… including hospital gear. Brad said scrubs were the order of the day, the funkier the better. And true to his word he’d produced two shiny new keys, one for her bedroom and one for the bathroom, so she could at least dress and bathe in private.
A spark of excitement zipped through her. Brand-new scrubs were fitting for a brand-new life. This was the perfect opportunity to start over. The lawyer she’d spoken with had assured her she’d only need to face Travis one more time … across the courtroom when the divorce was finalized.
Although there was a certain amount of guilt swirling around inside of her over her failed marriage, she felt more relief than anything. No more worrying about showing enough enthusiasm in bed or fearing the slightest twitch of discomfort would bring about one of Travis’s long-suffering sighs.
She checked out the view from behind in the full-length mirror in Brad’s bedroom, carefully avoiding glancing at the expanse of reflective glass mounted on the ceiling over that huge bed. Somehow she didn’t think he used it for shaving.
Chloe shuddered. At least her ex had never suggested putting mirrors in their bedroom. Her eyes tracked to the bed again, the image of Brad’s muscular frame sweeping through her mind, the tattoo across his shoulder bunching with each movement.
Her mouth went dry. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what that tattoo looked like. It had been some kind of jagged circle enclosing a tree. As a teenager, her eyes had gone to it again and again as he’d sprawled out on a lounge chair by her parents’ pool. Even then he’d cut a powerful figure. No wonder she’d had a crush on him.
But as gorgeous as he was, there’d been a raw, untamed quality to him that had frightened her at times. Travis had been smooth and refined … steady and safe in comparison, which had been what she’d thought she wanted.
She gave a pained laugh. Boy, were appearances deceptive. Travis had been anything but safe.
At least now she was free.
Digging in her handbag, she located her phone and sent Brad a text thanking him for the clothes and letting him know she was headed out to go shopping for some new things. He’d promised to take her to the hospital tomorrow to show her the prenatal wing and introduce her to the staff.
Just as she got ready to head to the lobby and ask the doorman to hail a cab, the phone rang. She stared at it, wondering if she should answer it or let the machine pick up. But maybe Brad had gotten her text and was calling her to firm up times for dinner or something.
She lifted the receiver from its cradle. “Hello?”
There was a pause then a woman’s voice came through. “Who is this?”
Uh-oh. That was not a happy tone.
“Chloe Jenkins. I’m a … friend of Brad’s.” It was true, right? “He’s not here right now, though. Can I take a message?”
“This is Katrina. I wanted to see if he got the note I left him.”
Note? Brad hadn’t mentioned anything about one. But why would he? Those mirrors came back to her thoughts. Of course. This was probably one of Brad’s “women.”
“I … um. I’m not sure.” How was this for awkward? “I can leave him a message and let him know you called.”
“Don’t bother.” If anything, the woman’s voice had grown even colder. “He’s got my number. If he wants me, he can call me.”
Chloe gulped. If he wanted her? Did she mean as in beneath the mirrors?
Oh, lordy. This could get really weird if a parade of women started trekking through at all hours of the night.
The sound of the dial tone in her ear told her the lady in question hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye before hanging up. But, then, why would she? This Katrina person didn’t even know who she was.
She dropped the phone back onto its stand, making a mental note not to pick it up again. Ever. Otherwise someone could get the wrong idea about why she was staying here. She had no intention of becoming part of Brad’s female entourage.
Actually, the woman’s call had come at the perfect time because she needed to remind herself of her reasons for being there. It was to get away from Travis, not to dive head first back into the dating pool.
Although from Travis’s cutting remarks about her prowess in the bedroom she might not need to worry about that for a long time to come. She certainly didn’t want to relive any of those awful moments, especially with a stranger.
She’d have to eventually, though. She didn’t want to go through life alone. She wanted children. A family. It’s why she’d gotten married in the first place, to have what her parents had. A love that endured for decades.
Maybe she could talk to someone about her difficulties in that area. She certainly couldn’t talk to Jason, not only because he’d always despised Travis but because of the ick factor involved. And the few girlfriends she had couldn’t really give her a man’s point of view—other than claiming Travis was a jerk who was terrible in bed. But was he? Other women seemed to like his moves just fine, judging from the bimbo who’d been hanging all over him at the hotel. So the problem had to be with her.
But how to fix it …
She glanced at the phone, remembering Katrina’s irked voice. Brad had been with lots of women. And Katrina’s attitude indicated that they didn’t mind the instant replays. They wanted to be with him. Were peeved when they couldn’t be.
What better person to pinpoint where she’d gone wrong with Travis and give her some pointers on how to act in any future relationships. It wouldn’t be strange, right? The two of them had been friends since childhood. He had no idea she’d had a crush on him during their teenage years. And his experience with the female sex could give her insights that a stranger might be too embarrassed to be honest about. Brad could always be counted on to tell it like it was. No sugar coating involved with that man.
She took a deep breath and let it out. That settled it, then. She’d broach the subject somehow and see how he reacted. If he acted like it was no big deal, she’d pick his brain and try to figure out exactly what a man wanted from a woman.
Because, whatever it was, she didn’t have it … and she had no idea where to get it.
Brad stood in the observation room above the surgical suite and watched as the surgeon prepped his patient for a hysterotomy. It was the same procedure his fetal heart patient would have to undergo in a month or two, except this particular fetal surgery was being done to close a neural tube defect and avoid a woman giving birth to a child with physical deficits. Few open fetal surgeries were done each year because of the risks to the baby, but Angel’s was considered one of the best facilities in the country. People came to them from all over the U.S.
He shifted to the right to get a better view as the skilled fingers of the surgeon reached the uterus and prepared to open it.
Cade Coleman, the newest member of Angel’s surgical staff, had been called in to perform the delicate procedure, and while Brad could acknowledge the man’s expertise, he and the surgeon had already butted heads during the few weeks he’d been at the hospital.
Including the timing of the current surgery.
Brad
