Acrobat (3 page)

“It couldn’t hurt.”

Good God.

Chapter 2

B
EING
a hero should have been less painful. I was thinking that as I sat on the small hospital bed on Monday night, waiting to see a doctor. I had saved a woman from getting mugged or worse—she had been more worried about the “worse” than the contents of her designer handbag—but I had succeeded in getting smashed in the face and then, when I was down, kicked in the ribs. Suzie Rais was very appreciative—so was her husband, when he met her at the hospital—and they told that to my friend Douglas Kearney, whom I had called instead of Melissa or Ben. Doug would be cool about it. Melissa and Ben would blow it way out of proportion.

“You might look like a superhero,” Doug said from the chair by the door, “but you’re not, buddy. Take it easy.”

“Just sit there and get ready to take me home.”

“In like ten hours.” He yawned, getting up. “You know that time stops when you’re in the emergency room just like when you’re watching a basketball game.”

I grunted my agreement.

“You want something from downstairs? I need a soda or something.”

“No, I’ll buy you dinner after this.”

“A steak?” He sounded hopeful.

“Yes, if we must.”

“Oh yes, we must.”

“I’m thinking I wanna go bowling or something this weekend. Maybe we can—”

“No.” He shook his head. “Me and Dave and Jackie are hitting the clubs this weekend.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did my invitation get lost in the mail?”

He looked at me like I was nuts.

“What?”

“For starters, you never pick up anyone at the club, you just talk everybody to death, and second, I don’t feel like looking like chopped liver standing next to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dr. Qells?”

We both turned toward the voice, and there, standing in the doorway, was Sean Cooper. Dr. Sean Cooper, MD. The smile I was getting was really nice.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Doug said drolly, rolling his eyes.

I quickly returned my eyes to the vision in front of me. The long, thick golden eyelashes were just beautiful, but the eyes were an even bigger thrill. Really, what did you call that color, brilliant summer sky? With his big blue eyes and golden honey-blond hair, the man looked good enough to eat.

“I thought it was you,” he breathed out, crossing the room to stand in front of me, his eyes everywhere before they met mine and stayed. “When I saw your name on the board, I got here as fast as I could.”

“Well, that was really nice of you to worry about your ex-English professor,” I observed.

He squinted, pressed his lips together, and then excused himself for a moment.

Doug cleared his throat, walked over to me, and punched me in the arm.

“Shit, I’m hurt, you know,” I groused, rubbing my bicep. “I might have a concussion.”

“You obviously have a brain tumor, you idiot,” he snapped, slapping me on the back of the head.

“I will seriously beat the crap outta you.” I shoved him off me.

“For crissakes, Nate,” he growled. “That fuckin’ gorgeous-ass doctor is dyin’ to get his hands on you, and you go and bring up the fact that you used to be his teacher? What the hell?”

“He—”

“Nate”—his eyes got big—“try not to be a total imbecile right now, okay? Christ, I’m outta here.”

I sighed. “I’ll see ya in a bit.”

“No.” He shook his head, gesturing to the clipboard sitting beside me. “Have the good doctor take you home.”

“What are you—oh, you’re back.” I smiled at Sean as he walked back into the room. “This is my buddy Doug Kearney—Doug, Sean; Sean, Doug.”

They shook hands, and Doug explained how he had to go and he was sure I would be well enough to take a cab home. He was gone before I could say another word.

“Your friend bailed fast, huh?”

“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “So you think I’ll live?”

“I need to look at you first.”

“I… uhm—” I cleared my throat. “—thought you worked at County.”

“I do. We’re doing a trade this week, cross-training in different conditions. They do it a lot since Mercy Glen and County are partners.”

I nodded. “Got it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Did you not want to run into me?”

“No,” I blurted out, “just the opposite.”

“Opposite?”

Shit.

He was waiting, stepping closer so that the white hospital coat brushed my knees.

“Dr. Qells?”

“You’re the doctor.”

“So are you,” he assured me, and I couldn’t help but notice the breath he took.

“Sean, I….”

“Yes?”

He stepped closer, between my legs, and his hands—those finely boned, long-fingered hands of his—rested on either side of me on the bed. I swallowed hard.

“I kept thinking,” he said, one hand reaching up, and the first touch of his fingertips to my jaw made me shudder, “when I saw you the other night at the grocery store that if I kept running into you, then maybe you’d eventually invite me over for dinner. I’ve been going there every night since.”

Dear God in heaven.

“I had the biggest crush on you when I had you for freshman English, Dr. Qells, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

“No,” I said and smiled at him. “Not at all.”

“No?” He seemed surprised. “Christ, I must be the shittiest flirt ever.”

“I’m sure you’re very smooth,” I teased. “But you were very young.”

“I wasn’t that young.” His eyes narrowed. “I was legal.”

I laughed softly. “Just barely.”

“Well, I’m all grown up now.”

And suddenly I wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked pointedly.

“No.” I tried to breathe around the lump in my throat.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said with a shrug, “why not? A man like you, why aren’t you dating anyone?”

“A man like me?”

“You’re a catch, Dr. Qells; you don’t need me to tell you that.”

I peered at him. “I wasn’t fishing.”

“No, I know, I can tell. You were actually interested in my answer.”

I cleared my throat as one of his hands settled on my knee.

“So,” he prodded, “why isn’t there anyone special?”

“I just got out of a relationship.”

“How long ago?”

And it was going to sound stupid. “Year and a half ago,” I confessed.

He didn’t laugh or snicker or even smile, and I was surprised. “And it took you a while to get over it.”

“Yes, it did.”

“But now?”

“Now I’m all fixed up.”

He nodded. “So you’ve had the rebound guy, huh?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had a guy since him, right?”

In what context?

“Right?” he pressed me.

Why would I play games and not just answer? “Are you asking me if I’ve been with anyone since my ex?”

“Yessir, that’s what I’m asking.” He grinned.

“Well, the answer is yes, Sean, I have.”

The gorgeous blue eyes sparkled. “That’s good.”

“Why?”

“Because, Dr. Qells, I would love to take you home with me, but I do not plan on being the one-night stand rebound guy. I plan on being the guy who gets to take you out.”

All the air was sucked from my lungs.

His eyes followed his fingers as they traced over my jaw. “I know this is sudden for you, and maybe I’m freaking you out just a little, but Dr.—”

“Nate,” I corrected him.

“Nate,” he repeated. “Like I said, I know to you this is coming out of right field, but… I’ve been carrying this torch for close to fifteen years, and before I fall into something else, or you do, I would really like to have a shot at seeing you. I figure us bumping into each other at the store last week and now here… maybe I’m supposed to be paying attention.”

I was concentrating on breathing.

“And at least if nothing else, would you come home with me and get in my bed?”

“I thought that wasn’t what you wanted?” I teased.

“What?” He had stopped listening to me, too intent on my mouth.

I chuckled because he was very good for my ego.

“I’m usually better at this,” he coughed out, “but you’re kind of short-circuiting my brain.”

Me? He was the walking, talking wet dream come to life. “Sean—”

“Please.” He licked his lips. “Let me see you.”

“Sean.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, and only then did I get that the overwhelming reaction I was having to him, he was having to me. God, he really liked me.

I tipped my head, squinting at him. “It used to be hard for me to keep my train of thought when you asked me questions. I always got caught up looking at your beautiful eyes.”

His breath caught, and it was adorable. “You’re kidding, right? All of us—the boys, the girls—we all had it so bad. The first day when you were up there talking nonstop about Milton and you were all into it, smiling and laughing, I kept thinking, Jesus Christ, I won’t learn a damn thing from this man if I get a boner every class.”

I chuckled and his smile widened, heated.

“Could you just let me take you out to dinner? This is me begging.”

“The begging’s not necessary. I would love that,” I told him. “When?”

“Tonight would be great, but I’m on shift until eleven. Would tomorrow night work? Tuesday night? You probably have plans, but—”

“I have no plans.”

He nodded. “How ’bout I pick you up at seven. Would that work?”

“That would work.”

“Can I get your number so I can call and get directions?”

“Sure,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. “And I’ll get yours, but I could wait.”

“Wait?”

I looked up. “It’s a little after nine now. I could wait and we could have dinner tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

It was impossible for me to stop staring. “What about tomorrow?”

“I want to pick you up and take you someplace great.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “Tonight it’s my treat, tomorrow it’s yours.”

“Perfect.”

“You know, I wasn’t thinking. Maybe you’re tired or—”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in front of the reception desk,” he said quickly, eyes wide suddenly. “Don’t ditch me, you understand?”

I squinted at him, watching as he pulled the drape around me closed.

“What are you—”

“I gotta find you a doctor,” he told me.

“I thought you were my doctor.”

“I’m a surgeon, actually, and besides, that would be unethical.” He grinned evilly before he left. “And I’m all about the ethics.”

“But—”

“Wait for me!” he yelled from the other side of the ugly khaki-green drape.

I sat there a minute and was just about to get up and peek around the curtain when it was yanked open and a very pretty doctor looked in at me. Her eyes were large almond-shaped perfection, and her skin was actually that smooth mocha that you read about in romance novels but never saw in real life.

“Hello there.” She beamed. “I’m Dr. Vargas, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

“It’s a pleasure.” I smiled at her.

“Oh he’s right, you are cute.”

Christ.

Almost two hours later, I was in reception, waiting for my date and wondering as each minute ticked by why I had opened my mouth. Things were going so well. Why had I suggested dinner after he got off his shift as well?

“Hey, Nate.”

Turning, I saw Michael Fiore walking toward me. He was my next-door neighbor, all of sixteen, living with his uncle instead of with his mother because she had died four years ago in a car accident. She had only been thirty at the time.

“What are you doing here?” I smiled as he took a seat beside me.

“Oh shit.” He winced, looking me over. “What happened to you?”

“I saved a lady from getting mugged and got beat up a little.”

He was squinting, not liking seeing me hurt but trying for bored and casual with his tone. It was his body language that was giving him away.

“So,” I said, swiping the knit beanie from his head and shoving it at him. “What are you doing here?”

He rolled his eyes, knowing he was supposed to take it off inside, his uncle forever telling him to do that. “My grandma’s here, and Dreo wants me to see her.”

“You don’t want to see her?”

He shrugged. “She was never close to me and Mom, and then when Mom died, she wanted me to go live with her and Papa, but my Mom made it so if anything happened to her I went with Dreo.”

I nodded even though I really didn’t understand his mother’s thinking. Andreo Fiore seemed cold to me, not the kind of man who should be raising a child. I had never once seen the man smile, and I had lived next door to him and his nephew for the last four years.

Dreo came and went at all hours. I knew he carried a gun because I had seen it on more than one occasion, and my best guess was that he was mob muscle. Of course, maybe he was an accountant for all I knew. I had never asked him or Michael, but I seriously doubted it. The thing was, I didn’t really know the man at all. It was his nephew I knew. Michael was the one who knocked on my door at night when he was alone, watched TV on my couch while I graded papers, and listened to me bitch about the underwhelming sentence structure of college juniors. He would laugh as he listened to me spew and would eventually offer to make me some tea. I had gotten him addicted to chamomile before bed.