“Uh, Palmer, Dr. Beau asked you a question.” When I don’t answer, as I’m too busy trying to place him, Mom adds, “You’ll have to excuse her; she’s failing to act normal this morning.”
Dr. Beau laughs, and I am not kidding you: the sound of his laugh actually hardens my nipples. Just like that.
Laugh.
Nipples hard.
I’m pretty sure that’s the first time this has ever happened to me. I need to text Laramie. Hell, at this point, I need to call him, because I’ve been on Marina Island for less than twenty-four hours and I’ve already broken my wrist, cut my head open, and experienced hard nipples from a man’s laugh. This is easily best friend material that needs to be dissected and discussed.
Dr. Beau sets down his tablet and approaches. My eyes land on his chest, and I know my eyes aren’t deceiving me when I notice the outline of his pecs under his white lab coat.
Oh, Dr. Beau . . . you naughty man, getting your workout on and then wearing shirts that show off the time you spend clanking metal around in the gym. Bravo.
As I’m mentally applauding the man for his obvious workout routine—I bet his abs are better than Cooper’s—Dr. Beau reaches up and grips my head, sending a waft of his cologne in my direction.
“Tom Ford,” I say, taking a deep sniff. “Oh yeah, that’s Tom Ford.”
“Oh dear. No, honey, this is Dr. Beau,” Mom says, stepping up to me and pressing her hand to my shoulder. “I truly think she has lost her senses. Could she have suffered a concussion last night?”
“Possibly, but she checked out fine last night,” Dr. Beau says, his aura doing all kinds of different things for me.
“No, he’s wearing Tom Ford, Noir Extreme,” I say and, for some reason, take Dr. Beau’s arm and sniff the length like it’s a line of coke—something I’ve only seen done in movies but imagine this is what it feels like nonetheless.
Also . . . maybe I have lost it a little. I don’t sniff strange men’s arms.
Where’s the class, Palmer?
Dr. Beau chuckles. “She’s correct on my cologne, so maybe she hasn’t lost all of her senses.”
“See?” I look at my mom and tap my nose. “Schnoz is still working.”
“And your memory?” Mom asks, hand to her hip.
“My memory is fine—I was just drunk. Sometimes when you drink, you forget things.” And sometimes the next morning, it takes longer to process things.
“Uh-huh.” Mom’s eyes light up. “Is that why you’ve failed to acknowledge Dr. Beau?”
“Failed to what?” I glance over at the doctor. “I said hi.”
“Technically you didn’t, but that’s okay,” Dr. Beau says, now leaning against the cabinets in the exam room, arms crossed over his chest.
“Okay . . . fine . . . hi, Dr. Beau. You’re wearing Tom Ford Noir Extreme, and it smells nice. Thank you for wrapping up my arm last night, which forced my mom to bathe me this morning. That was not at all humiliating or scarring.”
“Scarring for the both of us,” Mom whispers and then adds, “I found out her nipples are pierced.”
“Jesus Christ, Mom! Things the doctor doesn’t need to know.”
“It’s not like it’s a secret—they’re practically pressed against your shirt now.” As a group, we all look down at my chest, and yup, would you look at that. That’s what happens when you can barely dress yourself—the bra is skipped.
Dr. Beau clears his throat. “Well, we should probably get on with the—”
“Can you please check her head, Dr. Beau?” Mom cuts in. “It’s very concerning she woke up this morning with no idea why she had a cast on her wrist and couldn’t recall her fall. And the fact that she hasn’t acknowledged—”
“I said hi,” I practically yell. “I said he smells nice—what more do you want?”
Mom gently places her hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie, this is Dr. Beau.”
“We established that. And I’m Palmer, and because of you, this stranger knows I have pierced nipples.”
Mom shakes her head. “No, Palmer, this is Dr. Beau Novak. Larkin’s brother, and the boy who saved your life in the store fire.”
My eyes snap to him, and just like that, I instantly recognize that hazel gaze.
But . . . no, is it really him?
He’s taller.
Bigger.
His voice is deeper.
His . . . his clothes are sharper.