Page 66 of The Vegas Lie

He rolled his eyes. “Ozzie’s a flirt.”

She entered the room and flopped into a chair tucked against the wall on the other side. She was tired, but he’d already offered to take her back to his place. One refusal was all he would accept, as the alternative was staying close to him.

“Did you sleep?” he asked.

She covered a yawn. “A little. It was harder to sleep once you left, though.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Maybe.”

Concentrating harder than he had on his board exams, he finished typing Ozzie’s notes and locked the computer.

“So, dinner?” he asked.

“Are you still cooking?”

“Yes. Why?”

“It’s late. It’s Friday. You’ve been going all day. Let’s order something and take it home. You can cook for me another time when you’ve had what I’m sure is more than a few hours’ worth of sleep.”

He wanted to cook for her, but she was right. He’d been at it all day and would be working at the clinic the entire weekend, which he did once a month. Then, cumulative exams were next week, and the thought alone made him want to escape to Switzerland and change his name.

“Chickpea curry sound good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Sounds amazing.”

“By the way,” he motioned around, “what do you think of the clinic?”

“It’s amazing. Honestly, I was expecting something smaller, simpler, but there’s Family Medicine, a Women’s Health Department, Pediatrics, an on-site pharmacy. Even a dental clinic.”

“It used to be simpler, back when I first started working here.” As a thirteen-year-old custodian who’d had no idea how his life was about to change. “Over the years, between grants and private funding sources, it’s become the wonder you see here today.”

“My father’s company has been investing more in healthcare,” she said. “Is that something you’d be interested in, you think?”

Before the question left her mouth, he was already thinking about getting a PET scanner and updating the clinic’s ultrasound technology. It was adequate but outdated. Extra money could also mean adding an on-site lab and behavioral health department.

“Definitely, but I don’t want anyone to cry favoritism if he gives money to your husband’s wee little community clinic.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Like he’d care.”

He laughed.

“I’ll talk to him, tell him about all the good you do for the community…and for me.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “But first, let’s go get some grub. Wifey’s hungry.”

“I can hear your stomach rumbling from over here,” he said, rising to his feet. “And you want me to meet your father?”

“He’d like you.”

“Oh.” His face warmed. “Good to know.”

He reached out to help her up, but she went limp, like a rag doll, against the chair.

“Please, Lucas. I’m so tired.” She reached for him, her voice weaker than the password his mother used for the parental controls on their first family computer—password.

Sighing, he scooped her up into his arms. “You know, that sounded a whole lot like begging.”

“Does that mean you’ll kiss me?”