Second First Kiss

Chapter 8

Jasher

“Dr. Hotchkiss.” Sage met him at the door of room 103. Her dark chestnut hair was pulled back, but it had a deep luster, and that gaze shone like a beacon, drawing him to her. Man, she did something to him, just like since he’d first noticed her as a smitten teen—long before he’d taken Danny’s dare to pay to kiss her at that fundraising booth in ninth grade.

He needed to know this woman better—despite having to go on five dates with who-knew-what-old-lady who bid five figures on his five lame date offerings last night.

Which was why he’d had her paged to come to Danny’s room just before his checkout. Jasher had to convince Sage he wasn’t the jerk she and everyone thought he was. No matter what she’d heard about him circulating in the Mendon rumor mill.

He couldn’t have her exist in the world and think badly of him—which she obviously did, considering what she’d said to Danny a couple of days ago. I know who I’m not bidding on.

Obviously she’d kept her promise of that, at least not by donating the highest bid. As a nurse anesthetist, and a young one with student loans what they were, Sage couldn’t possibly have bid enough to win the dates over what those deep-pocketed old ladies could fork over.

“Mr. Dooley is being prepped for discharge. I thought you’d like to give him a final look before he checks out of the hospital.”

“That’s thoughtful.” Sage made as if to go into the room, at which point Jasher blocked her. A nurse walked by with an IV and saline bag on a rolling cart. Everyone was around, and no heart-to-heart could possibly happen.

A curse danced behind his teeth. This had been a terrible plan. He couldn’t have her going in there talking to Danny Dooley. Danny was liable to spill his guts—or Jasher’s—about the undying crush of a freshman on a hot senior girl.

“I believe they’ve just come with paperwork. How about we take a little walk until that’s finished?” Lame premise. He was so transparent. Jasher reached for Sage, placing his hand on her elbow to steer her down the hallway. Wow, her skin was soft. Supple. Amazing.

“A little walk.” Sage looked surprised, but she went along with it. “Okay. Maybe should we check on other patients? I heard Mrs. Ferguson has checked out.”

Right. “Spider monkey victim.” Mrs. Ferguson had begged to leave the hospital incessantly from the moment of her admission, pressing the nurse assist button repeatedly until Jasher had promised to look for Yolanda the monkey at Fish and Game. “They found her pet for her and she’s happily reunited by now. Despite the blood-loss.”

“People do weird things.”

“Tell me something.” They strode through the long hallway with picture windows showing the back garden plaza of the U-shaped hospital. “I heard you had married. But your last name is still Everton?”

She didn’t blink. “Widowed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sort of. He should at least try to sound sorry.

“Don’t be.” Her tone was clipped. “It was both brief and unhappy. Thus the quick reclaiming of my last name.”

Oh. How was he supposed to respond to that—besides with the sheer elation? His inner NASCAR stock car shifted down several gears for torque and rev with a roar of engine. Sage is single.

They came around the next corner to a nurses’ station swamped with jollity. Someone had brought in a birthday cake and streamers and those blowy things that made noise.

Forget that. Jasher halted and tugged her backward to an empty room with the door ajar. The birthday party erupted in song, and Jasher swung the door shut, just to hear himself think.

Man, she was gorgeous. He tugged at the collar of his scrubs. Damp. Where was his self-restraint? Gone, like yesterday’s sharps.

“Dr. Hotchkiss, I—”

“You’re on edge, and I am anxious to put you at ease, frankly. I’ll get right to the point. Are you mad at me the same way as is everyone else in Mendon?”

“They should be mad at you.”

“Come on, Sage.” Not her, too. Please! “You don’t seem the type to hold sports grudges like the rest of these people. A dozen or so years away from here, and I have learned a few things, like not everyone on earth obsesses about high school sports. There are happy people everywhere who’ve never once watched a state basketball tournament.”

Her face crunched. “I don’t actually know what you’re talking about.”

So she was mad at him for something else? “Then why are you mad at me, if not for fouling the Grace Springs Wildcats’ center with seconds to go before the buzzer at the state championship game?”

“You did that?”

“He made both free throws.”