“I tried calling you for months, Cohen,” she snaps before raising a finger. “No, wait. I tried calling you for years.”
“What did I tell you?” I reply, setting the cups down on a table. “If it doesn’t involve Noah, I have nothing to say to you.”
“Seriously?” She grimaces. “Act like a grown man here.”
“Trust me, I am plenty of a grown man.”
“Really? Because your behavior screams more of a child’s than a man’s.”
“This conversation is what’s childish. What do you want me to tell you, Jamie?” I scrape a hand through my hair and blow out a stressed breath. “I changed my number.”
“Thank you, Captain Fucking Obvious. Why did you change your number?”
“Put two and two together. You’re smart.”
She shoots me a cold look. “Asshole.”
I shrug.
“He’s so big, Cohen.” Her features, along with her tone, relax. “And he has your eyes. Fatherhood suits you.”
If this is her trying some reverse psychology shit, it won’t work.
“Fuck your compliments, Jamie,” I snarl. “Saying nice shit to me and being Noah’s doctor won’t change anything between your family and me… between you and me.”
“Why?” she questions with disdain, taking a step closer. “What did I do to you to take away the chance of knowing my nephew? To take away my parents’ first and only grandchild? We never turned our backs on Noah when Heather said she was leaving. We opened our arms—”
“And asked to fucking adopt him!” Anger fires through me. Anger that’s been embedded in me since Noah’s birth and can finally be released. “You wanted to take him from my arms!”
“That isn’t fair to say it like that,” she states, repeatedly shaking her head while delivering a pained stare. “They were worried.”
“They had nothing to worry about.”
“With your job—”
“My job makes me incompetent of being a father?” I snort and scowl at the same time. “If anything, it’s given me patience. I can easily clean up spills and vomit, and I have no issue dealing with a lack of sleep. My job has made me the perfect fucking parent.”
She stays quiet as worry covers her face. She’s searching for her next words, wanting them to be perfect.
“I can expect you won’t tell Noah who you are?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
“Jamie”—I seethe—“you’re his fucking doctor. That’s it.”
Her face turns stern. “I won’t say anything.”
I tip my head down and grab the coffees. “Thank you. Now, I need to get back to my son.”
She jumps in front of me when I attempt to beeline around her. “If you change your mind—”
I hold up my hand and talk over her because I’m a jackass like that., “Not fucking happening, so don’t bother finishing that sentence.”
“Jesus, Cohen, will you stop interrupting me?”
“You can’t see him, Jamie. It’ll only confuse him.”
“Why?”
“You’re seriously asking me that fucking question?”
“Say I’m your friend.” She edges closer, and I retreat. “Say I’m his aunt Jamie. Say whatever you want.”
I lower my gaze on her. “I appreciate your help today, but that’s all we need from you.”
She glares at me, unblinking. “Oh, I get it. You’re selfish … just like her.”
My face burns, and I reply through gritted teeth, “Excuse me?”
“Withholding Noah from having grandparents,” she says, my temper not scaring her off. “Withholding an aunt—”
“Georgia is a perfectly good aunt.”
She digs in her pocket and pulls a card out between two fingers. “Noah has the flu. The nurse will go through the details for treatment with you. Here’s my card if you need anything. Call me, day or night. If Noah is sick. If he isn’t. If you change your mind.”
I scoff., “Not happening.”
She shoves the card in my shirt pocket, pats my chest, and turns to leave. I still, staring at her as she walks away.
Cursing under my breath, I stroll back to Noah’s room. Jamie is gone, and the nurse delivers a hesitant smile before giving us the discharge information.
“What’s that?” Georgia asks when the nurse leaves, referring to the card sticking out of my pocket.
“Jamie’s card.” I snatch the card and glare at it like it’s ruined my night.
Georgia stops me when I start crumpling it in my hand. “Don’t do that. She’s a doctor. If you ever need help, you can call her.”
“Noah has a doctor. There’s no shortage of them around.”
“Keep it.” She pats my chest the same way Jamie did. “Don’t be dumb.”
3
Jamie
“You’re a doctor, huh? Does that mean you like blood and can stomach gory shit?”
I’m a firm believer in not wasting wine, but the longer my date speaks, the higher the chance he’ll be wearing mine by the end of the night.
It wouldn’t be completely wasted if it taught him a lesson, right?
Reason four hundred and fifty-three of why I hate blind dates: I’m set up with idiots who ask if I get pleasure from blood and gory shit as if I were Rob Zombie.
Hell, I’d rather be on a date with Mr. Zombie than this expensive-suit-wearing prick.
A suit that’d pair nicely with a soft red, if I do say so myself.
Normally, I’d roll my eyes and ignore his remark, but today is not my day. Thanks to a bolt of lightning striking my townhome’s power line, I got ready for this joke of a date with no electricity—my iPhone flashlight and a sugar cookie-scented candle my only light sources.
All that trouble for this smug dick to smirk and ask me ridiculous questions.
On paper, he’s perfect—wealthy, successful, handsome.
Realistically, he’s a major tool bag.
“You’re a criminal defense attorney, huh?” I relax in my chair and deliver a smirk more asshole-like than his. “Does that mean you like convicts and can stomach illegal shit?”
He lifts his chin with pride and waggles his manicured finger my way. “I see what you did there, beautiful.”
Gag me.
He grabs his scotch from the table and casually leans back in his chair, and the glass dangles from his fingers. “Baby, there’s no denying I love when the law is broken. The criminals, they flock to me. I’m damn good at my job, which means I make damn good money.” His eyes brighten as if he’s gearing to reveal a secret. “You know Freddy Louda?”
Who doesn’t?
“The millionaire who trafficked drugs and murdered two women?”
“Allegedly trafficked drugs and murdered those women. I got him off with not one charge.” He swipes invisible dirt from his shoulder. “I love it when the bigwigs with fat bank accounts need legal counsel. Hell, I bought a new Mercedes S550 from his case alone.”