. She still isn’t looking at me.
Fuck that. She doesn’t get to treat me like an old shoe.
I clear my throat.
She finally glances at me. “Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all as she sets her phone on the gleaming conference room table. Her stare, now directed at me, sends an electric buzz up my spine. I don’t want to have a reaction to her, but my body lights up without my permission.
She holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. An errant notion crosses my mind: Could she be attracted to me, and she’s angry that I’ve been dismissive of her or something?
But that would be absolutely unhinged behavior. Besides that, I overheard her talking about a recent date, and she didn’t seem to give a flying fuck about whether or not he called her after that.
She finally looks away. “I’ve made a little progress on a new packet we can give patients,” she says. “It’s got all the stuff we talked about. I checked with our health disparities office to make sure it’s at the right reading level. I thought you could have a look at it, modify it with your own ideas.”
I rake the papers toward me, heart pounding for reasons I can’t discern.
“Wow.” My eyes track over the different sections. “This is amazing. You’ve done a lot of work here.”
When I glance at her again, her lip is caught between her teeth.God.I’ve never experienced this lightning-strong, electric pull before. I’m a professional. And I can’t stand her, so there’s that.
“I’ve been thinking on some of these things for a while now.” She shrugs. “And we don’t always do a great job with expectations in healthcare.”
I study her, eyes tracing over her face, down the column of her throat. “Can we have a reset? Maybe set aside whatever differences we have so we can get through this?”
She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Differences,” she mumbles. Her hand comes back to the table. “Fine. Yes. We need to get along for this part, I guess.”
That’s not exactly glowing acceptance, but I’ll take it. I take a breath. “You got an interview, I heard?” At her nod, I continue. “Did you take your pre-reqs in undergrad?”
“By ‘getting along,’ you mean we have to chitchat?”
“Jesus. I guess not.” My fists grip the armrests of my chair.
“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hand. “Yes. Chemistry. Physics. Biology. I thought I might go to med school back then. The credits are still good, though.”
