Chapter Five
Theo
A bathroom door isn’t going to stand between me and the one woman I’ve thought about every day for the past seven years. That deep suntan has made her big brown eyes appear even browner. And she’s wearing shorts, so I got a great view of those sexy, curvy legs.
I ease open the door and listen. I don’t want to get smacked by a random female trying to do her business. Juliet leans over the sink and splashes water over her face. She mumbles something to herself. I can only make out random words, but most of it could be Pig Latin for all I know. I could stand here and stare at her for hours. I don’t know what it is about her, but the sight of her still does it for me. I could have waited until she came out, but I would rather have a few minutes alone with her after all this time, even if it’s a risky move.
Through her dark hair, which hides most of her face, she glances my way, not stopping her face washing or babbling. She tries to snatch some paper towels out of the dispenser, and they fly through the air, missing her shaking hands. “Are you lost?” she asks as she kneels down to pick up the mess on the floor.
I take her arm to help her stand.
“This is the women’s bathroom, you know,” she adds.
Whoa. Not what I expected. Maybe our time together didn’t mean very much to her. I thought we had something special. I wanted her real name, a real relationship. But she vanished after the fire, and no one I asked seemed to have a clue who she was. This little reunion is a shock to me too. I would like to know what she’s been doing all these years, but I get the feeling she doesn’t have the same curiosity.
“Yeah, well, we met in a bathroom, so I thought it was appropriate.” I cannot stop the Cheshire Cat grin from spreading across my face.
She stands there, focusing on the hand dryer, the sink, everywhere except my eyes. Cat’s got her tongue. I wish this cat did.
“Hello… Romeo.” Finally, she speaks.
I throw my head back and chuckle as I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. The edge of my shirt absorbs a puddle of water. “It’s you, after all this time.”
She throws the paper towels in the trash can, and her eyes flit around the room again. Sorry, girl. It’s only you and me.
It’s as if her hands can’t figure out what to do. I can help her with that. Eventually, she’s going to have to face me. She crosses her arms and huffs. I enjoy the scenery while she clenches and unclenches her fists. She is as beautiful as I remember. Not model, stop-and-stare beautiful, but purely, completely perfect-for-me beautiful. And she still wears that same uncertain “I’m not good enough” look on her face. But today, it’s coupled with a nasty nail-spitting stare. She waxes and wanes from seeming upset to acting as if she’s ready to smack me. Maybe I should take a step back in case she wants to make contact, and not the fun kind.
I remember how much her face lit up when she finally realized I really liked her and that I wasn’t playing her like some random hookup. We did hook up, but I was already gaga over her by that time. I remember later that night when she woke up in my arms, with one leg slung across mine, dangerously close to the fun zone. It’s something I’ll never forget. But here we are seven years later, and she seems scared again. Well, let’s see what I can do to get rid of that feeling for good.
“So, how long has it been?” She wears a painted-on smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I’m trying to be nice here, but she’s not making it easy. “About seven years, give or take a few months and days.” Actually, it’s been seven years, one month, and sixteen days, not that I’m counting.
“Nice to see you,” she says.
She could have fooled me. I don’t have a long history of girlfriends, and I’m certainly not a master of body language, but I’m pretty good at knowing when I’m not wanted.
I take a step toward her anyway, knowing good and well that I might regret it. She steps back, bumping into the paper towel dispenser. I reach out to flip over her ID badge. She has conveniently clipped it on her shirt so her picture and name aren’t showing. She swats my hand away.
“Whaaa? I still can’t know your real name?”
She crinkles her forehead.
I lean against the counter again, and my entire face lights up. “It’s really good to see you.” Inside, I’m doing a happy dance and yelling, “Yes.” This isn’t the happy reunion I imagined we would have one day, but I can work with this.
“Well, I need to get back to work,” she whispers. She tries to push past me, but she’s not getting away that easily.
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Please.”
Her eyes flick to mine for a second before she looks away again. She doesn’t need to be afraid of me. It wasn’t my fault a fire interrupted the best night of my life.
I run my hands down her arms. “You can’t leave before I know your name.”
She stretches her lips into a tight line as she averts her eyes from me.
“I thought I’d lost you. You gotta at least give me a name. Preferably, a real name this time.”
A tear slides down her cheek. I’m not sure what happened. I hope to God I didn’t hurt her.
She shrugs my arms off her and wipes the tear away. “Are you kidding me?”
“Well, crap on a cracker!” a girl says from the bathroom doorway. “Uh, Darla, sorry to interrupt, but we need you out here.”
She pushes past me. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Ha!” I pump my fist into the air. “Your name is Darla.”
She grins at me. This one lights up her whole face. “Fine. My name is Darla. Are you happy now? Like you didn’t know already.”
I rub my scruffy bearded chin and saunter toward her until there are only centimeters between us. She sucks in a breath when I lean in to whisper in her ear, “But to make sure we’re clear, my name is not Dr. Hotness. Or was it Dr. Cutie Patootie? I can never keep it straight.”
Her face loses all expression. “Do you have bionic ears or something?”
And the Cheshire Cat shows itself again.
She race-walks out of the bathroom.
“You want to explain that?” the other girl asks as they scamper away.
“Later.”
While I pace in the hallway, I roll my shoulders, crack my knuckles, and anything else I can think of to calm my nerves. I can’t put it off any longer, so I get in line to have my blood drawn by none other than Juliet a.k.a. Darla. I don’t have time for a relationship right now. Hell, I am only weeks out from under Mallory’s stranglehold; I don’t need to dive into anything else right now. I just need to take a breath and enjoy the view.
But I can’t figure out Darla’s attitude. Jeez. Southern belles sure have changed since I’ve been gone. In my mind, I keep repeating her words. “Like you don’t know.” Of course, I don’t know her name. If I did, our second encounter would have happened a long time ago. Maybe she has some special mind-reading skills from nursing school, something they didn’t let us doctors know about, because I’m completely clueless, as usual.
A tall, dark-skinned, perfect specimen of a man helps Darla with the blood samples. The way they chitchat with one another makes it obvious they spend a lot of time together. Okay, so this may be the reason she freaked out. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend, or fiancé, or even worse—husband. Gah.
“You want to tell me what happened?” he mumbles through a painted-on smile.
“Not now,” she replies in a hushed tone while she jerks her hair into a fast ponytail.
Finally, it’s my turn in the barrel to get my blood drawn. In a singsong voice, the dude says, “Dr. Hotness, coming up. I’m getting tingly.”
Okay, something tells me I don’t have to worry about this dude being her boyfriend or husband. I don’t even know him, and he cracks me up. I step up to the table and stare down at her. I hold out my paperwork, which she immediately snatches out of my grip.
She lasers in on the sticker with my name on it. “Well, hello, Romeo… I mean Dr. Theo Edwards. Have a seat.” Her tone is all professional as she focuses on her blood-drawing supplies and her neat little stacks of paper.
I sit across from her, trying to hold in how excited I am. “Juliet, a.k.a. Darla, how’s it going?”
The dude eyeballs me before making eye contact with Darla. “Am I missing something?” he asks. I can almost see the spinning hamster wheel in his brain.
She shakes her head as she runs her hand down my arm, searching for a good vein. Her touch feels really good. I cannot resist the temptation to curl my fingers so I can brush her arm. A nice tingly feeling circulates through my body. She peeks at me through a strand of hair that has escaped her ponytail. I cock an eyebrow. Perhaps she feels it too, even through her gloves.
When she finally says something, she makes it obvious that she’s reading my name off of my newly printed ID badge. “This may hurt a bit, Doctor… Patootie.” She adds that last word under her breath.
“I’m a big boy. I’ve been pricking my finger at least five times a day since I was seven.”
The dude giggles at the word “prick.”
“Oh yeah, I remember.” She fingers my MedicAlert bracelet before she checks out the insulin pump clipped onto my belt. “I see you got a new pump.”
“The count is up to five now. I really should buy stock in the company that makes them.”
She wipes my arm down with an alcohol pad. The tourniquet she applied makes my bicep muscle flex more than it normally would. I love that she can’t seem to tear her eyes away. When she sticks the needle in my arm, I don’t even notice because I’m so used to having blood drawn, checking my blood sugar, and giving myself insulin shots. Except now it’s Darla sticking me. She’s going to make my sugar level spike so much, I’m going to need ten units of Novolog, stat.
She gives the dude a stare down. He has a funny, confused, puppy-dog expression on his face, flip-flopping his attention from me to her, and finally landing on me.
I shrug. “We knew each other in college,” I say in the most nonchalant voice I can muster.
“No, we didn’t,” she replies, her voice ending in a high-pitched squeak.
Denial. “Did too.”
She finishes with the first tube and inserts the second one into the needle. She inverts the first tube before handing it off to the guy. I notice his name tag says Isaac.
“We met in college,” she clarifies to him. “We did not know each other.”
“Wow. That’s all it was?” Could have fooled me.
“Yep.”
“I disagree.”
She snorts. “We remember things quite differently, don’t we?”
Isaac seems as if he’s watching a tennis match. He stares at me, waiting for me to reply.
I can’t help the impish grin that I am sure is plastered all over my face.
She steels her eyes on me. “Don’t go there.”
“Go where?” I’m not good at playing dumb. “I was going to say… never mind.” My Southern gentleman manners kick in. If she’s not comfortable sharing our private time, I’m good with that.
Isaac gasps. “Juliet, have you been holding out on me?”
Her ears transform into a deep sunburn color in two seconds flat. They almost match the color I’m sure is smeared across my face.
“I think we’re done here.” She hands Isaac the second tube, removes the needle, and slaps a gauze pad on the blood draw site before applying medical tape to my arm. She did it so fast, she really should think about roping calves in a rodeo. The thought of strapping pink Coban tape around a calf’s legs makes me chuckle.
“Your results will be ready no later than tomorrow. You can pull them up online.”
She removes her gloves and throws them in the waste container. She ducks her head low, hoping her hair covers the grin growing on her face, but she’s not successful. When she musters the nerve, her eyes lock on mine. I’m doomed. She nibbles on her bottom lip, and her eyes jet away from my gaze. She may be done with me, but I’m not letting her go that easily, not by a long shot. We’ll finish this when there are fewer prying eyes.
She starts packing up her supplies.
The girl who barged in on us in the bathroom stops at the table. “I think we’re about finished, thank God. How’s it going over here?”
“We’re real good,” Isaac says. “I’ve been having the nicest conversation with two star-crossed lovers.”
I bust out a loud laugh and fist-bump Isaac as I get up to leave.
Darla groans in frustration.
The girl regards me, glances over at Darla, then looks back at me. “Wait, what?”