Right. It sounded completely unbelievable. Because it sort of was. All orchestrated by their very own fairy godfather, James. In fact…
“Has anyone spoken to James lately?” Reagan asked, whipping out her phone so she could send him a text. But what would she say?
Thanks for hooking me up with the sexiest man alive. We had the best sex ever!
Yeah. That would be kind of weird.
In the end, all three of them sent him separate thank you texts, figuring they at least needed to give credit where credit was due. And one by one, he sent them each a text in return, and attached to the texts, photos, all of them candid, not one of the women aware that James had even taken the pictures.
There was one of Andrea and Luke in a secluded corner at Friday night’s party, his hand on her barely covered butt, their gazes locked on each other and no one else. But you could definitely recognize Luke—and recognize the star struck expression on Andrea’s face.
Natalie and Noah Wilde were laughing as they stood facing each other, drinks in hand and looking as if they were having the time of their lives. Reagan had never seen her friend so happy, so alive. Noah was sexy in that magnetic, rock-and-roll style that had all the women going crazy over him.
And the one of Reagan and Declan…it sent a wistful yearning knotted in her stomach. She realized immediately when the photo was taken. They’d just come back inside from the patio, walking together, Declan’s hand on her lower back as he glanced down at her. She looked in a daze and he looked…love struck?
The lump in her throat was hard to swallow past, but she managed.
“Proof,” Natalie said, staring at the photo on her phone as if she couldn’t quite believe that was her standing next to Noah Wilde.
Reagan could relate.
“Yes. He sent us proof,” Andrea agreed, bringing her phone up to her chest so she could literally clutch it. She closed her eyes and sighed, the phone still close to her heart. Any other time, Reagan would’ve made fun of her, but not now. Not when she felt like doing the exact same thing. “This was the best weekend of my life.”
“Mine too,” Natalie and Reagan said together.
“No regrets?” Andrea opened her eyes and stared at her friends, imploring them with her gaze.
“No regrets,” Reagan murmured, staring at her phone, tracing Declan’s profile with the very edge of her fingernail.
Absolutely, one-hundred percent, no regrets.
Chapter Eight
Five weeks later
Reagan rubbed her hand across her forehead, pushing back the straying tendrils of hair with a sigh of frustration. She was exhausted at the end of her unusually long seventeen-hour shift at the hospital. It was a full moon, meaning all the freaks were out at night…literally.
She’d seen more than her fair share of people involved with criminal activity coming in for treatment of stab wounds, gunshot wounds. One man had a slit down his cheek from the ring his opponent had worn when they’d engaged in a fistfight. His girlfriend’s ring—as in his beloved socked him in the eye but missed, cutting open his cheek instead.
The woman hung on to him the entire time he was being treated, sobbing over and over again how sorry she was. How he was her baby. It made Reagan incredibly uncomfortable.
It also reminded Reagan that true love was a bunch of bullshit.
But the end of her shift was nigh. She was literally counting down the minutes, trying to keep herself occupied until it was finally time to go. Hoping like crazy no major accident happened between now and when her shift was done so she wouldn’t be kept working overtime. Not that she didn’t love those overtime checks, but man, she was exhausted. She just wanted to go home and collapse into bed.
Where she might yet again dream about Declan Carter. Not that she wanted to. She was sort of over him. Over his seeming rejection of her because oh, did it hurt to admit that he’d most definitely rejected her. Five weeks came and went and that was time for her to have a reality check. She’d waited anxiously by the phone at first, hoping against hope he’d send her a text message. He sent her nothing. Not even a one-word text, which she took as a bad sign. Lord knew she wasn’t going to send him one. She refused to be the first to call, even though they did exchange numbers.
She just couldn’t force herself to do it.
So she threw herself into her work even more than usual, if that was possible. Better to overload on work and make extra money than cry over being rejected by Declan. She took on extra shifts, worked herself to the bone so she couldn’t think of anything else but finding some much-needed sleep.
Despite the extra workload, she still dreamed of his sexy ass. He always came to her, sweet and convincing. Arrogant yet humble, commanding and determined to show her a good time. She’d woken up more than once from a particularly delicious dream about Declan with her body throbbing, her mind awhirl with lusty thoughts and a sweet ache blooming low in her belly. It was frustrating and wonderful, all at once.
But the dreams, they only made her madder the more time went on and she didn’t hear from him. Well, not necessarily mad. More like disappointed. She should’ve known better than to believe something could really work between them. It was impossible. He was a superstar and she was—not. They moved in different worlds and it was silly to think they could’ve been more.
Her friends…she didn’t know what was going on with them. They all worked at different hospitals, and since the Las Vegas trip, she hadn’t seen them much. She figured they were doing the same thing she was—throwing themselves into their work. Or they were seeing the men they met in Vegas and didn’t want to rub it in her face.
She could appreciate the gesture and silently thanked them for it.
Glancing at the clock, she saw she now had less than fifteen minutes until her shift was over. She started straightening up, going through files, cleaning up the desk. She went back to the last examination room she’d worked in, picking up what she could, keeping herself busy so her mind wouldn’t wander.
“Hey, Reagan.” She turned to find one of her coworkers standing there with an odd look on his face. “Someone’s here to see you.”
She frowned. “Who?”
“A patient. Said he won’t see anyone else but you. He’s in room three waiting for you.”
Huh. Well, there was Mr. Decker, who showed up earlier tonight complaining of back pain. He came in at least once a week, sometimes more, moaning about some new ailment. Everyone on staff figured the poor old man was lonely, and since he usually came in during the less busy times, they tended to indulge him. Reagan had always been especially nice to him, so he tended to seek her out above the rest.
Headed for the small examination room where the patient was waiting for her, she yanked back the curtain that closed off the space. “How can I help…” Her voice died off when she saw who stood before her.
Declan Carter. In the flesh.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked when she found her voice. Oh my, did he look good. Better than any man should have a right to. His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him and a little untamed, which was a good look for him. He wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt that molded to his chest and showed off every bit of muscle and sinew, including those amazing biceps.
And the look on his face…he was watching her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen. His gaze roamed over the entire length of her in a long, assured scan of her body until he finally met her gaze, his lips curved in a tantalizing smile that she firmly believed she’d never see again.
“Hey.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, seemingly…embarrassed? How odd. “How are you?”
She took a step toward him, shock and disbelief wearing off and being replaced by a hint of anger. And major frustration. “How am I? Um, what are you doing here?”