Play with Me (With Me in Seattle, #3)(10)

Written By: Kristen Proby



“Why?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why?” he asks again.

“My deadbeat father used to call me that, during the few times I saw him, and it gives me the yucks. Just don’t, okay?”

“Okay. Never again.” He shrugs and smiles at me. “Sorry.”

I shake my head and start to retreat back to the elevator. “I have to get back.”

“I’ll call you,” he promises, but I just shake my head again and smirk.

“Sure you will,” I respond sarcastically, wave, and disappear into the elevator.





Chapter Four


“Meg, these just came for you.”

I’m sitting at my computer, responding to email and drinking a Starbucks, settling in before I have to take report from the night shift nurse and dig into work. Jill hands me a huge bouquet of flowers, pink roses with calla lilies. I bury my nose in them and breathe them in.

I know who they’re from, but pull the card off the plastic holder and grin at the note.

You forgot to give me your number. Mine is 206-555-3598. Use it, please.

So, he’s a little bossy.

“You gonna call him?” Jill asks from behind me, clearly reading over my shoulder and I laugh.

“I’ll text him for now.”

“Hell, I’d do a lot more than text him. Have you seen him?”

I roll my eyes at her and tuck the card in my scrub pocket. “I was here yesterday, remember?”

“The kids are still talking about it. They were really nice.” Jill grabs a chart and begins making notes.

“Yeah, they were.” I murmur and pull my phone out of my pocket. I add Will’s number to my contact list, but instead of adding his name, I label it Football Star. I smirk and open a fresh text screen.

Thank you for the beautiful flowers.

I hit send and finish my email and coffee, and begin taking report from my co-worker.

About an hour later, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

You’re welcome. Dinner tonight?

He doesn’t waste any time, does he? Tonight is my only evening off through the weekend. Starting tomorrow I’m working swing shifts until Monday, and let’s be honest, I want to see him.

Sure. I’m off work at six.

“Good for you, girl.” I whirl at Jill’s voice and glare at her.

“Do you always read over my shoulder?” I demand.

“No, but now that I know there’s going to be juicy stuff to read, I will be.” She winks and sashays past me into a patient’s room.

I’ll pick you up at seven.



*



“You look fantastic,” Will smiles when I open my front door to him. I’m in a white BoHo-style chiffon dress with a soft lace overlay, the hem hitting me mid-thigh, and my brown cowboy boots. Several long necklaces hang around my neck, a chunky cuff bracelet sits on my left wrist, and my hair is down.

“What did you do to your hair?” He asks.

I chuckle run my fingers through it. “I added a few pink strands. The kids at work think it’s fun, and so do I.”

“Me, too.” He smiles softly and steps back, ushering me out the door.

“Holy shit, you have a Shelby Mustang!” I gasp as I close the door behind me. Will stares down at me and then starts to laugh.

“It’s the same car I drove you home in after the party, Meg.”

I blink up at him and then gaze longingly at his car. I rode in a Shelby and don’t remember? Impossible!

“Please tell me I didn’t throw up in it.”

“Thankfully, no.” He grins down at me and tucks a pink strand of my hair behind my ear.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he follows me down to his spectacular car and opens the door for me.

“I thought we’d just go to a place downtown for dinner and maybe take a walk by the water front.”

Instead of sitting in the leather seat, I walk to the rear of the car and gaze at the snake emblem, the chrome, hell, even the tires are pretty.

The car is black, all black, with tinted windows, making the chrome look even shinier. I feel my eyes glass over and I sigh.

“Meg?”

“Huh?” I glance up into Will’s amused blue eyes and shake my head ruefully. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you okay?” he asks with a chuckle and moves to me, settles his big hand at the small of my back, and between his touch and this car, I can’t breathe.

“This is a Shelby.” I state, as if that explains everything.

“I know,” he responds. “Are you a motor-head?”

“No, I just really, really love your car.” Jesus, I love his car. This car is sexy as hell. Suddenly, I picture myself going down on him in the front seat as he drives and I gasp, squeeze my thighs together and run my fingers through my loose hair.

“What just went through that amazing head of yours?” he asks, his eyes narrowed, as he grips my shoulders and turns me to face him. I swallow.

“Nothing.” I lie.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“Let’s just say, this car is really sexy, and does things to me,” I respond, not looking him in the eye.

“Really,” he drawls and smiles widely. He takes a tiny step closer, and tips my face up to look at him. His other hand snakes around my waist and he starts to lower his face to mine, but I step quickly out of his embrace.