A Doctor In Her Stocking. Elizabeth BevarlyЧитать онлайн книгу.
chest was really only a gastric reaction spurred by her lactose intolerance. Plus, he had just come from four hours in surgery, and now he was hungrier than he’d ever been in his entire life. And as if all that weren’t enough, to make matters even worse, on top of everything else.
He grumbled under his breath. On top of all that, it was Christmastime. Christmastime. Dammit. Just the thing to make a crummy day even crummier, and to make a scroogey man even scroogier.
Bah, humbug, he thought in the crummiest, scroogiest voice he could mentally muster. What’s for dinner?
As if conjured by his thoughts, his colleague and what passed for his closest friend in the world, Dr. Seth Mahoney, strode into the locker room that all the male surgeons of Seton General Hospital shared. And as always, Seth was way too happy for Reed’s tolerance. Way too warm. Way too sunny of disposition. Way too blond.
Honestly. How Reed and Seth had ever become friends in the first place was a complete and unsolvable mystery. They were opposites in every way, physical as well as metaphysical. Reed’s hair was black, his eyes brown, his features blunt and forbidding. He was the polar opposite of Seth’s blond, blue-eyed, all-American-boyishness. Even their personal philosophies, and their outlooks on life, the universe and everything were totally at odds. Where Seth saw hope for the planet and the good in all people, Reed saw the truth—that they were all headed to hell in a handbasket. In the fast lane. Two at a time.
Total opposites, for sure. Seth, after all, loved this time of year.
“Reed!” the other man exclaimed when he saw Reed struggling to tug on his hiking boot. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve just sewn Mr. Hoberman’s scalp back on, and I’m ravenous for dinner. Care to join me?”
Reed chuckled in spite of himself. “Gee, Seth, put that way, I don’t see how I can resist.” He finished tying up his boots, then rose to jerk a massive, oatmeal-colored sweater on over his T-shirt and faded jeans. That done, he scrubbed both hands restlessly through his dark hair to tame it and rubbed his open palms over a day’s growth of heavy beard.
“But it better be someplace casual,” he added. “I’m not changing my clothes again. And I’m not in the mood to mind my manners, either.”
“And this is news?” Seth pulled the top half of his pale blue hospital scrubs over his head, then dunked it easily into the laundry bin with a proud “Yesss!” for his perfect twopointer. Which was no big deal, seeing as how the bin was only a foot away from the guy, Reed noted with a shake of his head. Then he went to work on his pants.
Once divested of his scrubs, he strode in his boxer shorts to the locker beside Reed’s and wrestled it open. “I was thinking of trying that diner over on Haddonfield Road,” he said, the metallic bang of the locker door punctuating his statement. “Evie’s it’s called. A couple of the nurses ate there the other night and raved about it.”
“Fine,” Reed said as he sat down to wait for his friend to finish dressing. “As long as there’s food—and lots of it—it’ll be perfect. I’m starving.”
Seth’s change of clothes was almost identical to Reed’s, except that his own blue jeans were quite a bit more disreputable looking, and his sweater was a dark charcoal gray.
Jeez, he was blond, Reed thought as he eyed the other man critically. And so damn young to be such a skilled surgeon. Although Reed was only thirty-seven himself, he felt like he was decades older than Seth. Then again, Seth was the med school boy wonder who had graduated from high school at sixteen, completed his premed studies by nineteen and finished his residency three years ago, at the age of twenty-seven. So Seth hadn’t exactly seen the same side of the world growing up that Reed had seen. And for that reason, he had doubtless aged a good bit more slowly.
To the casual observer, that observation would come as something of a surprise, because Reed Atchison was, and always had been, in a seemingly enviable position. He was a member of the generations-old, generations-rich Main Line Atchisons, one of the founding families of Philadelphia. His forebears had made their fortunes generations ago-one side of the family in steel, the other side in oil-and they’d hoarded every penny as if it would be the last they ever saw.
Reed still lived in the family stronghold in Ardmore, even though the massive house was way too big for a confirmed bachelor like himself. He kept a condo here in Cherry Hill, across the river and closer to the hospital, and he used it on those occasions when he didn’t feel like making the drive home across Philadelphia.
He knew he should sell the estate now that both of his parents were gone. He was the last of the Atchisons and would almost certainly remain single and child-free, the end of the generational line. He had no desire to marry, certainly no desire to procreate and no desire to maintain all those family traditions that had been virtually engraved in stone—Italian marble, naturally—before he’d even been born.
Because for all their wealth and social prominence, the generations-old, generations-rich, Main Line Atchisons were also generations-cold and generations-closed-minded. Hell, Reed had had access to all the money and material possessions a kid could ever want when he was growing up. He’d attended all the best schools, had worn all the right clothes, had driven all the most bitchin’ cars and had visited all the most happening vacation spots. But he sure could have used a hug or two along the way, and those had been glaringly absent from all the glitz and glamour.
The moment the thought materialized in his head, Reed shoved it away, frowning. Where the hell had that idea come from, anyway? He never had needed, never did need, never would need, a hug. Not now. Not ever. Hugs were…Well, they were. He fought off an involuntary shudder.
Unnecessary. That’s what hugs were. Reed had lived for thirty-seven years just fine without excessive—or any, for that matter—physical shows of affection and he certainly wasn’t going to start needing them now. Physical displays were way overrated, in his opinion. Signs of weakness.
Which was probably the main reason he’d partaken of so few of them in his life. Certainly he had a normal, healthy sex drive but he’d had little impulse to act on it over the years. He told himself it was because he just didn’t meet that many women he wanted to be physical with. And, hey, in this day and age, sex could get you killed. No, he didn’t exactly live like a monk. But he wasn’t a party animal, either. Most of his relationships had ended when the women lost interest, usually because he didn’t show them the kind of physical attention they demanded.
These days, Reed lived a quiet, uneventful, orderly life and he liked it that way just fine. Why mess it all up with a relationship, especially one that would include.hugging?
It was just that this time of year was so full of that stuff, he thought, conveniently blaming the holiday he’d always resented for his emotional restlessness of late. Everywhere he looked, people were getting maudlin and sentimental. All the magazines were sporting covers that depicted more-illuminated-than-usual family life. All the television commercials showed sappy scenes of homecoming and reunion, over and over and over again. Everyone everywhere was wishing him a happy holiday, every time he turned around.
Like Reed would ever have a happy holiday. Or a homecoming or reunion. Or even a more-illuminated-than-usual family life. No sense in getting all maudlin and sentimental. It could only lead to trouble.
“Hey, man, you look like you could use a hug.”
Reed jerked up his head to glower at his friend’s assessment, only to find Seth holding back his laughter.
“I do not want to go there,” Reed muttered as he stood, suddenly oddly delighted by the fact that he was a good three inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than his friend. All of it solid rock, naturally, he thought further.
“Then quit looking like you just lost your best friend,” Seth told him, still smiling.
“Don’t tempt me,” Reed returned, only half joking.
But Seth wasn’t falling for it. “C’mon, Reed, it’s Christmas. Will you please just lighten up?”