you’re obviously dedicated, focused and driven, and those are great attributes in the practice of medicine. But when they carry over into your personal life, it suggests that something happened that compels you to rigidly and ruthlessly control every aspect of your life.”
“You’re reading an awful lot into the fact that I use a kitchen timer when I cook my pasta.”
“It’s not just the pasta,” he told her. “You have your highlighters aligned in the spectrum of the rainbow.”
“I didn’t realize being organized was a character flaw.”
“I’m the same way when it comes to every examination and procedure I perform in the ER,” he admitted. “But when I walk out of the hospital at the end of my shift, I let that go and relax.”
“Good for you.”
“You should let go a little, too,” he suggested. “You’re wound up like a torsion spring and one of these days, all of the energy trapped inside of you is going to let loose. Or maybe that is what happened in the supply closet.”
“That’s a better explanation than anything I could come up with,” she acknowledged. “And maybe, after more than two years, it was time to let loose a little.”
His brows lifted. “Are you telling me that it was more than two years since you’d had sex?”
“I’m sure it’s not some kind of celibacy record.”
“Sorry, it’s just that—wow. Two years.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine.”
She rolled her eyes. “We both know you can’t imagine—that’s why I wanted the test.”
Chapter Five
“R ight. The test.”
For a few minutes, Justin had forgotten the reason he was here—the only reason Avery was making dinner for him.
As if on cue, a buzzer sounded from the kitchen.
“That’s the pasta,” she said, automatically turning away.
He caught her hand, halting her before she reached the door. She glanced over her shoulder, a quizzical expression on her face.
“I just wanted to say thanks—for offering to cook for me tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” she said cautiously.
“I know that you don’t really approve of me—”
“And I know you aren’t really concerned about my approval.”
He lifted a shoulder. “But you should know that only about half of the rumors that circulate around the hospital are true.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
“And while I can’t control what other people say, I don’t kiss and tell. Ever.”
“I know,” she admitted.
The timer in the kitchen buzzed again.
“I really need to get that pasta off the stove.”
But he still didn’t release her hand and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made her uneasy.
“The noodles are going to be overcooked,” she said again, and that was when she realized what he was doing. “You’re stalling me on purpose.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked innocently.
“To wind up my torsion spring.”
“People don’t actually have torsion springs—I only said you were like a torsion spring.”
“If you don’t let me get back to the kitchen right now, I’m going to let loose all of my tension in your direction.”
He grinned. “Promises, promises.”
But this time when she turned away, he let her go.
She had a colander in the sink and a distinctly unhappy look on her face when he returned to the kitchen. She dumped the noodles into the bowl and carried them to the table she must have set when she got out of the shower.
“If dinner is ruined, it’s your fault,” she told him.
“Dinner is not ruined,” he promised, retrieving the salad from the fridge.
But she still looked skeptical as she scooped penne out of the serving bowl and into her pasta bowl. She ladled sauce on the top and waited until he had done the same before she picked up her fork.
“Did your mother teach you how to cook?” he asked, after he’d sampled his first mouthful.
She shook her head. “My mother is a senior research supervisor at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta—she
“You’re reading an awful lot into the fact that I use a kitchen timer when I cook my pasta.”
“It’s not just the pasta,” he told her. “You have your highlighters aligned in the spectrum of the rainbow.”
“I didn’t realize being organized was a character flaw.”
“I’m the same way when it comes to every examination and procedure I perform in the ER,” he admitted. “But when I walk out of the hospital at the end of my shift, I let that go and relax.”
“Good for you.”
“You should let go a little, too,” he suggested. “You’re wound up like a torsion spring and one of these days, all of the energy trapped inside of you is going to let loose. Or maybe that is what happened in the supply closet.”
“That’s a better explanation than anything I could come up with,” she acknowledged. “And maybe, after more than two years, it was time to let loose a little.”
His brows lifted. “Are you telling me that it was more than two years since you’d had sex?”
“I’m sure it’s not some kind of celibacy record.”
“Sorry, it’s just that—wow. Two years.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine.”
She rolled her eyes. “We both know you can’t imagine—that’s why I wanted the test.”
Chapter Five
“R ight. The test.”
For a few minutes, Justin had forgotten the reason he was here—the only reason Avery was making dinner for him.
As if on cue, a buzzer sounded from the kitchen.
“That’s the pasta,” she said, automatically turning away.
He caught her hand, halting her before she reached the door. She glanced over her shoulder, a quizzical expression on her face.
“I just wanted to say thanks—for offering to cook for me tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” she said cautiously.
“I know that you don’t really approve of me—”
“And I know you aren’t really concerned about my approval.”
He lifted a shoulder. “But you should know that only about half of the rumors that circulate around the hospital are true.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
“And while I can’t control what other people say, I don’t kiss and tell. Ever.”
“I know,” she admitted.
The timer in the kitchen buzzed again.
“I really need to get that pasta off the stove.”
But he still didn’t release her hand and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made her uneasy.
“The noodles are going to be overcooked,” she said again, and that was when she realized what he was doing. “You’re stalling me on purpose.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked innocently.
“To wind up my torsion spring.”
“People don’t actually have torsion springs—I only said you were like a torsion spring.”
“If you don’t let me get back to the kitchen right now, I’m going to let loose all of my tension in your direction.”
He grinned. “Promises, promises.”
But this time when she turned away, he let her go.
She had a colander in the sink and a distinctly unhappy look on her face when he returned to the kitchen. She dumped the noodles into the bowl and carried them to the table she must have set when she got out of the shower.
“If dinner is ruined, it’s your fault,” she told him.
“Dinner is not ruined,” he promised, retrieving the salad from the fridge.
But she still looked skeptical as she scooped penne out of the serving bowl and into her pasta bowl. She ladled sauce on the top and waited until he had done the same before she picked up her fork.
“Did your mother teach you how to cook?” he asked, after he’d sampled his first mouthful.
She shook her head. “My mother is a senior research supervisor at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta—she
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