Every Glance (Every Life #3) (8 page)

Not recognizing the number, I step out into the hallway to answer. “Dr. Hoover.”

“Hey, Dalton. I, uh, remembered you weren’t working tonight, so I thought I’d give you a call to see how you are.”

“Kyler. I didn’t recognize the number.” At least she doesn’t sound mad. “I’m great. Just eating dinner at a friend’s house. How’s Simon?”

“Oh, I’m calling from my sister’s house. He’s asleep finally. I-I didn’t realize you were busy, though, so I can call you another time.”

I slip out the front door, a preventative measure to keep everyone from listening in. “No, it’s fine. We’ve already eaten, and we’re just talking. I’m really glad you called.”

She huffs softly. “Well, you
do
have
my
number, you know.”

“I know, I know. And I’ve thought about calling, but I wanted to wait a few days. I figured you were mad at me.” The porch swing moans when I sit down, so I decide against actually swinging.

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you?”

“Look, I…” I pause, running my fingers through my hair. “I don’t remember what happened the other night, but I’m pretty sure I fell asleep. I’ve wanted to apologize, but because I’m not completely sure what happened, I have no idea what to apologize for.”

“You’re right about what happened, but I’m not offended or anything. Dalton, you hadn’t had any sleep. I actually laughed about it when I realized you were snoring. I even found a blanket and covered you up before I left.”

“Well, that doesn’t make me feel any better. I was snoring? That must’ve been attractive.”

Her infectious laughter floats through the speaker, making me smile. “You definitely were. I was, uh, kissing your neck, and I sat up to take my shirt off. Just as I was leaning back down, you snored. Right in my face. I was afraid that I was going to wake you up because I was laughing so hard. So I decided to go. Besides, if we ever…get
there
again, I’d like you to be fully conscious.”

“Damn,” I mutter, swiping my hand down my face. “Well, I’m still sorry. I’ll definitely have to make it up to you.”

“Just say when.”

“Let me see what my schedule looks like over the next week, and I’ll find a night to take you out on a real date. No naps involved.”

“Deal. Buuuut…I could really use a favor now.”

I swear my heart skids to a halt. “Uh, Kyler, you’re babysitting. I don’t think—”

“Oh, God! Not sex! That’s
so
not how I meant that to come across. I’m talking about my parents’ anniversary dinner on Saturday evening. I remember you saying that you were the on-call every other weekend, so that would make you free this weekend. But if you already have plans, that’s totally fine. I won’t be upset with you if you can’t come. And I know this looks bad because of the whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing, but it’s not my intention to make you feel like I’m taking things too far. They just always comment that I don’t have a date, and I’d like to bring one for a change. You know?”

I wait, trying to absorb everything she just said while making sure she’s not about to pick up again.

“Shit, I’m rambling again. Dalton?”

“I’m here, and I’d be honored to come. Saturday night should be safe.”

She lets out a long breath. “Thank you. Why do you make me so nervous? I hate that I always sound like an idiot when I’m talking to you.”

“It’s not my intention, I promise.” And I honestly don’t understand it myself. “But you don’t sound like an idiot.”

“Oh, please. I do, too. I think it’s just that you’re so freaking gorgeous and a successful doctor, and I’m just an average girl with a job at a barbeque joint and a mountain of student loan debt.” She takes a moment for a breath or two…thank goodness. “We may just stay friends or someday become something more, but whatever happens, I just don’t want to screw anything up. I like you.”

“And I like you. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Just breathe. Besides, you’re easily a little above average.”

When she goes completely silent, I lose all attempts at seriousness, laughing so hard I nearly roll right out of the swing.

“Look, folks, he’s gorgeous, successful,
and
a comedian,” she chuckles. “I’ll text you all the details. Oh, and my parents’ address. I really appreciate you agreeing to come with me.”

“Send me
your
address, and I’ll even pick you up.”

“I’d love that. I’ll talk to you soon, m’kay?”

“Bye, Kyler.”

I punch the red button and lean back into the swing, kicking one leg up across the wide bench seat and using the other to gently rock myself. Thinking about our conversation, it’s hard not to smile. She’s incredibly insecure and way too understanding for her own good, but she’s also honest and kind. She doesn’t seem at all like one of the women that I usually date, and maybe it’s because she’s still quite young and naïve, but then again, maybe that kind of innocence is what I’ve been missing.

“So she finally called,” Sawyer says before pushing the door open to join me on the porch. Damn screen doors. I never even thought about it.

“You heard all that, huh?”

He nudges my foot until my leg falls off the seat, and he takes its place. “Yep. You told her that you like her. You’re going out with her again to ‘make it up to her’—and I can only imagine what that could mean. Do you? Honestly like her?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Sure?” He shakes his head. “Yeah, well, I bet she doesn’t last a week. I know how you work.”

I screw up my face and cut my eyes at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t stick with a woman long enough to know if you truly like her or not. It’s not like it’s any big secret. Or that there’s anything wrong with it. Just how you are.”

Why does everyone act like I’m banging some different chick every night? “Well, just to prove you wrong, let’s revisit this conversation in a few weeks
.
I bet I’m still seeing Kyler then.”

Sawyer swats at the moth fluttering around his head, narrowly missing my ear. “Okay, then. A hundred bucks says you don’t bring Kyler as a date to my wedding.”

Hell, I’ll work most of the time during the next few weeks, so that’ll be four or five dates at the most. How hard could that be? “You have yourself a deal.”

I’M JUST COMING out of a patient room, thinking it’s my last one for the day, when Ella smacks a manila file folder into my chest.

“New patient. He’s actually Dr. Bradshaw’s patient, but his clinic is closed today. I just put him in room six. Low-grade temp, and mom says he’s been coughing for a couple of days. I heard him; it sounds painful.”

“We’ve had a few cases like this over the last few days. Gotta love ragweed. I’ll let you know if they’ll need anything called into the pharmacy.”

I turn toward the end of the hall, about to skim the previous illness sheet, but a tapping finger on my shoulder nearly scares the life out of me.

“Ms. Avery! I didn’t realize you were behind me. I’ve already given Ella your file, so you’re all set to check out. Was there something else you needed?”

The forty-something woman is quite a sight to behold in her skintight black top, her breasts nearly to the point of being squeezed right out of her much-too-small bra like a busted can of biscuit dough. Not forgetting to mention, of course, that her jeans are riding low enough to see the very top of her raspberry lace thong when she turns around, which she was sure to do three times while I was with her in the exam room. I knew this one would be trouble, so I made Ella come in to “assist” in the exam.

“Well, we didn’t get the chance to talk before with your nurse hanging around.” She winks, which loses all of its value when the fourteen coats of mascara causes most of her lashes to stick together. Which makes her flinch. Which makes me practically jab the pen in my pocket into my leg to keep from laughing. “I want to give you something.”

Yeah, I’ll bet she does. But I can’t say that, so I simply raise my eyebrows instead.

She looks from side to side, making sure that no one is watching, and reaches into her shirt, low into the tight crevice between her breasts. Between two fingers, a folded slip of lavender paper emerges, and she tucks it into the breast pocket of my white lab coat.

“It’s my cell number,” she whispers, stretching up on her toes to get closer to my ear. “You know, in case you ever want some company.”

I stand perfectly still, trying to decide if I should shoot her down gently or run the hell out of there. I have to be so damn careful about my reputation in this town that I don’t know if I can afford to piss her off. Being the chairperson of the town’s business leadership committee, she knows way too many people that could ruin what I have here.

Before she backs away, she plants a kiss just under my jawline, lingering a moment before stepping away with a little extra sway to her hips. “Just think about it.”

She spins on a spiked heel and sashays around the corner toward the exit. I slump against the wall, finally able to breathe. I guess I should be flattered with all of these women throwing themselves against me. Quite literally. But damn, I never imagined such a thing happening to me.
Married
women, no less. At least this one is divorced.

I’ve even considered buying a fake wedding band to slip onto my finger when one of them comes in, but I think, for some, that would only fuel the fire. I don’t get it.

A fit of coughing snaps me out of my thoughts. Ella was right, it does sound painful. Deep and raspy. I flip the file open, revealing the patient’s information. He’s a seven year old asthmatic that was 6 weeks premature. Chronic respiratory infections. Allergic to…everything.

His name? Simon Jenson.

It has to be the very same one.

I knock twice before turning the knob, and Simon’s face brightens and then falls. I’m not sure what that’s about.

“Hey, buddy. Doesn’t sound like you’re feeling too well.”

His mom has her back to me, too wrapped up in her phone call to notice I’ve entered. Simon cuts his eyes at her and crooks a finger, gesturing for me to come closer. When I do, he grabs my lapel and pulls me closer.

“Don’t mention the necklace. I haven’t given it to her yet.”

I nod and wink. “Our secret.” I straighten, sliding my stethoscope off my neck. “So how long have you had this cough?”

“Two and a half days. I already know it’s bronchitis because I get it all the time. I just need some azithromycin, and it’s probably best if I get a prescription of Guaifenesin to get rid of the mucus.”

I chuckle. The kid must be in a doctor’s office as often as I am. “Are you trying to take my job? I better do an exam anyway, or they might not pay me.” I hold my stethoscope to his chest. “Take a deep breath. Good. And now let me listen to your back. One more deep breath.” Yeah, he’s definitely wheezy.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t even hear you come in,” his mom explains, dropping her phone into her glossy black purse. “I’m Simon’s mom. Devyn Rion-Jenson. I appreciate you seeing him so quickly.”

“I’m glad you brought him in.” Just as he starts another round of coughing, I look over at her, the name not sinking in until I see her face.

Wait…Devyn Rion.

No freaking way.

She has the exact same bright hazel eyes and long chestnut hair that I remember, except now her eyes look tired and her once board-straight hair is styled into soft curls. Her gentle curves fill out her charcoal pencil skirt, just like they used to in her skintight, distressed jeans. After all these years, I’d hoped that time would’ve played the cruelest of jokes on her. That it would strip the beauty away that caused me to trip over my own feet on more than one occasion.

Needless to say, time has only been kind to her, but it’s also helped me. She clearly doesn’t’ remember me. Or the fact that I once vomited on her perfectly pristine cheerleading shoes.

“So, uh…” Simon finally speaks up, breaking the odd silence. “Do I get a prescription or what?”

“Simon!” Devyn admonishes. “Don’t be rude.”

She turns to me and starts to speak, but her eyes immediately fall to the floor after she looks at me. Maybe she
does
remember.

“Of course, you do. And I’ll even throw in a few lollipops, if your mom doesn’t mind.”

He jumps off the exam table. “She doesn’t.”

I point him toward the candy dish on the counter, and I scribble some notes in his file. “Mrs. Jenson-Rion, would you like us to call in the prescriptions or would you like to take them with you?”

“You can call them into Foster’s,” she answers, her eyes finally glancing in my direction. They skim from my eyes to my neck to the floor in a swift motion. “Well, we’ll be on our way. Thanks, again.”

“Thanks for the suckers, Dr. Hoover,” Simon says around the sour apple candy.

The green ones are my favorite, too.

I carry his file up to Ella’s desk and hang around the office while Devyn pays for the visit. Ella follows them to the exit, locking the door behind them after Simon throws a quick wave at me.

I watch through the window. Watch her walk across the empty parking lot. Watch her pause to pat Simon’s back during another coughing fit. Watch her get into that black sports car and drive away.