The Best Medicine

Chapter 9



HE WAS TAN AS EVER and wearing charcoal-gray pants and a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Damn, he looked better in person than in my imagination. How was that even possible?

He shook hands with the bartender, then eased onto a stool. For so many reasons I didn’t dare examine, I did not want him to see me with Phil the circus clown.

“An emergency, you say?” I said to no one on the phone. “Stabilize the patient. I’ll be there right away.”

I dropped my phone back into my purse. “Sorry, Phil. I have to go back to the hospital. Best to you and the toilet seat business.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re leaving? We’re in the middle of dinner.” His voice rose.

I sighed. “No, not really. You’re in the middle of a monologue.”

He frowned. “Well, that’s all kinds of rude, don’t you think?”

Yes, it was. But I was tired and cranky, and I’d done my due diligence to this farce of a date. And Phil was an a*shole.

“Yes, it was rude. So is monopolizing the conversation and pointing at my breasts.” This night was on a collision course anyway. I may as well let it crash and burn.

His cheeks were chipmunk round, full of gargantuan bites of roast. “That was a compliment. Those boobs look real even though they’re big.” He gestured with his hands, as if cupping his own impressive mammary glands.

“I have to go.” I reached down to grab the handle of my purse.

“But what about dinner?” His voice rose even higher. My skin started to heat with the flush of embarrassment.

“You’ll just have to eat without me. Sorry.”

“No, I mean who’s going to pay for yours? Not me. Not if you leave right in the middle of it.”

I just wanted to get out of there as quickly and as surreptitiously as possible, but his voice carried like the screech of a seagull, and all the people within a three-table radius turned our way. So did all the people at the bar.

Including Tyler Connelly.

“You’re a classy guy, you know that, Phil?” I pulled my wallet from my purse and opened it, praying I had cash. Of course I didn’t, because I never have cash. I yanked out my debit card instead. I was going to have to wait here while the waiter cashed me out. Unbef*ckinglievable.

I looked around, hoping to catch the server’s eye.

I caught Tyler’s instead.

He had the good manners not to smirk. He picked up the beer that the bartender had just set in front of him, and he took a sip. Watching.

“I know you’re new to the Bell Harbor Singles scene,” Phil said, still not modulating his voice in the slightest. “So I understand this is all a little overwhelming, but you can’t just walk out on a date. Word gets around.”

“Does it?” If that were true, I would have been forewarned about him.

“Yes, it does, and men aren’t interested in dick teases.”

I felt my mouth go slack and my mind go blank. Well, it was blank for a split second. Then it filled with a vision of me clubbing Phil Carter over the cranium with one of his own goddamned toilet seats. Before I could articulate a response scalding enough to do justice to my outrage, Tyler got up from the bar, leaving his beer behind, and walked over to our table.

“Good evening, Dr. Rhoades,” Tyler said, no hint of mockery in his voice. “Heading out? I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Who are you?” Phil asked, pointing with his fork again.

“I’m a friend of Dr. Rhoades’s.”

He was my friend at the moment. He might be a whiskey-drinking, dog-walking dock demolisher, but under the circumstances, he was the better of my options.

“I have to pay for my meal first.” I held up my debit card.

Tyler looked at it for a second, then scowled at my date. “Dude, seriously? Man up.” He reached over with both hands to scoot out my chair. I rose instinctively. It seemed we were leaving. I dropped my card back into my purse.

I felt the eyes of the other diners boring into me from every different angle, but when I looked around, everyone seemed to be studiously staring down at their own food.

“Only seventy-two percent,” I heard Phil mutter. “It figures.”

Tyler’s hand was light on the small of my back as we walked to the door. I should have told him I was fine. I didn’t need him to escort me out as if I were some damsel in distress. Men like Phil Carter didn’t scare me. The only part about this whole fiasco that upset me was how I’d wasted a perfectly good evening. I could have been at home in my fat pants reading about advancements in rhinoplasty instead of watching that slob gobble up his food like a pelican.


We left the restaurant, and as soon as we’d moved past the windows, I stepped away from Tyler’s side and stopped walking.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful, and I appreciate your assistance. I could have handled him myself, though.”

“I’m sure you could have, but he was an a*shole.”

“Yes, he was.” I sighed and slung my purse over my shoulder, crossing the strap in front of me, and started walking again.

Tyler fell into step next to me. “So why were you with him?”

I smiled tightly. “Long story, but I’ve got it from here. I’m good. Thank you.”

It crossed my mind just then that there was a downside to walking places. I had no car to jump into to whisk me away. I’d walked to work that morning and had planned to walk home from the restaurant. I’d lived in Chicago long enough to know how to get myself safely from point A to point B. I had my whistle and my mace, and in a pinch, I could throw an elbow and run pretty fast too, but none of those things would help me get away from Tyler Connelly if he was set on going full white knight on my behalf. I could hardly knee him in the groin for being interested in my welfare.

“It looked like a date,” he said. Curiosity curled around his syllables.

“It was a date. An accidental date.” I started walking faster.

He kept pace. “How do you end up on an accidental date?”

I really didn’t want to talk about this. Not with him. He looked so good in that white shirt it simply wasn’t fair. Especially after the nightmarish forty-five minutes I’d just spent watching Phil Carter grind up his food.

“How did I end up on an accidental date? I’d imagine about the same way you accidentally end up on a stolen Jet Ski. Shit just happens sometimes, doesn’t it?” I should be laughing, but it didn’t feel that funny. Or maybe I should be angry, but mostly I just felt tired. Phil Carter was already history. But Tyler Connelly was right here, right now. And I needed him to be someplace else before I started feeling . . . appreciative.

He stopped walking, and foolishly, so did I. We were standing on the corner now, near Jasper’s restaurant. Yellow lights shimmered through the window, splashing in patterns against the brick sidewalk. Music played from outdoor speakers, something jazzy and mellow.

Tyler slid his hands into the pockets of his charcoal pants. I wanted to ask him where he’d been that he’d gotten dressed up, but more answers would only lead to more questions. And more attraction. I couldn’t deny that something about him stirred me, but I also couldn’t deny it was pointless to pursue it. Hilary would tell me he was the wrong kind of man, and she’d be right. Nothing he had to offer was on my list of requirements.

“Yes, shit just happens sometimes.” He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off me.

I wondered if he was having illicit thoughts about me just then. I was feminine enough to hope so. List or no list.

“Well, thank you again.” I turned to leave.

“I sacrificed a beer,” he said, his voice following me as I tried to retreat to the safety of my solitude.

I turned back, like Alice looking down the rabbit hole, knowing I shouldn’t. “What?”

“I had a full beer waiting for me at that other restaurant, but I’ll look kind of foolish if I go back there now. So, I guess I’ll just go into Jasper’s and order another one.” He tipped his head toward the nearby doorway.

“Are you suggesting I owe you a beer?” He clearly was, and I bit back a smile.

His smile, on the other hand, was broad. “Of course not. I would never suggest such a thing. Good night, Dr. Rhoades.” This time he said my name as if it were my 1-800 moniker. How did he manage to make Dr. Rhoades sound so very naughty?

He turned, walked inside, and left me alone on the sidewalk clutching my purse as if it were a life preserver. Did he think I’d follow him in there? Should I follow him in there? My brain said no, but then again, my brain always said no.

Hilary thought I should loosen up and have more fun. But Hilary also thought I fell for unsuitable men. On purpose. Apparently I was going to get it wrong either way. So in that case, what the hell?

Tonight, I’d give my brain the evening off and finally listen to another part of my anatomy.