she spent the rest of her day playing catch-up. For a woman who listed “Accountability” as the second most important trait in a potential significant other—right beneath “Looks at me the way I look at pizza”—Annie’s new life was about as predictable as a bouncy ball in a glass shower.
Every day brought a new department, new faces, and a whole new set of challenges. Even her patients were a complete mystery right up until the moment she walked through the exam room door.
The only thing she could count on lately was ending her day eating a large pepperoni pizza with green olives, drinking an extra-large glass of wine, while snuggling on the couch for some one-on-one time with good old Stephen Colbert, who managed to charm her with his wit and humor—numbers five and seven on her Boyfriend Checklist.
She couldn’t cope with losing the comfort of that routine. Not after her chat with Clark. And not to some smooth-talking playboy who needed a pack of sticky notes to keep his dates organized.
A strong motivator for Annie to spend her breaks trying to devise a solution to her living predicament. Trying being the operative word. A quick search online told her that without her ten thousand dollars, moving out wasn’t an option. Late summer was still peak season for tourists, leaving rent prices and her pocketbook as incompatible as Annie and her new roommate.
She needed a plan.
By the time Annie had completed her stint in the ER and was headed over to the oncology department, she’d managed to eliminate every possible option except two: get Clark to return her ten thousand dollars or force Emmitt to move.
Option one hinged on going to her own wedding as a guest. There was no way Clark was going to give her the money beforehand, and hiring a lawyer would take too much time—and money. Even so, she was no-way no-how not-enough-wine-in-the-world going to that wedding. Which left option two.
Force Emmitt to move.
It wouldn’t be an easy task. Emmitt was about as moveable as a cement truck with four flats and as sympathetic as the IRS. No, she’d have to get creative if she wanted Stephen and her pizza all to herself.
Her stomach rumbled at the thought. Oh wait, it was her cell phone vibrating in her shirt pocket. She fished it out, read the text, and—oh my God—closed her eyes. But that was a bad idea because the dark reminded her of things that glow, which brought to mind a particular pair of boxers that—
Oh no. This wouldn’t do.
Annie’s eyes snapped open, letting in all the light, but that didn’t help one bit. Because in the light she could picture exactly who was wearing those boxers and what he looked like in them.
Pressing her phone to her chest, screen to skin, Annie glanced around the hallway and, when she was certain no one was looking, ducked into an empty exam room.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Once inside, she reread the four words on the screen.
It was followed by a second text.
Annie paced the room, deciding exactly how to reply. She didn’t need the phone to register anything other than Unknown Caller. The way her right eye twitched told her exactly who was annoying her.
She watched the three dots blink at the bottom of the screen. They blinked so long, she anticipated a lengthy reply. All she got was:
It was followed by a picture of her rental agreement. A bright pink “For a Good Time Call” was written above her number, and “Snores” was added to the disclaimer section at the bottom of the sheet.
The dots disappeared, then reappeared, only to disappear again, and Annie’s hands began to sweat at the possibilities. The only person she’d given the house number to was her mom, and her mother would call there only if she couldn’t reach Annie by cell. She was about to check her missed calls when his text came through.
Was he serious? Of course he was. His black book was a collection of sticky notes. Stabbing the screen, she typed back.
Releasing a tired breath, she rested her head against the far wall and closed her eyes. This time she didn’t picture glow-in-the-dark boxers or their owner half naked. No, this time she pictured a brand-new deadbolt on the front door.
“That’s a shame, because I was wondering if you wear silk and lace in other shades,” an oh-so-smooth voice said from the doorway.
An unexpected—and unwelcome—warmth spread through her body, lighting up parts of her she’d forgotten had