His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,25
some EMTs to burst through the double doors with a doctor straddling a patient on a stretcher. And then the doctor could frantically give the patient chest compressions while they’re on their way to the OR. Maybe they’d get the paddles out and yell clear! I want to see it all go down.”
I snort. “You realize that things aren’t usually that dramatic, don’t you? And that your whole scenario would mean some poor patient was close to death?”
She makes a dismissive sound. “No actual patients were harmed in the making of the scenario, I’ll have you know. You’ll swoop in and save everyone’s life. The patient will be home by dinner.”
“Good to know,” I say, choking back a laugh. “I thought you were going to say you’re hoping to see McDreamy or McSteamy.”
“I have my own sexy doctor now, thanks,” she says smugly, waving her diamond-heavy left hand in my face.
I’d like to scowl, but I can’t quite manage it. Not when she’s aglow with contentment over her recent reconciliation and engagement with one of my best friends, Liam, who was also her long-lost college love.
“How could I forget? It’s been two whole seconds since you mentioned it,” I say.
“Well, that’s how you are. It’s always all about you, isn’t it?”
We laugh.
“You just remember who’s responsible for your newfound happiness,” I say.
“My sexy fiancé Liam?”
“No. Me. If I hadn’t played eleventh-hour matchmaker to you two knuckleheads, you’d probably be rolled up in the fetal position somewhere right now, crying your eyes out. You both would.”
“That’s sadly true,” she says.
“I know.”
“Oh, whatever. I’m starting to get hungry, so we need to focus. Where should we go for lunch? I’m thinking sushi.”
“Hang on,” I say, distracted by the sight of a familiar scrub-wearing figure with sandy curls and a spectacular ass emerging from a cubicle up ahead and speaking with one of the techs. My heart pumps pleasantly faster, as though someone has shifted my transmission up a gear or two.
“Or I could go for tacos,” Mia adds, but I’m no longer listening.
“Harlow,” I call.
Ally pauses and looks around as she swings her stethoscope around her neck. She sees me and goes very still before reaching up to smooth her hair, which is exactly the sort of body language that keeps me on high alert these days.
The air prickles when we’re around each other. I refuse to believe that I’m the only one who feels it.
Especially when her face brightens—exactly like that—every time I show up.
I head her way, not really caring whether my sister tags along. Nor do I particularly care that my sister, who roots for information about my personal life the way raccoons root for dumpster food outside restaurants every night, will get kindling for her eternal fire to get me happily settled with the right woman. I haven’t seen much of Ally since the other night at the bar, and I don’t intend to let this opportunity pass.
“Dr. Jamison,” Ally says, her attention swinging between me and Mia. “How are you?”
“What brings you down here?” I ask.
“A seven-year-old and his bike decided to take on a tree,” she says with a rueful smile. “The tree won, in case you were wondering. I did what I could, but she’s going to have a Harry Potter scar. I’m guessing this is your sister?”
“It is,” I say, excruciatingly aware of Mia’s rapt attention as I reach out and draw her closer. I know that there’s nothing going on between me and Ally. Yet. I also know that I’m making a grave tactical error by revealing even the smallest hint of my feelings to my nosy sister, who still needles me about some girl I kissed after school in the fifth grade. But there’s something immensely satisfying about bringing these two women together and seeing what happens. Something that feels…important. “How did you know?”
“Because I’m exceptionally observant and clever,” Ally tells me, one delicate brow arched. “And also because she looks like God said, ‘Give me another Michael Jamison, but make it female this time.’” She turns to Mia and extends her hand. “Ally Harlow. Great to meet you.”
“Great to meet you,” Mia says as they shake. Her entire demeanor is perked and alert as she watches Ally, like a golden retriever whose owner has opened the treat jar. “Do you work with Michael?”
“I actually work for him,” Ally says. “Again. He was my chief resident years ago. Now he’s my boss.”
“You poor thing,” Mia says with an exaggerated shudder and grimace.