“I’m off in an hour and a half. Unless something big happens. Then I might have to stay.”
“Great. I’ll be back in an hour and a half, and we’ll go get something to eat. Then we can talk some more. Or argue more if you’d like.”
“I don’t—”
But he’d pulled her against him and brushed his lips against hers. “I like arguing with you, Aubry. Let’s do that some more. But while we’re eating. I’m hungry. See you soon.”
He turned around and walked through the doors before she had a chance to tell him no.
Damn that man. He was infuriating. To think he’d assume she’d go out to dinner with him—do anything with him, was outrageous. When he came back, she’d tell him.
But he was right about one thing.
She was hungry, too. She’d barely had time to eat an energy bar today.
So maybe she’d have dinner with him. She’d let him buy, too, just for aggravating her. And then she’d tell him they weren’t going to see each other anymore.
After dinner.
TUCKER WAS BACK AT THE HOSPITAL AN HOUR AND A half later, waiting at the door for Aubry. He’d gone home, taken a shower and changed clothes so he felt a lot more awake.
Better able to do battle with Aubry.
She was in a feisty mood. And okay, maybe she had a right to be mad at him. He wasn’t the best with communication. He’d obviously dropped the ball on his follow-up with her. From her point of view, she probably thought he didn’t give a shit, when the opposite was true.
He’d make it up to her over dinner.
He told the main desk person he was there, and asked if she’d relay the information to Aubry. She did, and came back a few minutes later to tell him Aubry would be right out, so he took a seat in the waiting room to watch whatever was on TV. An old comedy rerun. He could live with that.
Fifteen minutes later, Aubry walked out. She’d changed out of her scrubs into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black button-down shirt. Her hair was soft and silky, making him itch to run his hands through it. She’d even put on makeup and lip gloss, which immediately made him think about kissing her.
She might be mad at him, but the fact that she’d taken the time to look that good meant something to him.
He stood and headed over to her. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks. A patient threw up on me. I needed to take a shower.”
He laughed. “You still look incredible. Sorry about the throw up.”
“Why? You weren’t the one who did it.”
He shook his head and took her arm. “I hope it didn’t ruin your appetite.”
“Not at all. I’m starving.”
“Me, too. Let’s go. Can we just take my car? I’ll drive you back here after.”
She paused. “That doesn’t seem to make sense from a logistical standpoint. Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
She considered it for a few seconds, then nodded. “Okay.”
She got into his car. He turned to face her. “First, I’m sorry. You were right. It was on me to call and I dropped the ball. And that makes me an asshole. I’m not that kind of guy. When I say I’m going to follow through, I do. I apologize for that.”
He watched her expression. It had been tight as they’d walked out to the car. Now, her shoulders sagged and she exhaled. “Well. Dammit, Tucker. I was all set to argue with you. I had a good mad going on, too.”
“Uh, sorry again? You’re welcome to stay mad. I don’t mind a good argument.”
She laughed. “No, really, that’s okay. Apology—both of them—accepted. Now where are we eating?”
“How do you feel about Italian?”
“I feel really good about it. Right now I’d eat fast food I’m so hungry.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I eat plenty of that. And no, thanks. We’re eating good food tonight.”
He drove them to Il Bel Lago, a restaurant he’d heard about but hadn’t eaten at yet. He turned off the engine. “I heard the food here is really good.”
“Sounds great to me.”
They walked inside and Tucker gave his name to the hostess, who told him it would be a few minutes.
“We’ll wait in the bar,” he said.
The bar was dark and modern. They took a seat at one of the tables, and a waitress came by to get their drink orders.
“I’ll have Chianti,” Aubry said.
“Beer for me,” Tucker said, then looked over at Aubry. “How was your day?”
“Intense. Rough. Yours?”
“We had an afternoon game. We lost.”
“I’m sorry. Did you pitch?”
He shook his head. “No. Garrett Scott did. But it’s still tough to lose a game. Even harder when I’m not the one in control.”
“You like to be in control.”
His lips curved. “I’d pitch every game if they let me.”
Their waitress brought their drinks.
“Thanks,” Tucker said to the waitress.
“You’re welcome. Sorry about the loss today.”
Obviously she recognized him. “Thank you. We’ll get ’em next time.”
After the waitress walked away, Aubry took a sip of her wine, then said, “That must happen a lot.”
“What?”