chapter 4

When the waitress brought the check to the table, Nik handed the

waitress her credit card.

"This one is on me. I'm still mad at you for paying for our drinks

from Saturday. I owed you."

He pursed his mouth and considered.

"Okay, fine, but you get all of the leftovers. Deal?"

He said that like it was a punishment. Which, considering how spicy

some of their leftovers were . . . he might be correct about that.

"Deal. I can have them for lunch tomorrow, in between all of the

cupcakes."

As they walked to her car, he elbowed her.

"Yes?" she said, in answer to his look.

"I know you're pretty nervous about all of the Fisher stuff. Do you

want me to follow you home just to make sure everything is okay? I

mean, I'm sure everything is fine, I just thought I'd—"

"Yeah," she said. "That would be great."

Why had she agreed to this so quickly, she wondered on the short

drive to her house. She usually hated it when men got all protective

about her safety, like she was some delicate flower who didn't know

how to protect herself.

But that hadn't been what Carlos had done, and she'd appreciated

it. After her panic from this afternoon, it would be nice to have backup

for those thirty seconds it took for her to walk through her apartment.

Plus, not to be shallow, but the way Carlos's T-shirt clung to his

biceps . . . she was pretty sure Carlos could take Fisher down easily.

But wait a second. Was she really going to get some dude she hardly

knew to do a walk-through of her apartment just because she got a fewnasty text messages? That was ridiculous. She was a grown woman;

she'd lived on her own for years; she could take care of herself. She

should text him right now and tell him that she was fine and didn't

need his help.

Yeah, she'd do that. She reached in her pocket for her phone. When

she got home, she'd text her girlfriends and tell them how stupid she'd

almost been.

Well, she'd text her girlfriends if she was still around to text them.

She could hear Courtney's voice in her head.

What do you have to lose here? Are you really worried about

looking silly in front of a man you barely know? Who cares?

She cared, damn it.

But her friends would kill her if she sent Carlos away and anything

happened to her.

Okay, fine. She put her phone back in her pocket.

She parked in the lot behind her apartment building and met Carlos

on the front steps.

"Thanks for coming inside with me. I feel like an idiot," she said as

she unlocked the door.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm a pretty impressive dude;

people feel like idiots around me all the time. I'm used to it."

Despite her rising anxiety, she laughed as they walked up the stairs

to her second-floor apartment.

"Did he have a key?" Carlos asked in a low voice.

Nik sighed and stopped on the stairs.

"I never gave him one, but I left my keys around all the time, and

it's easy to get keys copied. And there was one time when I forgot my

keys at his house for a whole weekend and had to get my set of extra

keys back from Dana. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but . . .

I'm paranoid now, I guess."

Carlos put his hand on her shoulder, and she relaxed against it.

"Are you ready to go inside? Or do you need a minute?"She pulled away from him. She never should have done this, but she

had no choice now.

"No, no, I'm fine. Let's go in."

He took the key out of her hand and unlocked the door. She could

have done that herself, but okay. He pushed it open slowly. Why had

she turned off all of the lights before she left her house? Energy-saving

nonsense. Now she felt like one of those women in horror movies. One

of the ones who got killed in the first fifteen minutes.

Wait, no. Those women never had the sense to get someone else to

come with them when they had a bad feeling.

Carlos pushed the door wide open and stepped through it in front of

her.

"If the demon gets me, tell my mother I loved her."

Apparently they watched the same kind of movies.

She followed close at his heels as he walked into the living room and

flicked on the lights. Everything looked the same as when she'd left it

two hours before: her laptop on the desk against her big bay window,

her remote on the floor by her coffee table, her T-shirt and—oops—bra

on the top of the couch where she'd thrown them off after getting

Carlos's text. She saw a smile around his eyes when he turned in that

direction, but he didn't let it reach his mouth.

"Is there anywhere to hide in this room?" he asked her under his

breath. She shook her head.

She started to walk down the hallway that led to her bedroom, but

he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"Let me go first."

He didn't wait for an answer. She stared daggers into his back as

she followed him down the hallway. Just because she'd accepted his

offer to make sure Fisher wasn't around didn't mean she was okay with

him ordering her around in her own apartment. This had been a

terrible idea.

When she walked into her bedroom, he'd already flung open the

closet doors and was running his hands through the crowded coat side

of her closet. He turned around well after she was satisfied that there

was no one hiding among them."Are all of these coats . . . yours?" he asked her. "You do realize you

live in Los Angeles, right?"

"Shut up. It gets cold here sometimes. And I go to New York at least

once or twice a year."

He shook his head, with a smile in his eyes.

"Mmm, yeah, that totally means you need twenty coats, absolutely."

She tried not to grin back at him and failed.

He stepped around to the far side of her bed, then went into the

hallway and threw open the hall closet. She supposed that Fisher could

have hidden in there, if he'd been hiding his contortionist talents from

her. He glanced at the shelves full of extra bedding, towels, and boxes

of sparkling water, and closed the door without a word. He stepped

into the bathroom, and she heard the shower curtain swish across the

rod.

"All clear in the bathroom, too. Anywhere else?"

She walked down the hall to the kitchen, simultaneously so relieved

she was ready to collapse and feeling so stupid she wanted to hide

among all the coats in her closet.

"I mean, I suppose if someone was really trying, they could hide in

the refrigerator, or under the couch, but I somehow doubt that. I think

we're all clear." She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of

wine. "I'm sorry for dragging you along on this wild goose chase. I

don't know what got into me. Wine?" She glanced over at him,

standing in her living room, and saw him peer under the couch. She

smiled and poured two glasses.

"Here." She handed him a glass and sat down on the couch. "Thank

you. I'm not usually . . ." She shook her head. "Anyway, thank you. I

hope you're not too much of a man's man to drink rosé."

He sat down next to her and picked up the wineglass.

"No such thing." He took a sip of the wine and glanced over at her.

"You should get your locks changed."

Okay, that was enough telling her what to do.

"I know I should get my locks changed; I'm not an idiot," she said.

He put his glass down."Hey, I'm sorry. Of course you aren't. I didn't mean to suggest that."

He looked at her, then looked away. "I'm used to taking care of all of

the women in my family, so I have the tendency to go overboard

sometimes. I didn't mean to tell you what to do."

She picked up his wineglass and handed it to him.

"It's okay, really. I didn't mean to snap at you." She closed her eyes.

"I don't usually give in to fits of paranoia like this, and I hate it. Sorry

for taking it out on you."

He smiled at her and patted her thigh. She hated herself for wanting

his hand to linger there a lot longer than it did.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. Every woman needs a big

strong man to come and protect her; that's not your fault. It's just

because you're naturally weak and helpless, just by virtue of, you know,

being a woman and all. You needed a man like me to do the hard work

of looking under your bed. I understand that you aren't capable of stuff

like that."

She smacked his arm.

"You asshole." She was laughing so hard she had to put her

wineglass down. "You had me going for at least five or six seconds

there! You were so close to me throwing this wine in your face and

literally kicking you out of my apartment."

• • •

Carlos laughed and relaxed against the couch cushions. He'd been a

little worried that she'd get furious at him for that, but he also thought

it might break some of the tension. One of the things that he already

liked so much about Nik was how independent she was; he should have

known that telling her what to do would piss her off. Angela had gotten

mad at him just a few weeks ago for taking her car in to get serviced;

she'd said she was fully capable of doing it for herself. He'd told her it

wasn't that he didn't think she was capable of it, it's just that he'd felt

like it was his job to do it. That hadn't made her less mad.

She waved at his wineglass.

"Drink, drink, I promise I won't knock the glass all over you."

He took another sip. He usually made fun of Angela for drinking

rosé. She could definitely never find out that he drank it with Nik andliked it.

"But really, don't feel bad," he said. "It's totally normal to freak out

about stuff like this. And my stint in the ER during my residency really

opened my eyes to how often this stuff happens to women. I mean,

fine, he wasn't here and you felt silly that you had me come up, no big

deal. But too many women ignore those feelings or don't want to feel

silly, and I've seen some of the aftermaths. Feeling silly is definitely

better."

She took another sip of her wine and leaned back. When she'd sat

down on the couch, she'd sat down right in the middle, so he'd had no

choice but to sit right next to her. They were so close they were almost

touching.

"I almost called you on the way here and told you I didn't need you,

but I knew my friends would have yelled at me and told me not to be a

fool." She paused. "I think I've given other people similar advice, now

that I think about it. It's always easier to give people advice than it is to

take it yourself."

Should he put his arm around her? He really wanted to, but she'd

just had a dramatic breakup a few days ago, and she might smack him

and order him out of her house. But she was curled up on the couch

next to him like that, all cozy with her wine; this seemed like a prime

situation for making a move, right?

"Speaking of giving advice," she said, "you said that you spend a lot

of time giving advice to teenagers, and I'm totally curious about your

job. What does it mean, to be the assistant director of a teen clinic?"

Okay, it seemed like she just wanted to talk, as they sat here

shoulder to shoulder in the dim lighting on her couch while holding

glasses of wine. Great.

"Excellent question, and one that I'm still kind of figuring out the

answer to. I've only been doing it for about six months, but I love it so

far. Basically, all of the health care of the kids that the medical center

serves—who are in the twelve to nineteen age group—is routed through

our clinic. The goal is to recognize that teens are in a special place,

both mentally and physically, and to serve their needs as best as we

can."

"I wish my doctor's office had had a teen clinic when I was a kid,"

she said. "I always remember feeling so grumpy about still going to apediatrician when I was a teenager, surrounded by babies and

toddlers."

She took another sip of wine and picked a piece of lint off of his

shoulder. He felt lulled by her touch, the warm night air, by her

presence.

And also probably the wine.

She stood up to get the bottle of wine from the fridge and brought it

back over to the couch.

"You said you'd only been there for six months—where were you

before that?"

She tipped the wine bottle toward his glass and raised her eyebrows

at him. He nodded. Was she trying to get him to linger? Had the whole

"I'm afraid of my ex" thing just been bullshit to get him to come up to

her apartment? Would he care if that was the case? He grinned to

himself. Would he care if a hot girl made up a story about being scared

of her ex-boyfriend to get him up to her apartment? Hell no, he would

not care.

"I was at St. Elizabeth's Hospital on the Westside. I liked working

there a lot, but this job is different from what I'd been doing there, and

it's a lot of fun. Plus, it was great to come back to the Eastside and be

closer to my family."

But wait. He didn't know this girl that well, but from his few

interactions with her, she seemed pretty forthright and honest, almost

to a fault. He didn't really think she'd make up a story if she wanted

him in her apartment. She would just ask him if he wanted to come

upstairs.

Plus, if someone was pretending to be scared, they would have

acted much more scared than she did when they walked in. She hadn't

been clingy or crying or any of that stuff. She'd just looked tense and

angry. And she even hadn't hinted for him to come over; he'd been the

one to offer.

"I spend so much time with L.A. people who are from somewhere

else; it's always fun to meet a real local," she said. "Do you have a big

family?"

He rested his hand on the couch, right by, but not on, her knee."Yes and no—it's a big extended family, but Angie's my only sibling.

But we grew up right around the corner from my mom's sister, Tia Eva,

and her daughter, my cousin Jessica, who is basically like a sister to

me. She's the one I told you about at the bar who I got the 'Is that you?'

idea from." He smiled. "That's another reason why this was a good

time to move back to the Eastside; Jessie's pregnant now with her first

kid, and my whole family is over the moon."

She tucked her hair behind her ears and looked up at him. He liked

the way she concentrated on him when he was talking, like she was

really listening to what he had to say.

He also liked the way the neckline of her shirt kept dipping lower

and lower. He had to force himself to not let his eyes linger for too long

on her cleavage.

"Are you over the moon about the baby, too?"

Her shirt dipped off one shoulder. He really wanted to reach over

and push it off all the way. It took him a minute to remember what

she'd asked him. Right, right, Jessie's baby.

"Oh yeah, definitely. You'd think that after being a pediatrician for

years now I'd think babies are a dime a dozen, but I can't wait until

Jessie has hers. Not that I'm ready in the least to have one of my own,

but that's what's going to make Jessie's so fun. Being an uncle is going

to be great. All of the fun and none of the responsibility." He laughed.

"Plus, this way, my mom will get off my ass about giving her

grandbabies because she'll have Jessie's baby to hang out with."

She looked at him sideways.

"Or, she'll be on your ass even more because she'll be so excited

about the one baby that she'll want more."

He held his finger up to her lips.

"Shhhhh, don't say that. She knows it's going to be a long time

before that happens. I have too many other people to take care of right

now. I'm just glad that I'm back on the Eastside. I can be closer when

the baby is born, as well as for things like killing spiders—real and

imaginary—late at night for Angela."

She took the last sip of her wine and smiled at him."She's lucky she has you. I was lucky that I had you around tonight,

too." She sat up straight and put her feet on the floor. "Do you have to

be at work super early in the morning? It's getting late."

That sure sounded like his cue to go. Damn it. He looked at his

watch and barely noticed what it said.

"It's getting pretty close to my bedtime." He put his hand on her

arm. "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

Her eyes shot to the door, but she nodded anyway.

"Of course. I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

He'd been on the point of standing up. Instead, he settled back

down on the couch.

"Well, when you say it like that, I'm worried about you. Do you want

me to . . ." He was going to say, "Do you want me to stay?" but that

sounded like he was inviting himself into her bed. And while he'd love

to get an invitation there, he didn't want to look like even more of an

asshole than he already had tonight. "Do you want me to stay until one

of your friends can get here?"

"I feel ridiculous even thinking about doing that, but . . . maybe.

Courtney has to be up at the crack of dawn, so I don't want to call her. I

can call Dana, though. I don't think she's filming tomorrow. Oh God,

that reminds me! Instagram!" She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

He had no idea what the hell that meant in this context.

"Instagram?" he asked.

"Fisher Instagrams his whole life, for 'branding' and his fans or

whatever. If he's updated in the last few hours or so, at least I'll know

what he's up to."

She typed something into the search bar on her phone while she

talked.

"I blocked him on everything, so he can't contact me, but if I'm

logged out, I can still see . . . oh my God, Carlos. Look at this! He's in

Vegas!"

She turned her phone around so he could see the video of Fisher

dancing terribly at some club. He let out a shout of laughter."Wow." He scooted closer to her so they could both watch. My God,

she smelled good. He wanted to stay this close to her on the couch for a

long time. "Is this guy for real? Play it again."

She played his video four or five more times, and they laughed

harder every time.

"This is almost as good as the middle-finger ring picture," she said,

still laughing.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"What middle-finger ring picture?"

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I didn't show you. You and Angela left

before we looked at his texts. Look at this picture he sent me."

She scrolled through her phone and pulled up a photo of a blurry

middle finger with a blue engagement ring on it. He recoiled.

"Oh my God. He seriously texted you this?"

As she'd scrolled to the photo, he'd seen flashes of a few of the texts

Fisher had sent her after the proposal. That fucking bastard.

"I know. I know." She was still looking at the photo, and not at him.

"You don't have to say anything. I have terrible judgment in men; we

all know that now, but this is really incredible, right?"

He stood up. He was glad for her that Fisher was out of town, but

now he had no more excuses to stay here.

"It's so incredible that I need to go home now to process that. And

also because I have to be up, awake, and ready for patients at eight

thirty a.m. tomorrow."

She walked him to the door.

"Sorry for keeping you up, and thanks again."

She reached out to hug him, and he pulled her in tight. Her body

nestled up against his felt so good. He wanted to hold on for much

longer and forced himself to let go.

"Glad I could be here. Good night. And if you want to stack a chair

behind that door after I leave, feel free. No one will know about it but

you."

She laughed and reached up to kiss him on the cheek."I just might do that, thanks."