Dislodging the otoscope from its wall mount, I flick on the light. “Examining you for signs of intracranial aneurysm. Some doctors minimize a patient’s self-diagnosis like it’s their job, but I’ve found people are quite capable of knowing their own body. I take your concerns seriously.”

Her eyes narrow. “James.”

I step into the space between her legs until her knees brush my thighs. “Beatrice.”

Our eyes hold. She blinks away first. “Okay, I didn’t have an aneurysm.”

Flicking off the light, I reach past her again and return the otoscope to its wall mount.

“I just . . .” Groaning, she slumps against the wall and frowns up at the ceiling. “I might find your face a tiny bit kissable. Purely sexual, I promise. That’s all I meant.”

Lust slams into my system as her words fragment and, like drops of long-awaited rain, drench my parched thoughts—face, kiss, sex . . . I picture holding her hips, kissing my way up the smooth, warm skin of her thighs, finding her wet and hot—

Christ. This abstinent streak is going to be the death of me.

Bea exhales slowly, her cheeks still bright red. “Okay. Let’s pretend the last two minutes never happened.”

“Excellent.” My cheeks feel as hot as hers look. We avoid each other’s eyes entirely.

“You were saying?” Bea offers. “About making this setup run smoother?”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “So, I made things awkward, falling off the grid after a little harmless fun on Friday.”

She glances up at me, silent for a beat. “That’s okay.”

“It’s not. We’ll have to kiss and act cozy again. It can’t be uncomfortable like this every time afterward. We’ll wear ourselves out.”

That last phrase hangs in the air, a Freudian slip of massive proportions.

“True,” she finally says.

“I think our task would feel easier if we felt easier around each other.” I press my glasses higher up my nose before shoving my hands into my front pockets. “I think we should try to be friends.”

“Friends?” She frowns.

“Yes?” Why am I suddenly doubting everything, from the words that just came out of my mouth to the tie I picked this morning, based on one little word from her mouth?

“Friends,” she says again. This time it sounds less incredulous, more exploratory. Like sipping a new wine and tasting its subtleties. “So . . . you mean if we’re friends, pretending to be more won’t stress us out as much.”

“Exactly.”

“Makes sense. I’m in.” Her expression flips to a smile as she hops off the exam table, her skirt fluttering as she lands.

“Right. Well . . . good.” I’m honestly a bit stunned she didn’t push back, but I’ll take it.

“I’m going to hit the road. Leave you to your tiny patients,” she says, marching toward the door. “Keep doing the good work. Saving babies. Curing disease. Solving world hunger.”