That hot, weighted thing inside me might as well be ballooning to fill up all the nooks and crannies of my chest now, and it feels dangerous, allowing myself to bask in it, to take even a moment to revel in the sensation. Maybe it is dangerous, but it doesn’t stop me from doing it, anyway.

“Same,” I say lamely. “I mean—you too.”

His smile really should be illegal, I think idly. I’m almost grateful that he only seems to bring it out when he’s around me; if everyone else knew how good he looks when he smiles, I might have some healthy competition gunning for me.

Wow, Mack, you might as well be writing his name in your notebook with little hearts.

“I was thinking,” Noah says, breaking through my pathetic thoughts. “We’re both off this weekend.”

My pulse picks up. “Yeah?”

“It’s just . . . last weekend.” He clears his throat. “We didn’t have a lot of time to just . . . be, I guess.”

Images flash through my mind, ones of me begging and him thoroughly giving. I press my thighs a little tighter against each other. “We didn’t.”

“I was just thinking . . . If you wanted, that is. No pressure if you don’t, but I was considering how much closer my place is to downtown, and I thought that if you didn’t have plans—which you might, and that’s completely okay—but if you didn’t, I thought—”

A giant of a man who looks like he does and smells like he does should not be this adorable when he’s floundering. “Spit it out, Noah.”

“You could spend the weekend at my place,” he says in a rush. “If you wanted. Just to . . . spend some more time together. See what’s here.”

“It almost sounds like you’re trying to lock me in your bedroom and have your way with me,” I tease.

His eyes darken slightly, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “Among other things,” he tells me slowly, looking half-surprised that he’s said the words. “But . . . I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

My chest might actually burst with the way it continues to swell. I have to bring my bowl to my mouth and sip down the last bits of my soup just to hide the giddy grin on my face, collecting myself for a moment before setting it back on the table and lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

“I’m game if you are,” I tell him, showing much less excitement than I’m feeling in some last-ditch effort to play it cool.

Noah looks relieved, his lips rolling as he wets them and drawing my eye to the movement. At this moment, I can almost imagine myself chucking every last bit of the soup still waiting for me to try in the nearby garbage can just so I can get out of here faster and back to Noah’s bedroom.

I realize then that I might be in real trouble.

OceanofPDF.com

20

“Dr. Taylor?”

I blink, noticing the woman in scrubs looking at me expectantly. “Hm?”

“You okay?” She quirks an eyebrow at me. “You’ve been kind of . . . smiling at the coffee maker for like a full minute. It’s sort of creepy, to be honest.”

“Sorry.” My eyes flick to her name tag. “Jessica.” I frown, her name sounding familiar but I can’t place from where. “Can I help you?”

Jessica smirks. “Been hunting you down for almost an hour. You still haven’t signed off on Mr. Guzman’s chart.”

“Oh.” Shit. That’s unlike me to make them wait so long. “Sorry, I was . . . distracted.”

“Mhm.” The nurse crosses her arms, looking less annoyed and more . . . smug. “I’ll bet you are.”

“Pardon?”

She waves me off. “If you could just get those signed off for me, I promise I won’t come hunt you down in the doctors’ lounge again.”

“Right, right.” I straighten the collar of my white coat in a flustered gesture. “I’ll do that right now.”

Jessica is still smirking when she turns away, tossing her hand up over her shoulder in a wave. “Congrats on your mating, by the way!”

That was . . . odd. I shake my head, trying to pull myself together. It’s not the first time since last weekend that I’ve lost myself in the memories of Mackenzie in my space for an entire weekend. Her scent is in my sheets and my kitchen and all over my couch—and in the time since she’s gone back to sleeping at her place, I find myself missing her presence in my home more and more. Which makes no sense, given that we’ve only been on one official date.

I think the staff thinks I might be on the verge of some sort of psychotic break; I’ve walked into a room more than once to ceased conversations and wide-eyed stares—not to mention how hysterical Mackenzie finds the matter of the hospital being abuzz with “Dr. Taylor smiling for the first time ever.” Which can’t be true, I would think. Surely I’ve smiled before I met Mackenzie. Surely.

I abandon the task of getting coffee, shuffling out of the lounge and back to my office so I can sign off on that chart before Jessica the RN comes looking for me again. When it’s done, I consider texting Mackenzie, wondering if twice in one morning before she’s had time to reply would come off as annoying. I check my emails instead, trying to distract myself from anything that might make me seem more obsessed than I already seem.

There’s a response to my dodgy reply to Albuquerque asking for more time to consider, reminding me that they need an answer from me as soon as possible. I ignore it, telling myself a few more days won’t hurt. I can discuss it with Mackenzie soon, I think. Now that we’re—

I frown, leaning back in my chair. It occurs to me that we haven’t exactly . . . defined what we are. I would like to think that we are more than just pretend now, but given my lack of experience in the matters of dating—I can’t be entirely sure. Maybe that’s something we should talk about as well. Even if the thought of doing so ties my stomachs into knots, because what if she thinks it’s too soon? What if she isn’t interested in entertaining the idea of a real relationship with me after only one date and a handful of intimate encounters?

It’s a question that’s been plaguing me since the night I took her out.

I blow out a breath as I sink down further in my chair, closing my eyes and wondering how I’ve allowed myself to fall into such a predicament. Attachments have never been my thing, and Mackenzie is the last person I ever would have pictured myself with—so why is it that everything about her has me on a constant edge, counting the seconds until I can hear her voice again, enjoy her scent again, touch her again. It’s all I can think about anymore. A steady beat pulsing through my brain of Mackenzie Mackenzie Mackenzie.

“Dr. Taylor to room 807. Dr. Taylor to room 807.”

I sit up, my brow knitting together. The eighth floor is currently undergoing construction, which means they’re barely using it at the moment. What could they possibly need me for up there?

I push up from my desk with a sigh, thinking that it will at least distract me from texting Mackenzie again. The elevator is blessedly empty, and I ride it up to the eighth floor with mild curiosity as I wonder what could have happened, hoping that someone on the reno team didn’t have an accident. Then again, if something did occur, I would have to assume they would bring them down to my floor, not the other way around.

I step off the elevator to more empty space, noting the scattered equipment and tools but the distinct lack of workers. Half the hall lights are off; the overheads seem to be missing several bulbs, giving the entire floor a creepy sort of feel. I wonder idly if I’m being pranked somehow, which irritates me. I huff as I pick up my pace to room 807, preparing to give someone a piece of my mind if they’re wasting my time as some sort of joke at my expense. I know I’m not flush with friends in this place, but really, this is just—