My Perfect Fiance (Perfect Guy Book 2)

by Annabelle Costa

  I grab my purse and race across the playground before this man can load my daughter into the back of his van to get candy. It isn’t until I reach the monkey bars that I realize with a jolt that Lily hasn’t done anything wrong.

  This sexy stranger with the shaved head is Theo.

  Holy crap.

  “Theo,” I gasp as I get within earshot. “Hey.”

  He looks up at me and smiles again. I can’t even believe how good he looks with his head shaved. He’d resisted doing it for so long, I assumed he knew something I didn’t. But no—I was right when I told him to shave it all off. Wow. He looks…

  God, what’s wrong with me? Quit staring, Bailey.

  “Hey yourself,” he says.

  “You, uh…” My mouth feels suddenly dry as I come to a halt next to him. “You…”

  “Daddy shaved his head!” Lily pipes up. “Now he looks like Elmer Fudd!”

  Theo smiles crookedly. “What you think, Bailey? Do I look like a cue ball?”

  “Not at all,” I say quickly. “It’s actually… it looks… good.”

  “Glad you think so.” He flashes me a grin, and I realize I haven’t seen him look at me that way in a long time. Theo’s made a lot of attempts to win me back since our divorce, but most of those attempts involved whining and demanding. This time he’s actually being… smooth.

  Not that he think he’s trying to win me back. I don’t. Well, I suppose he could be. But he has zero chance of that.

  “I was on time,” he says.

  I blink a few times. “Huh?”

  His grin widens. “I wasn’t late getting to the park. I got here at the exact time I said I would.”

  So what does he want—a medal? But he’s right. He’s usually late, and this time he isn’t. Maybe this means Theo is turning over a new leaf for real this time.

  “Well,” I say, “I guess I’ll head out now.”

  I start to turn, but then Theo says, “Hey.”

  “Oh.” I clear my throat. “Lily’s backpack is over there.”

  “No, I, uh…” He lifts his eyes. “I was thinking maybe you could stick around a bit. Do you really have to rush off?”

  “Noah is on his way home.”

  “So?” He lifts an eyebrow. “He’s a big boy, isn’t he? He can be alone for an hour by himself.”

  He’s right. And furthermore, I never told Noah I was leaving the park, so he has no clue when I’m supposed to be home.

  But something doesn’t feel right about this. Noah and I are getting married. He wouldn’t be cool with my hanging out at the park with Theo for an hour. He would never consider doing anything like that to me.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I have to go.”

  I expect Theo’s face to turn pink and for him to throw a very Theo-like tantrum. But instead, he shocks me by shrugging one shoulder. “Okay, maybe another time.”

  Is it possible someone could grow up at age thirty-eight?

  Chapter 22: Noah

  The full impact of how miserable it’s going to be to be stuck using my wheelchair at work for the next two weeks doesn’t hit me until my shift the next day.

  You know how I said that old women almost without exception comment on my looks and want to set me up with a family member? Well, on days when I’m working in my chair, they always always want to know why. Some patients manage to keep their mouths shut, but anyone over the age of seventy or under the age of ten is going to ask. Guaranteed.

  Of course, they know why I’m in a wheelchair. That’s really obvious. This morning when I left for my shift, I tucked my scrub legs under my stumps so they wouldn’t be in the way, but my appearance gives no doubt as to the reason I can’t walk. But they want to know what happened. How did a young guy end up with no legs?

  My current patient, Mrs. Reilly, who slipped in her kitchen and hurt her wrist a few hours ago, is no exception to this rule.

  “Oh my God, Doctor! What happened to you?” she cries when I wheel into the room.

  “Car accident,” I explain, hoping there won’t be any follow-up questions. But knowing there will be.

  “Oh, gosh.” She looks down at her wrist, which she’s cradling in her other hand. “I feel bad, Doctor. I’m here in the ER, but you look like you’re in worse shape than I am.”

  I force a smile. “Believe me, I’m fine. Can I take a look at your wrist?”

  “Well, if you feel up to it.”

  “I do. I really do.”

  And then I have to figure out how to get close enough to her to actually examine her. Because the exam rooms are tiny, and there’s usually only enough room for my chair on one side or the other. Twice on this shift I’ve had to grab a nurse to help me move furniture so I could get to the patient. I hate feeling like a liability. Dr. Kagin, who is doing the shift with me, doesn’t need this kind of help. He’s bouncing from room to room, seeing patients twice as fast as I am. When he needs the ultrasound machine, he doesn’t need to ask a nurse to put it in the room for him. He finds the machine and drags it in there himself.

  But this is the situation. I deal with it.

  I spritz my hands with the hand sanitizer I keep in my scrub top pocket, because I don’t want to touch the pushrims of my wheels and then touch the patient. Fortunately, I’m able to get close enough to Mrs. Reilly, and the lack of height doesn’t matter much when I’m looking at someone’s wrist. I immediately suspect a distal radius fracture based on her exam and the mechanism of her fall.

  “We’re going to get an X-ray of your wrist. Okay, Mrs. Reilly?” I say. “I’ll order it right now.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she says quickly. “Don’t bother yourself. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Mrs. Reilly,” I say with as much patience as I can muster. “I think you may have a fracture of one of the bones in your forearm. We have to get an X-ray. That’s the only way to see it.”

  “Well, all right,” she agrees, although she doesn’t look particularly happy about it. “I guess that’s okay.”

  “Great. I’ll order the X-ray.”

  Her white eyebrows knit together. “Wait… Dr. Walsh?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve heard that there are computerized legs people can use. Maybe that’s something you could look into?”

  I smile as patiently as I can manage, given the ER waiting room was packed to the brim last time I was out there. “I’ll do that.”

  “What sort of person would you go to for that anyway?”

  I glance behind me. That’s another thing about being in the chair—I can’t easily back out of the room. A classic move for any doctor trapped by a talkative patient is to sloooowwly back out of the room. Not so easy when you’re in a chair.

  So that’s why it takes me another five minutes to escape from Mrs. Reilly’s room, as she pummels me with questions and suggestions about my legs. Five minutes may not seem long to most people, but it’s an eternity in a packed ER.

  As soon as I get out of the room, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text message from Bailey:

  You forgot to bring your dinner.

  Damn it.

  Even though I shouldn’t, I click on Bailey’s number and she picks up after half a ring. “I swear,” I say, “it’s no reflection on your cooking. I’m distracted.”

  “I know.” I can almost hear her smiling. “I would offer to bring it to you, but Lily is vegged out on the couch in her jammies.”

  “Yeah…‘Lily’ is in her jammies.”

  “Fine! I’m wearing jammies too! Is that so wrong?”

  “No.” It’s not wrong, it’s tempting. Bailey in her jammies, cuddled on the sofa. “Anyway, I’ll grab something from the food truck.”

  “Hey, what about your cholesterol?”

  “Yeah…” I look down at my legs. Right now, my cholesterol is the least of my problems. “I have to be honest. I feel like something deep fried right now.”

  “Okay. Well, just don’t eat anything I wouldn’t eat.�
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  “Will do.” I grip the phone more tightly in my palm. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I let out a long breath as we hang up. As much as I love my job, I wish I were back home with Bailey, cuddled up with her on the sofa. Doing late night shifts never felt like a big deal back when I was single. Or even when I wasn’t. But now that I’m living with Bailey, I just want to be home every night, and I’m wondering why I didn’t become a dermatologist.

  “Hey, Noah.” Tom Kagin materializes behind me, just as I’m shoving my phone back in my pocket. He’s seen twice as many patients as I have tonight—I’ve got to pick up the pace. “You doing okay?”

  I don’t appreciate the patronizing tone, but what can I do? “Just fine.”

  He nods and rubs his belly, which is straining at the limits of his blue scrub top. “We got a multitrauma patient on the way over. Car accident. I better take it. From what I heard, her O2 sats are lousy. We might need to intubate.”

  I grit my teeth. “I can intubate.”

  “Yeah?” He looks skeptical. Granted, it’s harder to do it in the chair, but I can manage. I’ve practiced. I can’t work here if I’m not capable of intubating a patient. “Well, if you want it…”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s for the best.

  As he walks away whistling, I want to toss my reflex hammer at his back. It kills me to think I might not be as good a doctor because I’m in my chair. Especially when the chances of this being permanent in the next decade are far from zero. I need to learn to get faster.

  I wheel myself to the computer, quickly reading up on a few more patients, hoping to go quickly from room to room. I’m too young for my body to be holding me back this much. It’s hard not to imagine what might have been if I hadn’t lost control of the car on that black ice. If I had listened to Bailey when she said she was worried about my driving out to see her…

  I’d be a surgeon now.

  Bailey and I would have gotten married after I graduated medical school.

  We’d have a child together.

  Maybe two.

  And I wouldn’t be in this chair.

  “Hey, Doc.” Claire settles into the seat next to me. Her scrubs look freshly pressed but there are slight dark circles around her eyes. She’s been here as long as I have. Longer. “You going to want an LP kit in the room for Eight?”

  “You read my mind. Thanks, Claire.”

  “Also,” she adds, “Kagin is an idiot. I’ve seen you run traumas in your chair and you’re great at it.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  She grins at me. “And I have some good news for you. Kaitlin has a new crush. So you’re officially off the hook.”

  “That’s a relief.” I return the grin. “It isn’t Kagin, is it?”

  “God, no. He’s vile.”

  I laugh. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

  “This new orderly who started yesterday. All the nurses and aides are salivating over him. It’s disgusting.”

  I snort. The last orderly all the women were tripping themselves over was this Latino guy whose muscles stretched the sleeves of his scrub top. And at the end of his shift—I kid you not—he’d break out his guitar and play some tunes for the ER. Most of the female staff couldn’t say a word to him without turning beet red.

  Claire was the only one who was immune to Enrique’s charms. But she wasn’t immune to mine.

  “Don’t worry, Doc,” she says. “You’re way hotter than that orderly.”

  “Believe me, that’s the last thing I’m worried about. You think I’m looking to be the hottest guy working in the ER? You think that’s what I want?”

  “Whether you want it or not, you usually are. At least ten percent of the repeat customers we get here are young women hoping to see ‘Dr. McHottie’ again.”

  I roll my eyes. Even though it might be the tiniest bit true.

  “So where’s this hot orderly?” I ask. “I gotta see what my competition looks like.”

  “You’re in luck, Doc.” Claire rises out of her seat and smooths out the wrinkles on her scrubs from sitting. “He just got done transporting your patient in Six back from the CT scanner. You can go have a look.”

  I grab my right wheel to pivot my chair. I’m not actually all that curious, but it’s good to know the new staff down here. Besides, I’ve got to see the patient in Seven anyway, so I’m headed in that direction.

  I’ve gotten nearly to Room Seven when I see the orderly emerge from Six. I see right away what the women like about him. He’s got a swagger when he walks, even though he doesn’t fill out his scrubs as well as Enrique did. His shaved head and goatee makes him look like the kind of guy who certain girls might salivate over. Maybe. What do I know?

  “I got you coffee from the food truck!” I jerk my head around and see Kaitlin rushing toward me. My shoulders tense, but then she brushes right past me and makes a beeline for the new orderly. “I wanted to make sure you got it while it was still hot.”

  The orderly flashes his teeth at her. “Thanks, doll. I appreciate that.”

  Doll. Someone needs to have a word with him about how to address the nurses respectfully.

  Except Kaitlin doesn’t mind at all. She’s all giggles and pink cheeks. “No problem, Theo.”

  Wait.

  Theo?

  And then the orderly raises his hand in the air. His eyes meet mine and I get a flood of recognition. “Oh, hey, Noah. What’s up?”

  Shit.

  Chapter 23: Bailey

  I can’t sleep anymore without Noah next to me.

  It’s ironic because for years, I slept alone. When Theo and I were married, he was always off somewhere at night, then when he finally got home, he’d just crash on the sofa half the time. Then after we got divorced, Lily ended up in my bed a lot, but she eventually decided that “big girls sleep in their own beds.” I felt sad about that one. I know a lot of parents try to discourage their kids from sleeping in the bed with them, but I loved having Lily’s tiny warm body snuggled up against me at night.

  So it’s not like I’m someone who has no experience sleeping alone. But somehow, in a relatively short period of time, I’ve gotten used to Noah sleeping beside me. I love having the reassuring mass of his body next to me, watching the rise and fall of his chest with each deep breath. I love when he pulls me into a spoon while he’s half-asleep. I missed spooning—Theo hated it. Noah loves it as much as I do though, even though he’d never say as much.

  The times when he’s stuck in the ER overnight, I toss and turn. I need him next to me. Half the time, I end up getting out of bed and watching reruns on TV.

  Tonight he’s supposed to be home at midnight, although I know the fact that he’s not on his feet might slow him down. So I’m sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket and watching TV, trying not to be concerned that it’s half past midnight and he’s still not home. But yes, I’m worried. You get one call telling you that your boyfriend has been in a horrible accident, and it’s enough to last a lifetime.

  My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I snatch it up, expecting to see a message from Noah that he’s running late. Except it isn’t Noah. It’s Theo.

  You up?

  My fingers linger over the touchscreen. I shouldn’t answer him. Nothing good ever came of a conversation with an ex after midnight. But against my better judgment, I write back:

  Yes.

  Instantly, the phone starts ringing. I stare at it, not sure what to do. I shouldn’t answer it. Nothing good ever comes out of a conversation with an ex after midnight.

  Damn it.

  “Theo, it’s really late,” I sigh.

  “Hello to you too, Bailey.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day. I’m tired.”

  “Are you alone?”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and frown at it. “No, of course I’m not.”

  “No, I mean, is your fiancé around?”

 
; “He…” I glance behind me at the door. “He’s going to be home any minute.”

  “Great.” He clears his throat. “Let’s meet tomorrow for drinks. I need to talk to you.”

  “Theo,” I say patiently. “I am not meeting you for drinks.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do I really have to explain it?”

  “I need to talk to you,” he says again. “It’s about Lily. Please. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  For some reason, my bullshit detector is going off. He wants to talk to me about Lily? I can’t fathom such a thing. I’m sure Theo loves Lily in his own way, but he has zero interest in her. When she was a baby and I’d try to relay cute things she’d done that day, he’d always say, “This is so boring. Can’t we talk about something else?” When I tried to talk to him about Mrs. Babcock’s concerns about Lily’s reading ability, he just told me in a vague way that I “need to take care of it.”

  I try to imagine Theo sitting down with Lily and having her read to him, like Noah has been doing diligently every day since that fateful parent-teacher conference. I can’t do it.

  “I’m busy tomorrow,” I say.

  “You can’t spare fifteen minutes?”

  “No, I can’t,” I snip at him.

  “Bailey, come on. Fifteen minutes, any time you say. I’ll pick you up in front of your office building.”

  The key turns in the lock to the front door. Noah. The last thing I want when he’s coming home from a long ER shift is to catch me on the phone with my ex-husband. “Fine,” I hiss. “Two o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  The second the words leave my mouth, I already regret them. But it’s too late. I manage to hang up the phone just as the front door swings open.

  Noah looks really tired when he wheels himself into the living room. He’s still sexy as all hell, but there’s purple under his eyes. He spots me on the couch and smiles crookedly. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

  “I can’t sleep without you.” I pat the cushion next to me on the sofa. “Join me?”