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Solo’s heartrevved like his faithful Ducati when he went full throttle on the accelerator. Polly looked so prim and proper, which made her almost hotter than when he was ripping off her silky little pyjama shorts. Something about knowing what she was really capable of made him jittery as all hell as she eyed him with cool professionalism. Before he knew it, the words were flying out of his mouth, the backdrop to a story he’d prefer not to share.
“PTSD is an interest of mine, I guess. I worked with quite a few ex-military back from Afghanistan, so I was quite intrigued when Ben suggested it. Hadn’t exactly agreed yet, but—”
“And I haven’t accepted,” Polly cut in smoothly. “We don’t know if our facilitation styles are compatible.” Her chin tilted and her eyes gleamed. “Can I ask, do you prefer group therapy to working on construction sites, Dr Jakoby?”
Ben was watching them with a puzzled frown. “You—um, know each other from somewhere?”
“Nooo,” they both chorused in unison.
Fucking get me out of here.
“We bumped into each other before work. This morning, that is,” Polly filled in.
Her eyes stared him down, china-doll wide and innocent, but issuing some wordless challenge. Then she draped herself behind a nearby desk and logged onto the hospital network.
“Right,” Ben said. “Perhaps we could all have lunch together and discuss it.”
“Can’t. I’m way too busy today.” Polly pulled a face at the screen. “Shit; I forgot Mavis Clegg’s husband and daughter are coming in at nine for family counselling. Gotta go. Why don’t you two have lunch and you can tellDrJakobyall about the PTSD group.” Her shoulders moved in a shrug. “Guess I can’t be choosy who I co-lead with. It’s not like anyone else has offered to give up their Wednesday evenings.”
Solo watched with a sense of helplessness as she swung out of the chair and practically flounced out of the room, the sway of her butt in those neat slacks sending inappropriate messages to his groin even now. A curl popped out of the top of her bun and bounced as she closed the door behind her.
“Ok-aaay.” Ben raised his hands in the air. “She’s a bit grumpy this morning. Guess we’ll be discussing it without Polly. I’ll see you at 12. Hospital canteen. Level 5. Food is edible, mostly. Avoid the rissoles at all costs.” He picked up his laptop. “Sorry about my colleague. She must have got out of bed on the wrong side.”
Solo was trying to form an answer when Leon walked in and saved him. “Have you had a chance to review Bernie’s notes? I need you to talk to him about actually taking his meds, not flushing them down the toilet.”
“Sure.” Solo jumped up, glad to focus on having a job to do. Clearly, he’d have to find a way to cope with this snitchy professional Polly—hopefully her barbed tongue would be enough to get his libido under control over the coming weeks.
Right now, with the way his body was behaving, that seemed like no easy task.
Luckily the day went quickly, one patient interview after another. A lunchtime catch-up with Ben clarified that the PTSD group happened on Wednesday evenings between 7 and 9 and was for outpatients who were working but struggling with their symptoms.
Confidence started to return.
Yep, he could do this.
He caught sight of Polly twice: once as he was about to enter a patient interview room with Bernie, as she chatted to a nurse. And again when she was talking to a young woman who was curled up and rocking in her chair. From the safe distance of the nurses’ station, he watched as Polly squatted down next to the woman, clearly reassuring her. She placed a hand gently on the woman’s arm and handed her a tissue box.
This was a very different Polly. An empathetic, gentle Polly. Suddenly Solo recalled the way she’d looked at him, wide-eyed, the momentary glint of vulnerability as he kissed the tip of her nose.
And for some weird reason his heart almost ground to a halt.
As Solo climbed onto his motorbike at the end of a long, tiring first day, he was aware of a figure close by, and then, holy shit, there she was beside him, one hip jutting, her big work bag over her shoulder, car keys jingling in her fingers.
“Good first day?” Her face was bland but her eyes sparkled dangerously.
“Great.”
She flashed a too-bright smile. “Guess it beats huffing and puffing on a building site.”
He sighed, looked down at his hands. “Sorry about that. I guess I thought—”
“We’d never have to cross paths again? Reasonable deduction. I would have thought so too. A quick shag out in the middle of the bush and on your bike. Literally, it would seem,” she finished with a laugh. Not a particularly nice one.
He didn’t answer. The silence stretched on for several hideously awkward moments.
“So, Dr Jakoby—”
“Solo.”
