One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,3
reaches for his water bottle. I can’t help but stare at his Adam’s apple as the water slides down his thick neck with each long drink. He catches me gawking, so I quickly fork a bite of pie into my mouth.
“I was here first,” I mumble around the silky pie and gesture with my fork to my schoolwork strewn all over the table as proof.
“You’re always here from what I can tell,” he huffs, setting his water bottle down and grabbing his apple. He sits back in his chair and rubs it on his chest before taking a bite. “Always here and always eating pie.”
“I am not always eating pie!” I exclaim defensively around another forkful of pie. Jesus…when did that get in my mouth?
The doctor laughs, but it doesn’t reach his granite facial features. His mouth doesn’t even curve up around the edges…As a matter of fact, it wasn’t even really a laugh. It was another grunt.
“Umm, okay,” I reply dumbly, wiping the crumbs from my lips. What else can I do at this point? “I’m sorry, but did I do something to offend you?”
His eyes cut to my slice of pie. “You could say that.”
I look at my half-eaten dessert. What about it could have this guy so riled up that he’s confronting me in the middle of a hospital cafeteria? Glancing around the room conspiratorially, I lean across the table and lower my voice to ask, “Do you want my pie or something?”
Throwing his head back, he releases a genuine laugh—a deep, full-bodied sound that vibrates the area between my legs at a really inopportune time. Then he stops abruptly and pins me with a serious look. “No, I do not want your pie, Lynsey.”
I sit back and roll my eyes. “Okay, I get it…that was a dumb response. My mind is a bit absorbed with what I was working on, so maybe you could cut me some slack and save your riotous laughter for another table companion.”
It’s impossible to hide my agitated tone. This guy is unapologetically harshing my happy, thesis-completed vibe and taking me to a place I don’t appreciate.
Why is he so grumpy anyway? We live in Boulder! People here are always happy. Legalized marijuana has basically guaranteed that.
All humor drains from his face as he narrows his stormy eyes. “What were you working on exactly?”
My face heats under his stare because—dammit, he’s sexy. But I straighten my spine, pretending he hasn’t affected me by jutting my chin. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve just finished my thesis.”
“Thesis?” he barks with a disbelieving tone. “Thesis on what exactly? Munchausen syndrome?”
My brows furrow. “Munchausen syndrome? No…why would you—”
“What’s your deal really?” he interrupts, his upper lip curling with disgust. “You have some kind of Grey’s Anatomy fetish?”
“What are you talking about?” My confusion transitions into frustration.
He shrugs and audits my body in a way that exposes me as if he sees those five extra pie and cheese board pounds. His voice is crisp when he replies, “Munchausen syndrome is when you fake an illness so you have an excuse to come to the hospital.”
“I know what Munchausen syndrome is,” I snap, annoyed that he’s skirting my questions. “I’m asking why you assume that’s what my paper…” my voice trails off as it dawns on me. “You think I have Munchausen syndrome?”
He lifts his brows and replies in monotone, “I’d have to do an exam to confirm that fact, but it’s my first guess, yes.”
“Just because I hang out in the hospital cafeteria?”
He nods.
Irritation spikes hard and fast in my belly.
What a total dick.
I was in a happy place, thinking of tropical cocktails and going out tonight to celebrate when he showed up and ruined everything with his asshole hotness.
“How do you know my mother isn’t terminally ill, and I visit her every day?”
“Because I’ve asked around,” he retorts, a thick vein in his neck bulging. “No one knows why you come here every day, and it’s been months of you randomly showing up for no reason. I decided to find out the truth to save us all from an embarrassing scene with security.”
“Security?” I shriek. My fork clatters onto the table. “Why is anyone talking about security? I’m a paying customer.”
“Because nobody hangs out in a hospital cafeteria for fun,” he growls, lowering his voice to a threatening tone while leaning across the table. “I’m starting to wonder if you don’t need a psych evaluation instead.”