Brooke’s mouth dropped open. Lola’s too.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. This was about to turn into a train wreck. Harry was drunk out of his damn mind, but his awkwardness about driving me to the clinic started ringing like an alarm in my ears. I needed to do some damage control before he made a complete fool of himself.
“Come on, kid.” I put my hand on Harry’s chest and tried to push him away, but he clambered past me, legs flailing like a newborn giraffe, and he latched his arms around Brooke. She squealed.
Harry buried his face against her neck. “Oh, Princess,” he cooed. “Your hair is like golden waves of the sweetest honey.”
Lola snorted a giggle.
I tried to pry Harry’s skinny arms off Brooke. He was squeezing the life out of her. “He’s had a bit to drink,” I tried explaining as I tugged him away.
Harry sighed as he nuzzled Brooke’s hair. “I bet you taste like sunflowers,” he told her.
I groaned. “Make that alotto drink.”
After I managed to pull his arms off, Harry wobbled side to side, not quite sure where to land, and started dropping to one knee.
Oh—shit!
“Marry m—” he started.
I laughed over the top of his drunken proposal, capturing the collar of his T-shirt before he made it to the ground. “I better get the kid out of here.” I flicked my eyes to Brooke. “Can you make sure Lola gets home safe?”
“Wha…?” Brooke’s face was frozen in shock. A jab of Lola’s elbow snapped her out of her daze. She nodded. “Yeah, of course. Always.” She trilled a nervous laugh. “Got your back, lumberjack.” She cocked her fingers like a pistol and winked.
Harry batted at me like a tired toddler. He protested nonsense about me ruining his chance at true love with every awkward step it took to haul his drunken backside out of the Old Cellar and down the street. He vomited all over my boots a second later.
I sighed.
Defeated. Exhausted. Damn near ready to give up.
It had been the day from hell. My hand. The kid. I couldn’t bear to think about the rest. My heart was already torn to shreds worrying about Lola. She needed to do more than check her locks. I could camp outside a few nights a week… Better yet, every damn night. The only thing stopping me from racing back into the bar was knowing the blonde was looking out for my girl. No one was stupid enough to take on Brooke.
And the day could’ve been worse.
The kid could’ve puked in my truck.
19
She Saw His Protective Side
Lola
A stapler whizzed pastmy open door.
I rocked back in my chair as the red menace crashed to a stop in the corridor. Edith glanced up from her magazine, a white eyebrow arching before she decided the latest celebrity divorce was more interesting than Brooke’s tantrum.
I sighed. The growing list of blood results I needed to review would have to wait. Again.
It wasn’t my first trip into the lion’s den for the day, and if I was lucky enough to make it out alive, I could almost guarantee it wouldn’t be my last. After I grabbed the stapler off the floor and took in a big breath—you’ve got this, Lola—I headed into battle.
Brooke was in a frenzy.
The reception desk was buried under a mountain of patient files that sheabsolutely,positivelyhad to reorganise in theMonday-morning rush. Colourful sticky notes were plastered over every other spare inch of the desk. None of the mess bothered Brooke. Her fingers cracked down on her keyboard at a furious speed, and her eyes glared straight ahead at the monitors.
I plonked the stapler onto the reception desk. “Lose something?” I teased.
Nothing was going to interrupt Brooke. She only paused her typing to jam her hand into the half-empty bag of jelly beans on her lap. She popped a fistful into her mouth.
