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I took her slowly for hours, knowing why it had taken me so long to open that door. It would be impossible to close.
The next morning, I woke up alone and completely confused. When I realized she was really gone, I texted her.
For days I texted her.
Love doesn’t care if you were there for five years or five minutes, Laura. Once your heart decides to give itself away, time has nothing to do with it.—Room 212
Dallas
Now
I peeked around the corner of the medical supply closet, watching Dean in his usual repartee with a few of the floor staff.
All women…figures.
They crowded around him like a bunch of groupies backstage at a rock concert. Then again, I wasn’t doing much better stalking from a distance.
You’re not stalking him, Dallas. You are simply…curious.
I watched as Dean threw his head back and laughed with Miranda, a cardiologist who worked on a completely different floor. The rumor was that she was easy, and half the hospital staff had already gotten a crack at her. I narrowed my eyes as she finished their bout of laughter by putting her hand on his chest, oh…so…casually.
“Whore,” I whispered vehemently under my breath.
“Who’s a whore?” I heard Beatrice call from behind me as I jumped out of my skin and ducked into the closet. I quickly recovered, grappling for supplies as she followed me in.
“I said more,” I piped, gathering as much as I could to keep my hands busy. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your floor,” I said in a rush, scorning her in vain.
“I’m covering for someone, and I could say the same for you, honey. You aren’t fooling anyone here. Since when do you stock up on anything?” she said as a knowing smile graced her face as I turned crimson. Beatrice is what I liked to call the housemother. She governs the hospital as if she is watching her grandchildren with adoration in her eyes and a sharp tongue. Lines filled her caramel skin and were complemented by her soft brown eyes. Her scornful, southern voice reminded me of every lead actress in a mother role in a good movie. And if this was a movie, she looked like a female version of Morgan Freeman with tiny sporadic black moles around her eyes and nose. I found them adorable. I took in her kitten-covered scrubs and shook my head.
“Fine, I’m busted,” I said, putting the supplies back neatly and shaking my head.
“I knew he was trouble the minute I laid eyes on that man. What’s the story?” she asked, slowly crossing her arms over her chest as if we had all the time in the world. “And if I may say, he’s as handsome as any man I’ve ever seen.” She tilted her head back and peeked out of the closet and I quickly jerked her back in with both hands, making her scream out in surprise.
“There. That right there. That’s the story,” I said quietly. She was talking normally and apparently didn’t realize we were on a stake out. She halted my nervous hands with a hand on my shoulder. “Stop, Dallas, and tell me what’s going on.” She typically only addressed me as Dr. Whitaker, but like with every other governing force, once they use your name and that particular tone, it was time to spill it.
“When we were kids—not kids, college—we…dated, and we were…we …” I nodded at her to catch on for herself without me having to say the words. She didn’t bite. I rolled my eyes at her stubbornness.
“You?” she encouraged, shutting the door behind me, pinning me with her intrusive stare.
“We dated…well, we met in high school,” I said, looking anywhere I could to avoid those damn Oprah-I’m-going-to-make-you-realize-shit-about-yourself-and-have-an-epiphany-so-you-will-cry-on-my-couch-eyes.
“We dated in college for a year, that’s it,” I said dismissively.
“That’s not it. If it were, you wouldn’t be in the closet calling Ms. Miranda a whore and watching his every move.” She chuckled, raising her brows.
“I got lost in a memory, I’m fine. The way things ended, I just …” I finally gave her a pleading eye.
“Ms. Dallas, listen, if you care for the man and he’s making it obvious he cares for you, why not talk to him?”
I felt like an idiot standing in the supply closet being talked to like I was ignoring the most obvious solution. I narrowed my eyes at her. “It’s not that simple.”
“All right, all right,” she said, opening the door slowly behind me. I did an about face and burst out of the closet as if my ass was on fire and ran right smack into Dean.
Perfect.
“Dallas,” he said, gripping my hips so I could regain my bearings. I whipped back quickly to stand, noticing Dean eye Beatrice over my shoulder with a raised brow. Beatrice just gave him a smile and grabbed the first thing available on the shelf, making it completely obvious we were up to no good.
Dean turned to me as I tried my best to ignore his delicious smell of wood and sea. I caught myself just before I took a whiff and jerked my arms out of his grasp.
