Two Doctors and A Baby. Brenda Harlen
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“You missed a great party,” Amy told her.
“I’m sure I did,” she acknowledged.
Her friend sighed. “You could at least sound a little disappointed—I really think you would have liked Nolan.”
“You say that about every one of Ben’s friends that you try to set me up with.”
“And I remain optimistic that, one of these days, you’ll actually go out with one of them.”
“I’m focusing on my career right now.”
“I get that, but your focus shouldn’t be to the exclusion of all else.”
“It’s not.”
“When was the last time you were on a date?” Amy asked, then she shook her head. “No—forget that question. When was the last time you had sex?”
Last night.
Not that she was going to admit as much to her friend. Of course, even if she did tell Amy the truth, it was unlikely her friend would believe it. Because Avery Wallace didn’t have casual sex, and she definitely didn’t succumb to the obvious charms of sexy doctors like Justin Garrett.
“Why is it that everyone wants to talk about sex today?” she countered, in an effort to divert her friend’s attention.
“Because a lot of people got a little crazy and a little careless last night,” Amy admitted. “I don’t understand it—we give out condoms for free at the front desk. Why aren’t people using them?”
“Don’t you remember what it was like to be a teenager? All of the emotions and the hormones?”
“I remember the heady thrill of first love and the exciting rush of sexual desire,” Amy acknowledged. “But I was never so overcome by lust—or so intoxicated—that I would have had sex without a condom.”
“If everyone was as smart as you, we wouldn’t have patients in the waiting room,” Avery countered.
“And since we do, I guess we’d better get back to work.”
So they did, and a steady stream of patients kept them both busy until Brenna and Tess arrived shortly before two. Avery was almost disappointed when their colleagues showed up, because now she would have time to think about the hard truths her earlier conversation with Amy had forced her to acknowledge.
Most notably that it wasn’t only teenagers who made impulsive and stupid decisions about sex—otherwise responsible and intelligent adults could sometimes be just as impulsive and stupid. As she and Justin had proved last night.
* * *
Justin often felt as if he spent more time at the hospital than he did in his own apartment, which made him question the amount of rent he paid every month for his apartment overlooking Memorial Park. For the past few years, his parents had been urging him to buy a house—“an investment in real estate”—but Justin didn’t see the point in paying more money for more rooms he wasn’t going to use.
Besides, his apartment was conveniently located near the hospital—which he particularly appreciated when he had the early-morning shift. And the late-evening shift. And especially after a double shift.
When he was home, he felt comfortable in his space. It was his sanctuary from the craziness of the world. Four days into the New Year, he was enjoying that sanctuary—until his phone rang, indicating a visitor downstairs. He scowled when he glanced at the monitor and recognized the young woman in the lobby, curiously looking around the foyer as she waited for him to respond to the buzzer.
“Yeah?” he said, his tone deliberately unwelcoming.
“Girl Scout cookie delivery,” she responded cheerfully.
“If you expect someone to buy that story, you should wear the uniform,” he told her.
“Is that what it takes to get an invite to your apartment—a short skirt and a sash?”
“Jeez, no. I’m not a perv.”
“You’re also not opening the door,” his unexpected visitor pointed out.
With a barely suppressed sigh, he punched in the code to release the lock so that she could enter. A few minutes later, there was a knock on his door.
“What are you doing here, Nora?”
His half sister moved past him into the apartment. “You’re not a believer in traditional Southern hospitality, are you?”
“Please, come in,” he said, his sarcasm contradicting the invitation of his words. “Let me take your coat and offer you some sweet tea.”
Ignoring his tone, she took off her coat and handed it to him. “Sweet tea would be nice.”
He hung her coat on one of the hooks behind the door. “Sorry, I’m all out.”
“A glass of wine?”
“Are you old enough to drink?”
“You know I’m only eleven years younger than you.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s right—I was playing Little League when my father was screwing your mother.”
“Which isn’t my fault any more than it’s yours,” she pointed out.
He sighed, because she was right. And because he knew his mother would be appalled if she ever found out that Nora had come to visit and he’d been less than welcoming.
His mother was another innocent devastated by her husband’s infidelity, although she had forgiven John Garrett a long time ago—before anyone knew that the affair had resulted in a child. And even after learning about the existence of her husband’s illegitimate daughter, Ellen had gone out of her way to make Nora feel she was a part of their family—efforts that the woman in question had mostly resisted.
“Red or white?” Justin asked her now.
“Red, please.”
She followed him into the kitchen, settling herself on a stool at the island while he uncorked a bottle of Napa Valley merlot. He slid a glass across the counter to her and decided—what the hell?—he wasn’t on call, and poured a second glass for himself.
“Thank you.” She took a tentative sip, then set the glass down. “I’m looking for a job.”
“And you want to cash in your DNA results for a cushy office at Garrett Furniture,” he guessed.
She shook her head. “I have no interest in your father’s company.”
“Isn’t he your father, too?”
“Well, yes, but that was more by accident than design.”
He nodded in acknowledgment as she sipped her wine again.
“Besides, an office job would bore me to tears,” she told him. “I like to work with people—that’s why I became a registered physical therapist.”
Which he already knew but had no intention of revealing to her, because she’d then want to know how and why he knew it, and he didn’t intend to share that information. Yet.
“Where’d you go to school?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know the answer to that question, either, as he lifted his own glass to his lips.
“The University of Texas at San Antonio. Graduated with honors.” She opened her purse and took out an envelope, offering it to him. “My résumé.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Look at it and, if you think it’s warranted, consider writing a letter of recommendation for me.”
“Why me?”
“Because there’s an opening at Mercy Hospital and the Garrett