Page 78 of A Really Bad Idea

“No. And you’re going to tell me all about the gala over lunch.”

I shake my head. “I can’t leave.”

The door to the waiting room opens, and Thomas walks back in. I stand up straight, eager to know the prognosis of Mrs. Lerry.

“You were right. Spontaneous coronary dissection. She’s in surgery now,” he says.

I’m relieved Mrs. Lerry is getting the right care. I give him the rundown on the patients I saw while he was out and let him know about the one waiting for him in the back. He gives a sturdy head nod and pats me on the back, his way of saying I did a good job.

As he walks away, he glances at the vase and grins, making him look just like his son. “Two-dozen roses? I taught my boy right.” He walks away with a proud look on his face.

I cringe at the fact that he knows so much. I lean forward and hit my head against the reception desk.

Angela’s laugh echoes the thumps of my head.

“You are so screwed,” she says.

Oh, she has no idea.

“Now, take me to lunch.”

We head to Starbucks because all I have time for is a grab-and-go lunch. I eye a few of the cake pops in the glass case but decide against it and get a protein box.

“I saw Sexy Nurse Natasha at the gala,” I tell her as we wait to order, hoping no one can hear me over the names being called out and the serene-sounding coffeehouse music on the loudspeakers.

“Give me the dirt! She looked beyond hot, didn’t she?” Angela says. Her giant cat-eye sunglasses make her already small face look extra tiny.

“So hot. Like Midtown Barbie.” It’s my turn to order, so I do so. “Grande, skim caramel latte.”

“Venti, dirty chai,” Angela pipes in. “Dirty chai for a dirty girl.”

I roll my eyes and give the barista our names. Then, I pay for our drinks and boxes. “Anyway, she cornered me and warned me of Christian’s bachelor ways.”

“As if you didn’t already know. He’s a hot-as-fuck doctor. If he were celibate, I’d be concerned.”

A spark of jealousy hits me at her observant yet truthful comment.

We move down the line to the pickup counter and wait for our drinks.

I get bumped in the side as someone grabs a to-go order and continue, “Anyway, I assured her I was not there to be romanced.”

“You’re so full of shit,” she says, and I give her a sneer. “I know; I know. Just friends. Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“She seemed concerned. Told me he would use his tried-and-true moves to get me into bed.”

Her shoulder rolls with the question, “So, did he? Use his moves to get you into bed?”

“No.”

It’s not a lie. He didn’t use his moves to get me into bed. He used Backstreet Boys.

“What’s so funny?” she asks as I chuckle to myself.

“Nothing. It was an interesting night.” I’m still laughing as she looks at me with a puckered mouth. “Oh, relax. I was home before ten.” I turn away from her look that tells me she doesn’t believe me when I see someone standing by the store’s entry, and my stomach drops. “Oh my God.”

Angela turns around in the direction I’m looking. “What’s the matter?”

“Brock,” I state as I stare at my ex-husband, who’s in the order line, talking to a petite brunette with perky boobs and a crop top.