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8
Lila
Iventuredintothehalls of the clinic in hope of casually bumping into Mr. Hottie with the ripped jeans and muscle-hugging t-shirts.
The first time he showed up, I had wondered why he was here. Was he a client? He didn’t look like he could even afford a single visit to this private clinic, much less several. And why had he been so adamant about protecting me from Dr. Creep?
Ugh. Fucking Rothwell. I shuddered at the memory of his slimy hands on my body. I had wanted to knee him in the balls, but I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to keep my job. And whenever he mentioned my bulging stomach, I was reminded of my jerk of an ex, Bradley.
I shook the thoughts of the two men I hated most out of my mind.
Instead, I focused on the memory of Hawk’s powerful presence as he had shielded me at that moment. God, how I had wanted to run my hands over his muscled back.
And then the time after that too. Each time I saw him, my fingers itched to reach over and explore his body. How many times had I run into him at the clinic so far? Five? Six?
Once I had gotten over the shock of seeing him here, I was able to control my hormones and have mini-chats with him in the hallways. And there were many. Even though Mae had warned me to stay clear of him.
After the time Hawk had twisted Rothwell’s wrist, I had run to Mae’s office to tell her all about the hunk from the shelter who’d protected my honor. She had quickly figured out that the man I was drooling over was in fact her client.
“Stay away from him, Lila. First off, it’s super suspicious he shows up at this clinic, of all places. And second, he’s a client. You know the rules. No hanky panky with the clinic’s clientele.”
I hadn’t actually promised her that I’d stay away. I didn’t want to have to break a promise.
I roamed through the second-floor cafeteria. No Hawk. I continued through the halls, remembering all the times we had run into each other. The second time I saw him at the clinic, we had talked about Rambo and how he was settling in.
“That goofball’s a hundred and forty pounds of joy,” he’d said. He hadn’t smiled, but I could see the joy peeking through all that harshness in his eyes.
The third time, he asked me if I knew the meaning of my name. It had never even occurred to me to look it up, but apparently, he had.
“It means beauty, but it also means night. Some call it dark beauty as if it could only exist in darkness.” His gaze had been hopeful as he explained it to me.
The next time after that, I had asked him about his nickname.
“It’s not a nickname. That’s what my mom legally called me. When I was little, she would always tell me that names had meaning and that I should be proud of mine. Hawk meant intelligence and fierceness. But mostly it represented the strength needed for leadership. Mom said a person’s name could help them become who they’re really meant to be. It could give them power.”
He had spoken his mother’s name with so much sadness as if he missed her. I wondered if she had passed away, or maybe they’d had a falling out.
The fifth time, he asked me all about my favorites.
“And orangy-yellow color,” I had said, “like gold.”
“Favorite music?”
“Tango. I can’t dance, but that rhythm just speaks to my soul.”
“Favorite flower?”
“Are you making a list?” I had teased.
He shrugged, and I told him roses. Then I changed my mind and said lavender. Then changed my mind back to roses and finally said I couldn’t choose between the two.
The last time, he had asked me what my favorite hobby was. I confessed I didn’t really have any, except for volunteering at the animal shelter. We shared stories about the dogs. I nearly cried when I talked about the sheltie that died six months ago of old age. With sadness peeking through his usual harsh mask, he said he remembered her and the little heart-shaped patch of white fur on her back.
What would we talk about today? And why was I searching for him? To get closer to him? I didn’t want that. I didn’t have time for a man. My career was my life. Then what? To fuck him. Yes. Yes. And yes, please. I convinced myself it was all I wanted.
I finished my rounds, but no Hawk in sight. With slumped shoulders, I made my way to my office. As I rounded the corner, I spotted the familiar hunky physique leaning against my office door. His head was down as he typed on his phone.
This was new? Different from our supposedly coincidental meetings in the halls.
