Literally.
Connor glances at a message on his phone and gestures toward the door. “I’ve gotta get out on the floor.”
“Okay, I’m heading home now. Bye, Connor.”
Before he heads for the door, he moves to me—close and sudden and so near I can feel the heat radiating off him. Then he offers me his phone.
“Do you want to give me your number now?” A new contact page is pulled up with my name on it. “So I can text you about the wedding stuff?”
“Yes! Right, of course.”
I add my number, save that bad boy, and hand the phone back. Connor taps the screen for a moment.
“I just sent you a text, so you have my number too. If you need it.”
And then he puts his hand on my right shoulder, giving it a gentle, quick squeeze.
“Bye, Violet. Take care.”
He turns around and walks out so quickly that by the time I answer, the door is already swinging closed behind him.
“I will,” I say to an empty room.
It’s not a big deal. Connor is a friendly guy, a confident guy. Easily affectionate—I’ve seen him hug some of the other nurses—on birthdays or when a family member passes or new babies arrive.
It probably doesn’t mean anything and that’s totally okay.
Still . . . I press my hand to my shoulder, covering the spot Connor touched that’s still warm and tingling. And that’s when I decide that cracking my head open like a melon and looking like a moron doing it?
Totally worth it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Connor
You’d make an awesome Frankenstein???
It’s a weird feeling walking around wanting to punch yourself in the face.
But that’s exactly how I’ve felt all week—every time I think about the stellar compliment I gave Violet the last time I saw her.
Frankenstein . . .
Dumbass.
Vi and I aren’t on the same schedule at work for the next few days, so I kept checking my phone, figuring once the full realization of my idiocy sunk in, she’d send a polite but uncomfortable text message bailing on the wedding.
But the text never came.
So here I am.
Outside her quaint, stone, hobbit-cottage of a house—which was the servants’ quarters back when this property was owned by the first mayor of Lakeside—wearing my gray suit and burgundy tie, to pick her up for Dean and Lainey’s big day. The sound of my truck door closing bounces off the lake beside her house and echoes in the air. I straighten my jacket and rub my palms on the sides of my pants. Because . . . I’m nervous.
And I don’t get nervous. I don’t really know why I am now. It’s just a wedding, like Violet said—just two coworkers and semi-friends going together for the sake of convenience and seating arrangements. It shouldn’t be a big deal.
But it feels like it is.
Or that it has the potential to be.
Halfway up the cobblestone walk to her house, the wooden front door opens and Violet steps out onto the front stoop.
I stop and stare—a dazed, automatic whisper slipping from my mouth.
“Even better than the bunny scrubs.”
Her hair is down and finally seeing it in the flesh puts my imagination to shame. It frames her face in glossy, russet waves that fall over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back. Her bangs gently brush her eyebrows, highlighting her delicate features—big innocent eyes, her dainty nose, her pert chin, and perfectly rosy, high cheekbones.
A simple, strapless merlot-colored dress molds perfectly to her body—putting the swell of full breasts, her slim waist, the rounded curve of her hips that would be fucking perfect to hold onto, and the toned length of her endless legs—on naked display. A single, round diamond hanging from a thin silver chain rests below her clavicle, just inches above a teasing crease of cleavage.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” I swallow roughly. “You look . . . ”
I search for a word that fits. Exquisite? Stunning? Edible? They all fall short.
“. . . almost too good to be true.”
Vi’s eyes dance and her lips curve into a bright, immediate smile.
“Thank you.” She scans me over, taking in my thick combed hair, then trailing down my torso and thighs before coming to rest on my shined dress shoes. I’ve been checked out by enough women in my life to know that Violet likes what she sees.
That knowledge melts away my nerves—and my heart pounds a little faster, my lungs squeeze a little tighter, with the pleasant zing of anticipation.
“You look pretty unbelievable too.” Her dark eyes alight on my tie. “We match.”
I glance down, picking up the silk fabric.
“We do.”
She lifts a pair of maroon, open-toed sandals with beading on the front and about three-inch heels. “I figured it was safer to put these on once we’re there. Didn’t want to risk busting an ankle or a kneecap before we even make it through the door.”