Doctor Holliday (Doctors of Eastport General)

Chapter 11

Monday, December 11 th

Lucy

Maybe it was a bit coquettish, but Lucy brushed her fingers gently over the bowl of her glass and tipped her head to look at Keaton. He had called her; she’d thrown out the suggestion and he had called to invite her out for a drink. Before his phone call earlier today, she had buzzed with hope that he would contact her. Once he did call, once he asked her to meet him at The Waterfront for a drink, anticipation vibrated through her body like electricity. Maybe she should give herself a break and take a moment to be relieved that he’d asked her to dinner.

But her mind, her body, were already a few dates into this little escapade. Imagining things like goodnight kisses. Her belly hummed with the thrill of getting to know him better. The thrill of future goodnight kisses. His fingers on her skin, tracing circles on her neck, feathering over her collarbone.

Despite his sharp cheekbones and thick, dark brows, there was something soft, easy, about his face. Wasn’t the dark stubble over his cheeks and chin. Nothing soft about that, but damn, did she like it. Maybe it was his lips—soft and thin, they said nice things, so Lucy imagined they would feel good pressed to hers, to the spot under her ear where she loved to be kissed. Or maybe it was his eyes. Deep and dark, they were less mysterious than they were tender.

Passionate.

Lucy suspected Keaton Thatcher would be good in bed.

Not like the fireman she dated when Callie was ten. Sure, that guy was hot. But he had been a little too into himself for her liking. The surgeon she got involved with when Callie was fourteen had good hands, but again, he wasn’t right for her. No denying he had driven her to orgasm often, but he never stayed after sex. Never wanted to hold her. To talk. Neither did the professional baseball player she had accidentally flirted with and hooked up with to share dirty sex in a Texas hotel elevator. She wasn’t particularly proud of that escapade, no matter that he had made her come within three minutes.

She suspected Keaton Thatcher would be tender in bed. Passionate enough to deliver a tiny note of pain with the pleasure, but tender, giving, enough, to kiss her and tuck her to his side and whisper in her hair after it was over.

Exactly what she wanted in a lover at this point in her life.

“When?” She quirked an eyebrow at him and dragged her teeth over her lower lip. The move made Keaton uncomfortable in the best possible way. She could tell by the way he squirmed in his chair, all the while acting like he wasn’t trying to hide that he was aroused.

“You tell me.”

“Friday.”

She wanted to see him tomorrow. The next day. But she had made a habit of keeping her weeknights open for Callie, other than an occasional night out with girlfriends or her sister. Hell, if she didn’t have Callie at home right now, probably blaring Drake while doing calculus homework, Lucy might just invite Keaton Thatcher over for a nightcap.

Feeling a little uncomfortable now herself—deliciously uncomfortable, actually—she leaned back and crossed her legs, wondering if he noticed when she squeezed her thighs tight.

“Not ‘til Friday?”

She liked that he sounded disappointed. As much as she loved the idea of fisting the collar of his plaid flannel shirt in her hand and dragging him out of The Waterfront, taking him home to get to know him better, she wanted more. More anticipation. More imagination. Higher stakes before anything physical happened.

But she also wanted more than something physical.

“I try to keep my weeknights open so I’m with Callie.”

His grin reached between her ribs and squeezed her lungs so tight, she couldn’t breathe. He got it. He had a child, so he understood devotion. Not just responsibility. But the desire to be present.

“I get it.” He nodded.

“Do you have Ruby this weekend?”

She hadn’t considered that. What if she was asking him to give up time with his daughter?

“She has a sleepover party Friday night,” he answered, eyes locked with Lucy’s. “I’ll see her Saturday afternoon.”

“So.” Lucy licked her lips. “Dinner. Friday.”

“Do you like seafood?”

“I do.”

“The Harbourview okay?” he asked. “I’ll make a reservation.”

“Perfect.”

She watched him polish off his beer, intrigued by his mouth on the lip of the bottle. His throat as he swallowed. He wore a black t-shirt under the flannel. Lucy could only see enough to assume the shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest. Deciding she would definitely like to see more, she wondered how he felt about relaxing in a bathtub with a glass of wine and a few pieces of chocolate.

Didn’t matter.

If his guilty pleasure was a cold beer by a bonfire, bundled up in a thick flannel and hiking boots, she would find him sexy.

When the waitress came back to check on them, Keaton asked for the bill. Lucy finished her wine as he paid, adding a generous tip.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nodded, butterflies in her belly as he pulled her chair out for her. He tugged a Carhartt coat on over his flannel as she grabbed her purse.

“No coat?” he asked as they crossed the room to the door.

“In the car.”

“You should be wearing it.”

She should, but she hated dealing with coats—especially long wool coats—in bars and restaurants. Besides, if she was wearing it now, she wouldn’t feel the gentle pressure of his hand on her lower back as he ushered her through the door.

Not to mention the heat his touch generated made the coat unnecessary.

“Can I pick you up for dinner?”

“I’ll text you my address,” she answered with a nod.

“I’m looking forward to Friday.”

He knew her SUV, since he had driven her back to the strip mall the other night. They walked side by side through the parking lot under a starry sky. Lucy shivered, though she couldn’t say if she was cold or anticipating a goodnight kiss.

“Goodnight, Lucy Holliday.”

She stared up at him as he turned to face her. For a moment, the rest of the world disappeared, and she and Keaton were the only two people on earth. Eyes locked, they simply took each other in. Heat rumbled through her, but it wasn’t embarrassment that lit her face, her body, on fire.

He moved slowly, giving her time to step away, to say no. But she only lifted her chin when his fingers brushed her face. Recognizing the invitation for what it was, Keaton leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

Closed-mouthed, dry, and achingly sweet.

Lucy wanted more.

Instead of asking, she simply lifted her hand to cover his over her cheek and parted her lips under his. He swept his mouth over hers, his breath warm. Lucy tipped her head to find more of him, flicked her tongue over his lips, and moaned softly when he rewarded her with a long, slow stroke of his tongue over hers.

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

Proud of herself for not whimpering when he broke the kiss, she panted softly and met his eyes.

“Friday can’t get here soon enough.” His gruff whisper chased a shiver up her spine. With a nod, she stole another kiss and finally made herself step away.

“Goodnight, Keaton.”