He hadn’t sounded all that happy that his marriage was over.
It’s none of your business, Tessa. She quickened her steps, switching into what she called waddle mode—when her pace became too fast for her legs to handle and the wiggle of her hips shifted into overdrive.
But, waddle or not, she had to get away from him. And stay away. At least until the end of her current residency cycle. Maybe she should rethink her plans of applying for that Mohs micrographic surgery fellowship here at West Manhattan. She could always move to another teaching facility.
But she loved it here. Loved the hospital. Loved living in the brownstone with Sam, Caren and Holly. Was she really going to let Clay drive her out?
She turned the corner, but she didn’t slow down until she was on the elevator and heading toward the third floor. Then she sagged against the wall.
Clayton Matthews. Here in her hospital.
Her lips tightened. No. She was here to stay. She’d been toying with getting her own place and possibly even starting a family once her residency was done—a huge decision, but one she’d been thinking about for a while. She wasn’t going to drastically alter her course, no matter how much he made her insides melt. He’d lost none of his sizzle factor, she’d give him that.
So she was going to continue doing the things she loved as if she’d never seen him—although she had no idea how that was possible. She’d just have to come up with some kind of strategy for future sightings.
The doors to the elevator swished back open, and she stepped out onto the busy floor of the world she knew and loved.
Strategy.
She mulled that word over for a second or two before discarding it. Right now, she would practice preventative medicine. If it worked in health care, it could surely work in her love life—not that she had one. Since Clay, she’d dated two men. Neither had lasted more than a couple of months. She could never seem to relinquish enough control to make a steady relationship work.
Okay. So prevention was the word of the day—the word for avoiding negative consequences. Starting now, Tessa would practice prevention when it came to Clay.
Which meant avoiding him. At all costs.
“Traditional Capoeira of Brazil.”
The familiar name on the list of businesses supporting the hospital’s annual summer Health Can Be Fun festival caught Clay’s eye. At the bottom of the page were hundreds of lines—many already filled in with the names of volunteers. Hospital staff had been encouraged to find a place to serve ahead of the July 19 event. Most of the easier tasks—like raffle drawings, the ticket booth and kiddie face painting—were taken. He shook his head. He’d have to look at it again when he was a little calmer.
Seeing Tessa this morning had thrown him for a loop. Maybe he would have handled it better had she not been standing in front of that ridiculous poster the hospital had insisted on putting up. But there she’d been, talking with one of her friends. His gut had tightened when he heard the other woman laugh at something Tessa said. Because there’d been nothing funny about what had happened between the two of them.
And when Tessa denied knowing him…
Well, that had been the last straw. Any thought of sliding by the pair unnoticed had fled in a rush of anger.
Except he’d seen something flit through Tessa’s eyes when she turned and saw him standing there. Dismay? Horror? Guilt? He couldn’t place what it had been exactly, but he refused to believe what had come to mind when he’d first seen that look: pain.
There’d been no pain in the tight lips and steady gaze on the day he’d shown up on her doorstep, only to have her confirm they were through. If anyone should have felt pain back then, it had been him. Things had been tense between them for the last six months of their relationship, but he’d never dreamed she’d been that unhappy. Unless it had been about the money all along. Except she’d returned his bracelet.
His teeth clenched until his jaw ached. He’d been over and over this years ago and had come up empty.
Someone else came into the lounge and cleared her throat, making him realize a woman was waiting, pen in hand, to sign up for something. He took a couple of steps back and let her take his place.
His gaze cut back to the name of the local capoeira studio. Did Tessa still train there? When they’d been together, she’d sent him a handwritten invitation, asking him to come and learn a little more about her Brazilian heritage. He’d accepted without hesitation. And it had been worth it. Watching her work out inside the circle they called a roda had been beyond sexy—the intricate, flowing moves had highlighted the lean lines of her body and made capoeira look more like a dance than a true martial art.
He’d soon learned differently. It was just as passionate and fiery as Tessa was—and just as proud.
He shook himself back to the present as the attractive brunette finished writing her name and turned toward him with a smile, her dark eyes skipping over him. “Thanks. Better get in there and choose something. Pickings are getting mighty slim.”
“So it would seem.” He managed to return her smile, although the last thing he wanted to do was engage in small talk with a member of the opposite sex. He’d been burned twice now. Maybe he should have become a priest, like his cousin.
Except he did like women. He just didn’t have the knack for long-term relationships, evidently. That was one gene his parents—married for thirty-five years now—hadn’t passed down to him.
“See ya,” the brunette said with yet another smile, although she didn’t try to introduce herself, as Tessa’s friend had. He was just as glad.
“Yep. Good luck with that.” He nodded toward the board.
“You, too. Maybe we’ll wind up volunteering for the same thing.”
That was probably meant as a hint, but since Clay hadn’t even noticed what she’d signed up for, she was out of luck. “Maybe.”
She exited the room, leaving Clay to stare at the sheet again and wonder about Tessa and the studio. Especially when he looked closer and noticed that she hadn’t signed up for anything, either, although the list of businesses didn’t have slots for sign-ups. They must be using their own people in the rented booths.
It didn’t matter. How hard could an hour or two of volunteer work be? He could always sign up for the cleanup crew, which still had several time periods available. That way he wouldn’t have to interact with anyone.
But right now all he wanted to do was get to work and forget about his encounter with a certain redhead.
Except that a few parts of Clay were still smoldering from seeing her again. Time to remedy that. The sooner he could locate his mental fire extinguisher and douse those areas with a mixture of foam and water, the better it would be. For both of them.
WHERE WAS HIS EX-WIFE?
Clay sat in the hospital cafeteria with
