Page 45 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

He looks up. For half a second the surgeon disappears and the man from last night steps into his place, and I blush immediately.

“Well,” he says in that gorgeous baritone of his, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “If it isn’t my favorite pediatric troublemaker.”

I fold my arms loosely. “That sounds suspiciously biased, Dr. Clarke.”

“I’m allowed a few biases.”

His eyes travel over me once, not lingering long enough to make it inappropriate, but long enough that I feel the echo of last night settle somewhere deep in my stomach. “Busy morning?” he asks.

“Normal chaos,” I say. “Two discharges, one stubborn toddler, and a father who thinks WebMD qualifies him as a consultant.”

Nathan chuckles under his breath. “That sounds familiar.”

I lift the tablet between us. “Actually, you’re exactly who I needed,” I say. “Alvarez wants Trauma to sign off on Theo Ramirez before discharge.”

Nathan takes the tablet from my hand and scans the chart quickly. His brow furrows for a second while he reads through the notes. “Pneumonia case from yesterday?”

“That’s the one.”

He nods once, taps the screen, and signs with a quick practiced motion before handing it back.

“Clear lungs, stable vitals,” he says. “He’s good to go.”

I take the tablet, trying not to notice how close he’s standing. “Thanks, sir.”

“Anytime.”

For a moment we just stand there in the hallway, both of us pretending this is a routine hospital conversation while the space between us remembers exactly how his hands felt on my throat.

He shifts the tablet under one arm and lowers his voice. “Are you free tonight?”

My brows lift slightly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether this is a professional dinner or a suspiciously charming invitation.”

Nathan’s smile deepens, and I spot two dimples that give him an unfair advantage at once. “It’s dinner,” he says. “Actual food. A table. No hospital lighting.”

I peer into his eyes. “And the agenda?”

He studies me for a heartbeat, his expression doing that thing where it manages to be both a question and the answer at the same time. I swear, the man can laugh with his irises—a feat of physics I’d love to study if I weren’t currently forgetting how to breathe. “Spending time with you.”

The honesty in that answer catches me slightly off guard.

I glance down the hall once, then back at him. “Alright,” I say. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Good.” His expression relaxes just a little. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Seven?”

“Seven works.”

A nurse rounds the corner behind him pushing a medication cart, and Nathan steps aside automatically to clear the hallway.

“I should get back to work,” I say.

“So should I.”