47. DELE
Chapter 47
DELE
“Dr. Beiz is checking you out again,” Jax whisper-shouts to me. I swear she’s going to get me in trouble someday soon with her repeated side comments about Dr. Beiz checking me out.
It doesn’t help that all I’ve told Jax about my marriage is that it’s just someone to help with my legal documents and it’s all transactional. I didn’t tell her who my husband is, and she cares less about him, as long as she and I get to keep working together—and I’m fine with that. She seems to think Dr. Beiz is a golden ticket for me, because every single nurse or doctor is trying to land him. I barely paid attention to him before I married my freakishly handsome husband. I was too busy with life kicking my ass to notice a sexy doctor. Now, with strong arms wrapped around me every night, like he’s trying to make sure I don’t slip away while he sleeps, Dr. Beiz is so far off my radar that Alaska is closer than he is for me to notice.
Unfortunately, in the last few weeks, I’ve felt his eyes on me, and Jax doesn’t help by calling it out every fucking second. He finds ways to talk to me about stupid stuff, in my opinion, and sometimes finds ways to keep me attached to his patients. He claims he likes my attention to detail. Yes, I do have that skill, but Jax does, too. I honestly believe her eager vibe turns him off, which she sometimes laughs off. My work bestie can be over the top; subtle isn’t in her vocabulary when she’s man-scouting—or as she likes to say, when she’s horny.
“Dele, how about dinner sometime?” Dr. Beiz says to me. I need not turn my head or body to know that Jax is giving me the ‘I told you so’ look. I wish he didn’t ask at the nurse’s station. Aside from Jax, little Ms. Gossip, aka Lynda, isn’t far. I hear her gasp. I can’t bury my head in the sand and act like I didn’t hear him. I get the feeling he won’t get the message. I sign the information on the iPad and pass it to Jax, who throws me a wink. I returned a furrowed brow to her. Sucking it in, I put on a brave face and a feigned smile, then turn to him.
“Rain check, my evenings are booked,” I say with a convincing smile—or I believe it’s convincing.
“Lunch then,” he replies with a tone of ‘I’m not giving up that easy.’ I mentally grunt my annoyance. The sounds of a wheelchair squeaking by distract me for a second. He takes my hand to get my attention. I pull my hand away from his hold. Since when did we become touchy friends? I give him a questioning look to check him, but I’m not getting the vibe that he understands. I check my watch. Luke will be calling me soon. We’re making a quick visit to Baba’s place.
“Classes and work have taken that as well,” I reply and hope that answer suffices. I look away from him and turn my attention to a file that isn’t mine, just to show my disinterest.
“I guess you don’t eat. Maybe a coffee?” he says, flashing me a smile. I’m thinking, seriously, dude? I’m letting you down politely. Get the hint. Again, he’s not reading my body language, nor is he getting that my short responses are indicative of a polite no.
“Maybe another time, I have a full cup already,” I say, raising my covered cup of tea.
“I can go get my cup and we can meet at door 5.” He’s killing me. I’m running out of polite ways to say ‘no’ to a powerhouse like him in this hospital.
“That would be a ‘no’ as well.” I hear him behind me, and my body responds to his deep, gruff voice. Every part of me awakens. I know he heard the conversation. My husband is here.