Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
"I can't," Mia says, her voice softening. "I've got an early shift tomorrow."
“We won’t be too late.” Harper tells her friend. While they discuss their plans, I take the opportunity to get the fuck out of there. Before I do something really fucking stupid. Like beg Mia to give me a chance.
I tighten my hand on my bag and step around them. "See you guys later," I say. “I have a date with my sofa and a bag of ice.”
“Enjoy your wild time.” Mia smiles, a real one this time, and it’s like someone turned on the stadium lights. It’s a dangerous thing, that smile. It makes me nearly forget my own name much less every promise I’ve ever made to keep my distance. It’s a reminder of the night we met, before her “I just want to be friends” wall came up between us, when everything felt possible.
I smile at her and walk away. As I round the corner, memories rush through my exhausted mind. I remember the first moment I met her in that crowded bar, the way she looked at me like she could see right through the 'Captain' persona to the man underneath. We’d talked for three hours about everything and nothing. I’d been ready to fall, headfirst and screaming, until she’d put a hand on my chest and told me she wasn't looking for a relationship. Especially not with a man whose life was dictated by a schedule and a scoreboard.
I'd hated it but I respected it. I'd been a gentleman and walked away. But standing here now, with the adrenaline still fading and my body screaming in protest, the act is starting to feel fucking impossible. It’s restrictive, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s starting to tear at the seams.
The night air is crisp, smelling of rain and the Puget Sound. I toss my bag into the back seat of my truck, the physical effort sending a fresh wave of pain down my spine. I lean against the cool metal of the door, looking back at the arena. I can still feel the ghost of her gaze on my back, a lingering heat that refuses to fade.
The drive home is a blur of neon lights and the steady rhythmic thump of my tires against the pavement. I pull into my driveway, the headlights catching the sleek lines of the house I bought because it looked like a place a successful professional should live. Now, it just looks like a museum dedicated to a man who spends all his time at a rink. I kill the engine but don't get out right away. Instead, I just sit there in the dark, my hands still gripped tight around the steering wheel, my knuckles white in the dim glow of the dashboard.
Fuck. Every time I see her, these feeling get harder and harder to fight.
CHAPTER THREE
MIA
Katie has this way of staring at me like I’ve just rejected the only medicine capable of saving my life. She props herself up against the nurse’s station, the stethoscope hanging loose around her neck. For three days straight, she’s been at me with her so-called gentle persuasion which, honestly, is about as tender as a punch right between the eyes.
“Come on, Mia.” Katie’s eyes are wide with that infuriating matchmaker gleam as she cocks her head toward the pediatric side of the ER. “What could it hurt for you to go on a date with Dr. Hottie?” I glance up from the computer screen. Marcus Roman, the new pediatrician, is visible through the glass partition across the hall, leaning over a chart. He chooses that exact moment to laugh at something, running a hand through his dark hair. My pulse stays completely, stubbornly flat and my girly parts stay sound asleep.
I chew on the end of my pen, staring at the shift schedule. "I’m not interested in dating anyone right now." Anyone except the stubborn hockey player who’s been permanently etched in my mind since the hot kiss we shared the night of Harper’s engagement party.
"You need to get out of your own head," she counters, stepping closer. “And stop living like a freaking nun. Marcus Roman is hot.” I roll my eyes as she fans herself. “I mean hot with a capital ‘t’ so stop being difficult and go to dinner with him.”
I groan, dropping my head onto the laminate counter. Katie is relentless, and my defenses are currently held together by caffeine and spite. “Fine. Set it up.” I agree before I’m able to stop myself. What could it hurt to go out with a smoking hot doctor?
The next night at seven o'clock, I’m standing in front of the mirror in my apartment, wondering why I let Katie talk me into this. I pull on my favorite leather jacket over a dark green sundress and swipe on a layer of dark plum lipstick. I can do this. I repeat to myself over and over again hoping to make it true.