Touch And Go - Aiden Bates Page 0,49

he’d given me the first day in the ER, and I felt my chin tremble. I quickly turned to face the window, to focus on the ugly view of the neighboring building’s stucco.

Derek lowered his voice to a gentle hum. “You scared?”

I bit my bottom lip to stop it from quivering and gave a quick nod, still not looking at him.

“You want to come with me to get some ice cream?”

“What?” Ice cream? Like he could ply me with a children’s treat. Maybe if I was good, he would order me extra sprinkles. I shot him a narrow glare.

“I sent Sean and Matt home, so we’re done here, unless you want more time to go through your stuff?” Oh, so accommodating. Probably because they were too old, too mature for a cone at the local froyo shop.

“Ice cream? Really? I’m legal, you know. Old enough to drink real alcoholic beverages. Going for a scotch seems more appropriate, don’t you think? Jesus.”

He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks burned bright red, seeming sheepish and annoyingly adorable.

“Shit, sorry, that’s not…” He mumbled the words, and I cocked my head, trying to catch it, until he repeated himself. “I want ice cream. My inner child has cravings. A couple scoops of Chunky Monkey with a Milla Vanilla in the middle.” He kissed the tips of his fingers and flicked them through the air.

This age barrier was a conundrum. I threw my head back and laughed. “Are you serious?” Protest as I might, ice cream didn’t sound half bad. Scotch was better, but a dip cone would be a good starter.

“There’s a place near here that does a bunch of cool flavors.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Too cute to be true. “No need to defend your cravings, doctor.”

He caught my bag when I tossed it at him, and I squeezed out of the small space between the bed and the closet before I took a long look at the trashed living area and bit down a swelling tide of loneliness that rumbled in my chest. Derek waited by my side, holding my bag at his hip like it was a child, until I’d surveyed the damage, found it way more than I’d be able to afford to repair for a while then decided I was ready to go.

He checked the hallways and then the front entrance of the building and led me out to the street with a protective arm around my shoulders. By the time we were outside, the loneliness and fear had faded a little. Relying on him was getting easier. Every time I accepted his help.

“Perfect day for ice cream.” He lowered his sunglasses and smiled, dimples deep into his cheeks as the midday sun glowed against his skin.

I leaned against him to stop myself from completely collapsing into a puddle in the street. Damn, he looked good. But I couldn’t get wrapped up in his life any more than he’d want to get snagged into mine. It wasn’t good timing. But it could…no, couldn’t happen. Don’t get your hopes up, idiot.

“Where’s this place with all the flavors?” I unwrapped myself from his arm and offered to take my bag, but he waved me off and adjusted it higher on his back. He looked relaxed, cute, young even with the backpack and his white, short-sleeved button-up. I smiled to myself as I imagined what he would have looked like as a teenager on his way to school.

“Oh, so you are interested in ice cream? It’s not just me and my inner child?”

“Bring on the Milla Vanilla.” I could go with it.

He chuckled and started crooning some ‘90s song about blaming it on the rain. He nudged me with his elbow to navigate us around the back of my building. I followed him through the dirty streets and wrestled with embarrassment at the overflowing dumpsters, broken bottles, syringes and trash that decorated my neighborhood, but Derek didn’t take even a second glance. He’d seen his fair share of shit as a kid, and probably as an ER doctor too; hopefully nothing in my trash town ‘hood would shock him or make him think less of me.

We turned a corner onto the remains of a commercial district that had escaped gentrification, which meant in this instance half the storefronts were empty and boarded up, or smashed to pieces.

A homeless man stumbled out of an alcove with his cupped hand outstretched. “Help for a veteran?”

“Sorry, man—”

I kept walking