Unbelievable (15 page)

“I’m not afraid of getting hurt, Lilah. I’m afraid of you getting hurt. I’m the klutz, remember
? Pain and I are constant companions. I say we try the Lazy Z. It’s a one point seven five.”

“You’re worried about me?” I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Okay, Opie,” I conceded. “The Lazy Z it is.” How could I argue with
sweet?

We strapped the bikes to a bike carrier Cole rented and drove over to the trail. Cole placed the red and green heavy-duty helmet on my head, and laughed while buckling
my chin strap in place. Cole’s bulky, bright orange helmet could be seen for miles. I climbed onto my black and yellow Fuji Outland 29er and made my way over to the trail head. The afternoon air had cooled, making the heat more tolerable than the last week. Cole pulled up alongside me with his matching, albeit taller, bike. I tipped my head back to see his luscious blue eyes.

“Ready?” I asked.

He looked at me, swallowed hard, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

I took off like a bolt of lightning. The trail was amazing, even if it was a sissy trail. It had some great switch backs and it narrowed playfully in some areas, making navigating more challenging. Cole did a pretty good job keeping up with me. More than once he reached out to support me when he thought I was going to take a tumble. Such an Opie.

As we came over a rise, side by side, I didn’t see the turn until it was too late. I flew off the bike, landing in a soft pile of greenery. Cole landed next to me less than a second later.

“Are you okay?” In a fluid movement that contradicted his clumsiness, Cole quickly rid himself of his helmet, popped open the buckle on mine, and tugged it off carefully. His free hand ran over my head and along my spinal column, inspecting me for injuries the same way he did
to patients in the ER. His other arm was tucked under me, cradling me against him.

“I’m fine. I didn’t even get hurt, thanks to all these leaves. And you. I can’t believe you jumped off your bike, practically catching me in your arms, yet you can’t toss a piece of paper into a garbage bin to save your life?”

“Tossing paper into a garbage bin hardly compares to protecting you,” he assured me while brushing something off my forehead.

“You are an incredible man, Cole Colter.” I smiled tenderly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his face to mine, touching my lips in the softest, most timid kiss I’d ever received. I was instantly transported back in time to junior high, behind the football bleachers. Little Donnie Roberts, with his mouth full of braces, kissed me after a football game. My first kiss. It was sweet, innocent, and a kiss I still cherished.

The kiss ended before it began. He jumped to his feet as if the leaves were attacking him, pulling me up also. “Is this what I think it is?” He pointed to the ground, his eyes wide.

We’d landed in a thick bed of poison ivy. Luckily, poison ivy had no effect on me whatsoever. I fell into the twenty-ish percentile of people that didn’t react to it. However, judging by the look of horror on Cole’s face, he did not.

“Let me guess, you and poison ivy have a long, uncomfortable history.” He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

He was an itching machine by the time we got back to his car. “Cole, don’t scratch, it’ll spread.”

“I am well aware of that,
” he assured me calmly.
Does anything ever upset this guy
? We quickly loaded the bikes onto the bike rack and left.

“Are you sure you’re going to be al
l right?” I asked back at my apartment.

“Yes. Sorry to ruin your day.” He shook his head, clearly embarrassed. I slipped my arms around his
shoulders and gave him a great big kiss . . . on the cheek, only because he turned away at the last second.

“See you tomorrow.” I kissed my finger and placed it squarely on his lips. He shook his head, biting back a smile.

On the way to his office the next morning, I stopped by the natural food store and picked up a bottle of tea tree and lavender oil, Birdie’s natural remedy for all things itchy.

“Good morning, Opie. How’s the rash?” I arrived at the office to find Cole sitting at his tarp covered desk, scratching away at his arms.

“Miserable. I don’t think this stuff works.” He held up a bottle of pink liquid that supposedly tamed itching.

“Try this.” I held out the homeopathic oil remedy, along with some cotton balls.

“And why should I try this?” He frowned at my little brown bottle, but didn’t take it, probably because he had his hands full, literally, scratching.

I opened the bottle, tipped it over, and covered a cotton ball with the oil. A minty smell rose up to my nose. It brought back memories of summer, mosquito bites, and Birdie. I dabbed the blisters that covered his forearms.

“Why do you think this voodoo will work
?” he teased, sniffing the bottle with a scrunched nose.

“Trust me. Besides, it has to be better than this chemical-filled garbage.” I carried the pink bottle across the room with my thumb and finger,
and pinching my nose for dramatic effect, dropped it into the wastepaper basket.

“I do like the smell,” he admitted, sniffing the bottle again. “It feels soothing on my skin.”

“And you’ve stopped itching, your arms anyway.” I watched as he twisted his arms, pretzel like, around to his back and scratched.

“Turn around and lift your shirt.” I picked up the oil and drenched a cotton swab, only Cole didn’t move.

“I don’t think it’ll work effectively through your scrubs, Cole. You’re going to have to lift your shirt.”

He still hesitated.

“Cole?”

“There’s no lock on the door. What if someone comes barging in and my shirt’s off? I’ll look like a child
-molesting creepo.”

“Opie!” I laughed. “I’m over 18, remember?”

“Barely,” he grumbled, lifting his shirt and turning around.

Oh yeah, the guy was built. He might be lean, but he had some serious muscle action going on. The scrubs hid that little fact. He looked over his shoulder, caught me drooling, and snapped his shirt back down.

“Okay! That's the kind of look that will get me labeled as a predator.” The look of horror on his face had me in tears … of laughter.

“Sorry,” I spurted out between giggles. “I’ll be professional.” I cleared my throat. “Dr. Colter, please remove your clothing so I can apply copious amounts of oil to your hot body.”

“Funny. That’s so much better,” he said, shaking his head. “Give me the bottle, I’ll do it myself.” He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers.

“No, I’ll do it. I promise I’ll be good.” I pulled the bottle out of his reach.

Grudgingly, he turned around and lifted his shirt again, keeping a grip on the front so it didn’t ride up too high. Bummer. I dabbed the oil on the blisters, which were not as numerous as his poor arms.

Unfortunately, for Cole anyway, his worst case scenario happened. The door burst open,
with ease for once
, and in walked Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the student nurses who each had serious crushes on Cole. He about hit the ceiling, he jumped so high. He jerked down his scrub top, hard, and tore a small hole along the shoulder seam.

“Julie, Karen, what
do I can for you?” Unaware he’d jumbled his words, he picked up some forms from atop the book boxes and began shuffling through them. His ears were bright pink.

“What?” pressed a Tweedle.

I decided to rescue him, not because I cared what the Tweedles thought, but because I cared that it bothered him.

“Cole had a run-in with some very aggressive poison ivy. I brought him some essential oil to sooth the itching.” I held out my brown bottle and the Tweedles actually sighed in relief. Dweebs
.

“Oh my, you poor thing. Are you al
l right? Would you like me to pick up some real medicine from the pharmacy? Surely it would be better than that silly homeopathic
stuff
,” TweedleDum said with distain, grimacing at my bottle.

Cole set the papers down roughly, and stretched up to his full six-foot-four
stature. “Actually, the oil is working well, much better than the lotion
I
picked up this morning from the pharmacy. Now, what did you need?” I’d never seen Cole short with anyone before. Very sexy, yet again.

“We need to talk to you about Tess. She’s almost fainted twice now. The woman can’t handle the
sight of blood to save her life,” complained Tweedledum, or was she Tweedledee? Did it really matter?

“Tess is doing a great job. She may need more time to adjust to the ER, but I’m not ready to get rid of her. There haven’t been any problems because of it, right?”

“Well, no, but what if she faints during an emergency?” Tweedledee snapped her arms over her flat chest.

“If that happens, we’ll reconsider having her work in the ER. If there’s nothing else, I’ve some paperwork screaming for my attention.” He sat in his squeaky black chair and skimmed a file I’d seen sitting on the boxes for days. Definitely not something that needed his attention ASAP. The Tweedles turned simultaneously and huffed out. No sooner had the door shut when Cole pointed to the tea tree bottle and said, “Hurry up and finish putting that stuff on before I go insane.”

“What if the Tweedles come back?” I asked, unscrewing the lid. He looked at me, puzzled. “Sorry, that’s what the nurses call them.”

He laughed and lifted his shirt again,
oh yeah, still hot
, and I applied the oil. “I don’t care if they come back. This itches too much. Honestly, I don’t care who comes in . . . Well, as long as it’s not B—” The door flew open easily yet again and in strutted Booker Gatto. Cole snapped upright and yanked his shirt down. “What are the odds?” Cole mumbled. “Hello, Booker.”

Booker looked at me and laughed. “Hello, Cole. I see the poison ivy’s still with you. And sweet,
young
Lilah. How are you doing?” He offered me his hand and one of his swoon-worthy grins. Cole was definitely hotter, but Booker was a force to be reckoned with. I could almost see his mind working as he surveyed me. It wasn’t a sexy
checking you out
look, but rather an inspection. To me it said,
is she good enough for Cole
?

“I’m great, thanks. How do you like the office so far
?” I asked, busying myself with the bottle of oil.

“Looks nice. I like the wall color. I’m surprised Cole let you paint it green. I always pictured him a beige kind of guy.” Booker stepped to the wall and touched it.

“I love it. Lilah’s done a great job. The furniture’s coming this afternoon.” Cole said, patting my shoulder formally, like a business associate instead of a friend.

“Need help emptying the old stuff?” he offered.

“No. The company delivering the furniture’s taking the old stuff. I believe they donate it to the Salvation Army. Right, Lilah?”

“Yes,” I said, smoothing my hair down. Booker continued staring at me, unnerving me.

“Are you sure we haven’t met before that day at Haley’s shop?” he finally asked. Fear gripped my throat. Time to play the game.

“I think if I’d met you, I’d remember.” I added my sexiest smile and pushed the glasses on my nose back into position again. He chuckled.

“I like her, Cole. She’s a keeper.” He gave me a wink. I let out a long breath and leaned against the boxes, pretending to page through a furniture catalog Cole and I’d gone through six hundred times already.

“Yes, I agree. She’s a very good
decorator
, Booker.” Cole’s emphasizing the word decorator had both Booker and I smiling.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s a good decorator, also.” Before Cole could respond, Booker continued
, “I’m wondering if you want to go fishing with me next Tuesday? Seth has too much homework and I really need to get out for the day.”

“Let me guess. Seth talked to you about the other night and this is your attempt at rescuing me,” Cole asked.

Cole needs rescuing
?

“Can’t a guy want to go fishing with his buddy without having a hidden agenda?” Booker denied the accusation, though I didn’t believe him. And neither did Cole, judging by the frown that creased his freckled face.

“I’ll have to check my schedule. I can’t remember if I’m working.”

“Aren’t you always working?” Booker pressed on. “Take a day off and go fishing with me. I’ll even bait the hook so you don’t stick yourself again.”

Cole picked up a number two pencil and tossed it at him. He missed by a mile. Booker laughed.

“I told Dr. Anderson I’d cover a few shifts for him this week. I’ll go and check the schedule to see if the changes were made. Hold on,” Cole said, loping out the door.

If Dr. Anderson, aka Dr. Lazy Butt, had asked Cole to cover for him, I had little doubt that the schedule had been changed.

I kept my nose buried in the catalog while Booker continued to stare at me. After several unnerving minutes I’d had enough.

“I think Cole’s gotten lost.”