Page 23 of Doctor Holliday

Keaton figured now was as good a time as any.

“Have dinner with me?”

Chapter 11

Monday,December 11th

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 stubbleover 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 thedesireto 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.”