say, dragging the word out. “I sewed it up, no problem. Are you okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Becky looks like if she doesn't move to get a glass of ice water, she might actually start sweating from doing nothing more than standing there.
“I don't know. You just seem nervous. Work got you stressed out? Is that who you were texting? Somebody from work?”
I know this question is a strange one. What I should be asking is how come she looked so happy when she was staring at her phone, but looks so nervous now that she’s looking at me. I should be asking what came across her screen that planted that little smile on her face before she realized I was watching her. I should just ask directly, who were you texting, and ask her to let me see her phone. If she said no, I wouldn’t force her, but I’d know she had something to hide. I’d know. But, that’s just not me. I love Becky more than anything in this world, and to be completely honest, I’m not sure I want to know the answers to any of those questions.
Becky releases another breath and manages to pull herself away from the counter and approach me. I stay planted in the doorway with a puzzled expression still on my face, but Becky strides across the tile floor and wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me into her. The scent of her seductive perfume engulfs me, sending me reeling.
Why does she have to smell so damn good? I’m a sucker for a sexy perfume, I must admit. With a single hug, Becky has already lowered my walls. I feel disarmed by her touched, and the anger and suspicion I was feeling is slowly leaking onto the floor beneath our feet.
“It was work, actually,” Becky admits as she lays her head on my chest and pulls me into an embrace. My arms instinctively wrap around her without me even thinking about it. “It was Dr. Bishop. He was just asking about the order form for his new cabinet. It’s some temperature controlled, fancy unit, and he's impatient about it. I told him to just chill. We’ll get it all organized before the end of the week. It's no big deal.”
Her words zoom past me like whizzing bullets. I know she’s trying to hit me and defuse any aggression I might be feeling, but everything she’s saying is missing me altogether, and I’m not sure I believe a word of it. Someone asking about a cabinet wouldn't put a flirty little smile on my face. If I asked Becky about a cabinet, I bet it wouldn't make her smile. Then again, I’m not Dr. Bishop.
Dr. Daniel Bishop is a thirty-nine-year-old anesthesiologist who works at Bayhealth. He just got out of a divorce, which was enacted because he cheated on his wife. Well, she found out about one particular time he cheated and decided to leave him then. She had no clue about the dozens of other times Dr. Bishop cheated on her.
Dr. Bishop is a playboy, and he makes no attempts to hide it. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s very good-looking, and being nearly forty seems to suit him well. He fits into the silver fox role quite comfortably, with his short black hair and strong jaw. Dr. Bishop is six-one, about a hundred and eighty pounds, and has ocean blue eyes you can see from down the hall. He’s an attractive man, and every nurse I work with would agree with me. Trust me, I’ve heard them swooning over him enough times to know. He's newly single, and embraces the fact that he can do what he wants now, as if it ever stopped him before. Becky never mentioned his looks to me, but I know better.
My head tells me Becky just pulled a slick little move on me. She told the truth about who she was talking to, but then lied about the conversation. It’s a half-truth that’s hard to spot because she actually was honest . My mind tells me to call her out on it, not now, but right now.
My heart, on the other hand, tells me not to make a big deal out of nothing. She told the truth about who she was talking to, and maybe she actually was telling the truth about what was said. I’m sure there was a little more to it than just