Scandalous Scotsman - M.J. Fields Page 0,4

will make yer physical therapy easier.”

“Physical therapy?” I gasp while calculating the costs that keep increasing in my head.

A knock on the door causes him to look back.

The receptionist steps in, holding a boot. “Dr. Stewart, we have—”

“Not the correct size,” he cuts her off.

“I can—”

“Ye’re free to leave. No need for two of us to have to change our plans.”

“Would you like me to pick up—”

“I’m all set,” he cuts her off again.

“Thank you, Dr. Stewart.”

Once she’s out the door, he looks back, and I shake my head at him.

“What?”

“For a doctor, I’d have to say, your bedside manner is lacking.”

I swear I see just a brief bit of amusement glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m a surgeon, a bone man, Ms. Bloom. If I can’t fix it, I nail it or screw it.”

Lord, take me now, I silently plea.

I can’t say if I’m even fifty percent sure of what Dr. Stewart said after nail it or screw it, but … tingles, and a return appointment for the damn boot.

“Four fifteen on Wednesday work, Ms. Bloom?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Do you think ye can manage to be on time?”

I roll my eyes as I grab my crutches and hurry past him.

Men. Broody, cocky, arrogant men … my weakness. Add an accent and, apparently, it’s my kryptonite. I should seek counseling for that. I’m going to. Should have started after my breakup, or at very least after my online dating catastrophes.

He steps in front of me, filling the doorway.

“Excuse me.”

When he doesn’t move, I look up from his huge leather shoes and watch his eyebrow perch high as he looks down at me.

“Clothes, Ms. Bloom.”

Oh. My. God.

4:40 PM

Haphazardly dressed and on crutches, I hurry out the door and toward my car, trying to out-crutch the contradictory feelings that seem to be plaguing me.

While fumbling through my purse for my keys, my phone begins to ring.

I hit “decline,” grab my keys, unlock the door, and then slide in my seat, forgetting how sore my ass was until that moment.

“Shit,” I grumble as I adjust my body weight and grab my phone to see four missed calls.

“Really, weirdo?” I huff. “Take a freaking hint.”

The phone rings again, same damn number, and I have had enough. I hit “accept.”

“Before you say a damn word, you pervert, I’m obviously not interested. I fell down the stairs, you sicko; that’s the only reason you got a glimpse of the goods, you depraved, dick-pic peddler. And just so you know, no one needs to see that thing, so stick it in your ass, you freaky cyber flasher. And stop calling my phone or I’ll report you!”

I hit “end call,” then “delete,” “delete,” “delete,” and toss my phone on the passenger seat. When I push the key into the ignition and look up, I see him with his phone to his ear as a smirk spreads across his far too-handsome face.

It couldn’t be …

Could it?

Looking in my rearview, I watch as a black Rover follows close behind, driven by none other than Dr. Dirty himself. I hit the accelerator and just barely make it through the yellow light at the intersection to get to the onramp and lose him.

Speeding— yes, speeding— down the highway, outrunning not only the thought of him, because he’s clearly not behind me, but the thought of him is still sitting shotgun, my phone rings again.

Annoyed, I hit the “accept” button on the steering wheel. “I’m so over this game with you.”

“Oh, boy. You exchange numbers on a dating app again?”

I sigh when I hear the voice of my work bestie, our school counselor, Tonya.

After my ex and I separated, I slid down the rabbit hole that is “online dating,” innocently … at first.

I did what most women motivated to rise above their situation do. I worked as many minimum wage part-time jobs as I could, while attending college part-time to gain my master’s, leaving little time to fill a void that desperately settles in our hearts as we lie in bed at night alone, wondering when our fairy tale will come true.

With a schedule so busy that it seemed a chore to even begin socializing, and a heart that was still on the mend from the all-powerful three punches driven by the fist of the universe, I resorted to online dating. I wouldn’t say I was … desperate, but there were times I thought maybe I was acting as if I was. Reality was: it eased my loneliness.

That third punch, though, it nearly did me in.