Page 35 of Clinically Delicious
“Great!” Fitz clapped his hands together. “I’ll text her later. She gave me her number—said something about coordinating if I ever needed to stop by your place again.”
She gave him her number.
I didn’t even have her number!
Cate gave Fitz her number.
The rational part of my brain—the part that had gotten me through medical school and a surgical residency and eight years of single parenthood—knew this was perfectly reasonable. Fitzwas my colleague. He’d been at my house. Having his contact information made sense from a practical standpoint.
“Oh, this is gold,” Quinton declared, pulling out his phone. “I’m texting the group chat right now. ‘Gabriel’s nanny gives Fitz her number.’ ‘Gabriel spontaneously combusts.’”
“Put the phone away,” I said.
“Make me.”
“From a practical standpoint,” Julien said, “pursuing a romantic relationship with your colleague’s employee does present certain ethical complications. Power dynamics, professional boundaries—”
“Thank you,” I said.
“However,” Julien continued, “those complications primarily affect Gabriel, not Fitz. So technically, Fitz is in the clear.”
“Not helping,” I ground out.
The irrational part of my brain—the part that had spent Saturday night standing in a towel while Cate fled from my doorstep, the part that had jerked off to thoughts of her just last night—wanted to throw Fitz out a window.
A high window.
Possibly while it was closed.
“Can we get back to the actual meeting?” I asked, my tone making it clear this wasn’t really a question.
“Sure, sure.” Hayden was still watching me with that knowing look. “Nathan, you were saying about the Henderson follow-up?”
Nathan launched into details about Emma Henderson’s ear infection, but I barely heard him. My mind was stuck in a loop, replaying Fitz’s words.
She’s adorable.
Got this whole flustered, wide-eyed thing going on.
I might have mentioned grabbing coffee sometime.
She gave me her number.
I’d spent the entire weekend trying not to think about Cate. Trying not to remember the way she’d looked at me in the kitchen, knife in hand, eyes wide with recognition. Trying not to replay the moment she’d stood on my doorstep, her gaze traveling down my body before snapping back up to my face with an expression that was equal parts mortified and... something else.
Something that had made me hard enough to need a very cold shower and a very private moment with my hand.
And now Fitz—Fitz, who collected phone numbers like other people collected baseball cards—was planning to text her. To ask her out for coffee. To make her laugh and blush and stumble over her words the way she’d apparently done this morning.
“Gabriel?”
I looked up. Hayden was watching me expectantly.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you wanted to grab lunch today. There’s that new place on Main Street—supposed to have decent sandwiches.”
“Can’t. Packed schedule.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. My schedule was packed. But even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t imagine sitting through lunch while Fitz regaled us with more stories about how adorable Cate was.
