Puppy Love. Kelly Moran

out with you. Avery, I'll be over at six thirty to watch Hailey.”

      Flynn shrugged. “I'm in.” He looked at Avery. “Drinks on me for your awesome first week.” Deserting her, too, he went into his office.

      Drake crossed his arms, looking like he wanted to kill Cade for some reason or erase the past five minutes from his memory. “Have fun tonight, kids.”

      “Wait.” Brent pouted. “You have to come, too.”

      “I don't.” Drake turned to go.

      The tech was undeterred, using a teasing singsong voice. “Avery cleaned out and organized the surgical room.”

      Drake paused mid-step, back still to them, and sighed. “One drink and I'm out. And…thanks, Avery.”

      Brent clapped his hands like a giddy child and sauntered off, leaving Avery and Cade alone up front.

      Silence stretched for one minute. Two.

      Slowly, she turned in her chair to face him. “What just happened?”

      He was leaning on the back counter with his chin down and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't look up when he answered. “We just got railroaded.”

      Yeah, she got that part. “For the record, I didn't have any plans for tonight.”

      “Okay.”

      “I was going to take a hot bath and read.”

      He didn't move. “Got it.”

      “Now I do have plans.”

      “Yep,” he said tightly.

      “Because of you. I believe your exact words were, ‘She has plans.’”

      His shoulders tensed. “I remember.”

      She strummed her fingernails on the desk. “What if I wanted to go out with Jeffrey?”

      For that, he lifted his head. “Do you?”

      He pinned her with that blue gaze of his, rife with interest, curiosity, and something that made her belly heat…then her chest…and her cheeks. All flaming. There were some serious mixed signals or crossed wires in the two feet between them. Why would he step in like that if he wasn't…jealous? But that was ridiculous. He was a Trojan god, and she was a divorcee with a kid who'd gotten way too soft around the middle.

      Except he was still staring, waiting for an answer as if it were of utmost importance. She hadn't done this dance in so long she was certain she was reading him wrong.

      He shoved off the counter and made his way over. Backing her chair up to the desk, he leaned down, placed his palms on either side of her to cage her in, and brought his face within inches of hers. The scent of fabric softener and animal fur followed him as he looked in her eyes.

      She stopped breathing. Was pretty sure he did, too.

      “Do you want to go out with him?” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

      He had the start of a five o'clock shadow, which added to his devil-may-care attitude. The gray flecks in his eyes were more noticeable this close to him and the wide, almost bow shape of his mouth was only inches from hers. Sexual tension coiled in her gut, made drawing in air impossible. The heat from his body engulfed.

      Crap on a cracker. “No.”

      He didn't move, but his lids lowered to half-mast when his gaze dipped to her mouth. Lazily, he brought it back up to her eyes. One corner of his lips quirked. “Good.”

      He straightened and headed toward his office. “I'll pick you up at seven.” He was halfway there before she blinked and recovered.

      “I can drive myself.”

      “Never said you couldn't.” He kept right on going.

      She bit her lip. “This isn't a date.”

      “Never said it was.” He stopped in his office doorway and turned to face her. His gaze leveled on her and held her captive. For a second, he seemed uncertain, but it was gone before she could react. Slowly, he drew in air and palmed the doorknob. “If we do ever go on a date, you'll know it's a date. And we'll be alone.”

      She shivered.

      He shut his office door.