The Blush Factor (The Hawthornes of New York 2)
“Hey, FU!”
I turn as soon I hear that because the voice melts me from the inside out.
I spot Dr. Hawthorne wearing a gray sweater and black pants.
“What the hell is your problem?” A man at least two decades older than Matthew charges toward him with a shopping bag in his hand.
As horrified as I am at the man’s assumption that Matthew was yelling at him, I hold in a giggle.
Matthew stops, holds up a hand, and gifts the man and everyone looking at them with a gorgeous smile. “Not you. I wasn’t talking to you.”
The angry man stops too just a foot away from Matthew. “Who then?”
Matthew points at me before he offers me a full-handed wave. “Her.”
The man’s shoulders tense. “Not cool, man. No one should talk to a woman that way. Listen, I had trouble with my wife, but I kept it together because some things can’t be taken back. Fuck you is one of them.”
Matthew lets out a chuckle. “Agreed. It’s a nickname because F and U are the initials of that lovely lady over there.”
The man steals a glance over his shoulder at me. “Odd nickname, but you do you.”
“Unique nickname.” Matthew shoots him a smile. “As unique as the woman herself.”
The man walks away, muttering something about unique women and his wife.
Matthew approaches me with quick steps.
He tilts his chin up, his dark eyes raking me from head to toe, taking in the white blouse I’m wearing that’s tucked into the front of my jeans. I know he can see my black bra underneath.
I got dressed in a rush this morning. It’s not as though I was planning on seeing him today.
Our paths haven’t crossed since the night I was at his apartment.
Since then, I’ve been focused on studying. I haven’t even taken a moment to peer out my peephole, but that’s because I’ve spent most of my time off-campus in bed. What’s better than being under the covers when you’re trying to cram science facts into your memory?
“Today must be my lucky day.” Matthew stops just short of where I’m standing.
I’m curious, so I ask the expected question. “Why?”
He glances over my shoulder. “I was headed home to find you.”
“Because?” I stick with the one-word queries.
He laughs. “Because I wanted to see if you had time to accompany me to the best hospital cafeteria in the five boroughs.”
Studying him, I suck in a deep breath. “You want me to go to the hospital with you? Are you all right?”
He skims both palms over the front of his sweater. “Never been better.”
I bite the corner of my bottom lip. “Would our trip to the hospital be related to your friend? The one who works in the Emergency Department?”
He nods. “Dr. Gavin Fuller. Saver of lives and the shittiest poker player you’ll ever meet.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“When we were in college, I learned the easy way that if I needed some spare cash, all I had to do was invite Gavin to play cards.”
Smiling, I narrow my eyes. “I’d love to meet your friend.”
“Does the subway work for you?” he asks. “It’s the quickest way to get there other than inside an ambulance.”
“The subway works,” I say, feeling my heart fluttering inside my chest.
I don’t know if it’s Matthew’s smile or the way he looks at me, but I’m feeling very lucky that I get to spend more time with my secret crush, even if it is inside a hospital.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Matthew
Dr. Gavin Fuller shoots me a look as he fields Faith’s questions about what life as an ER doctor is really like.
I know what he’s thinking.
Why the fuck are you hanging out with a pink-haired college student, Hawthorne?
I’ve asked myself that same question dozens of times since I found said pink-haired student’s diary, by why question fate? Why question anything when you feel more alive than you’ve felt in years?
Seeing the exuberance on Faith’s face when I introduced her to Gavin was worth the twenty minutes we spent waiting for him.
We stood in the ER waiting room because that’s where the charge nurse at the admission desk directed us.
I tried to charm her with my winning smile, but she winked at me and told me to move the hell out of the way.
I’m trying to stay out of the way now too, since Faith is driving this conversation or inquisition with a host of questions about what her future might look like.
She stares at Gavin, and he smiles at her.
Fuck him and his thick black hair, green eyes, and that stubble on his jaw.
He looks like a leading man in a medical drama that dishes out a heartbreaking diagnosis to a patient before he screws the female doctor that he argues with non-stop. Unsurprisingly, those doctors always seem to find a cure before the hour is over.
If life mirrored that, I would have considered taking the path Gavin did instead of treating pet patients.