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“Even better. Give them something good to talk about.”
Laughing, I kissed him again and my tongue slid into his mouth to tangle with his.
When he pulled back, his eyes were heated with promise. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”
“Oh, I plan to finish,” I teased. “You’ll just have to wait for it, but trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
With one final tug on my braid, Boxer let me go, and then he sauntered to the elevator. Only when the doors shut, did I finally come back to the present.
“You were totally staring at his butt, weren’t you?” Lizzie called out.
I turned to look at her. “Yeah. I totally was. No shame.”
* * *
Boxer’s impromptu visit stayed with me the rest of my shift, leaving me warm and buzzy, like I’d consumed too much caffeine. Every part of me tingled with energy. Not even Dr. Prick’s incessant demands and throwing me each nasty case that came through the ER dampened my spirits.
Texts from Boxer every now and again emboldened my spirit and kept me going. I didn’t spend any time dwelling on why the charming playboy biker was using his time to randomly text me. I was a sure thing once I deemed him healed. In fact, I was more than ready for it. My brain was no longer protesting, and my body was primed and eager.
By the time my shift was over, and I was back in my own clothes, I was dragging hard. I stopped by the nurses’ station on my way out. Peyton was gathering her belongings and jacket.
“I’ll walk with you to the parking lot,” she said.
“Great.”
We headed to the elevators as she asked, “Do you want to come over this week for dinner?”
“Sure, that sounds good. I have the next two nights off, but I already have plans for tomorrow night.”
“Do you, now?” Her smile was slow, and she raised her brows. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
The late afternoon sun bathed the parking lot, glinting off the rainbow of cars. I got my keys out and unlocked my Mercedes with the clicker just as my phone buzzed.
I quickly removed my cell, a smile already making its way across my face. It died when I realized it wasn’t Boxer but my mother. I didn’t even bother to read her text.
I opened the car door and tossed my phone and bag onto the passenger seat. After climbing in, I shut and locked the door, and just sat for a moment, getting my head together.
My phone vibrated again. I eyed it warily, and then with a sigh, I grabbed it.
This time my smile came fast and furious.
Boxer:Do you like carnivals?
I turned on the car and then pressed a button on my steering wheel. His phone rang once, and then he answered.
“Hey,” I said. “I can’t text. I’m about to pull out of the parking lot and drive home. And no, I don’t like carnivals.”
“Why not? You don’t like Ferris wheels or funnel cakes?”
“I can get behind funnel cakes, but I’m afraid of heights and carnivals make me sad.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. They’re—never mind.”
“Tell me why they make you sad.”
