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She ground back on her heels and slung her bag over her shoulder, tossed her head. Was tempted to say she was staying in to wash her hair tonight. But she couldn’t—just couldn’t.
She managed to keep her smile casual. “Text me later, and I’ll decide if I’m free.”
He looked at her, as if suddenly perplexed by the cool change, then he shook his head and grinned. “You sure like to keep a guy guessing.”
She winked, gave his arm a playful punch. “How it should be.” Then she sashayed off, loving the fact he was watching her arse for sure.
* * *
Once he’d closedthe door of the doctor’s office, Solo drew out his phone and looked at Emma’s message.
I’ll be arriving Saturday evening. Can we catch up Sunday? Drew is keen to FaceTime when we’re together. He really wants to talk to you.
He frowned. Saturday was Carts’ party, so he was glad she hadn’t suggested that, but if Polly and he spent the night together, what then?
Why couldn’t he just come clean about Emma? Because he knew it would be an awkward conversation. Any wrong move and Polly might back off. And now, to make life more complicated, it seemed Drew wanted to communicate with him via Emma. Was that Drew’s way of holding out an olive branch? There had been no abusive messages for two weeks now. Maybe that was a sign that Drew’s mental health was improving?
Gah, he needed to tell Polly and be done with it. What was he worried about?
It wasn’t anything to do with his feelings for Emma. He knew he was over her. But the precariousness of the whole thing with Polly felt like a pack of cards. Add one more complication and the whole thing might collapse.
Besides, he reasoned, Emma being a reed-thin model wouldn’t be something Polly would exactly be cool with. Behind that façade Polly was deeply insecure. He loved that about her, the complete contradictions of her personality. But the last thing he needed was her retreating because of some great big hang-up about Emma’s completely different brand of beauty. The fact that you could count Emma’s vertebrae even through her clothes wasn’t something any woman needed to envy in his book. And quite frankly, now he’d experienced Polly’s delicious curves, there was no going back.
Sometimes with Polly it was like dealing with a wild animal; as though he’d got her almost trusting him, and then,poof, one wrong move, and all the ground he’d gained was at risk of being lost.
He rubbed his forehead. He’d tell Polly Saturday after the party that he was catching up with Emma. He needed the next few days to build on their growing intimacy. To coax that shy, wild creature out into the light. To let her feel what it was like when a guy really fell in love with her.
He stared at the pile of papers on his desk. Yep, he was in deep. He’d fallen in love with Polly Fletcher. Every damn glorious, infuriating inch of her.
Quickly he texted Emma back.
Cool.
I’ll pick you up at your hotel.
Send me the address.
Any time after 10 a.m. is fine.
He startled as Pritchard put his head round the door. “I need you to go to ED, Jakoby. There’s a new admission, a young man with psychosis; they’re treating it like it’s drug-induced, but it sounds more complex to me. They need some psychiatry input.”
Solo sighed. Discharge summaries would have to wait again. But he’d bloody well work through his lunch break, because nothing was going to ruin his evening with Polly.
