Doc Page 5

  With a deep, please-God-let-me-be-calm breath, I pull my shoulders back and walk over to Doc and his conversation partner.

  “Hey,” I say simply. My tone sounds friendly, at least I hope it does. “I just wanted to say hello before we commit ourselves before God and all.”

  A million hot needles prick the skin of my face as I rewind what I’ve said.

  “As godparents!” I add awkwardly. So much for calm, cool, and collected.

  Doc’s eyes are wide and, if I’m reading this right, amused. Well, it’s better than the last look he gave me.

  “Hi, Nora,” he says finally. It comes across as piteous, but I could be digging. “This is my date, Rachelle.”

  Of course he brings a goddamn date to a baptism. What the hell? Why didn’t I bring Jansen? Justin. Shit. What was his name again? Oh, right. That’s why.

  Rachelle turns and shakes my hand limply. I’m tempted to squeeze it just a little too hard. You know, assert my dominance. Until I remind myself I don’t care. Nope. Not a bit.

  “So nice to meet you, Nina,” she says.

  I can’t quite discern whether it’s on purpose or because she senses a threat.

  “Nora,” Doc corrects her.

  I turn to look at him, but he quickly looks back to his date. I wonder if I was right in hearing a sliver of annoyance. “She’s Sophie’s bestie. We’ve known each other a long time.”

  The way he explains how we know each other is obviously meant to throw off any idea that we’re romantically involved. That is, ever were involved. Not that we weren’t kind of—oh, forget it.

  “Sorry,” she says, giggling a little. “I lost most of my hearing in this ear after a serious infection.”

  Well, shit. “Oh, that’s horrible.”

  She launches into an explanation of how she was on a tour as a traveling nurse in Peru. She picked up a parasite that nested in her ear and left the mother of all ear infections.

  A bit stunned, I am left mouth agape, struggling for a follow up. “I’m so… Wow. That’s crazy.” I turn to Doc, and he shrugs. “You don’t think that’s insane?”

  “She survived,” he says.

  I move to her other side, presumably her good ear, and start asking questions about where else she’s traveled. We end up chatting right up until the service begins, and I only half-notice how annoyed Doc is. I consider it an extra treat. Then Sophie comes to drag Doc and me away to take our places.

  The ceremony is actually quite nice. Sweet, even. I will admit to no one that I feel something in my ovaries when Fox hands Henry to Doc for the godparents’ induction. Seeing him hold a baby and smile… fuck. I automatically make the sign of the cross for the thoughts popping into my head (Thanks, Catholic upbringing!) and refocus on Henry. I want to call him Hank, but Sophie put the kibosh on that one.

  I offer my finger to the drowsy baby, so cozy in Doc’s strong arms he’ll likely be asleep any minute. I can’t blame the kid. When his tiny fingers clamp around my pinky, I grin and look up to find a witness to share in the cuteness. Doc catches me, smiles, and holds my gaze for a second too long. My heart pounds a bit until I look away. I retrieve my hand from baby clutches, straightening my posture and waiting for my turn to rebuke the devil. Though it could be argued that I just did.

  Sophie’s eye-lasers are boring holes in the side of my head, but I ignore her. She’ll corner me soon enough and make her ridiculous accusations about goddamn feelings or desires and shit. I cross myself again.

  Afterward, everyone shuttles to the country club down the road where, as planned, Sophie’s mom and stepdad have popped for a super nice luncheon. With a full belly and my third Bellini in hand, I circulate, catching up with some of Sophie’s extended family that I know, a few friends, and, of course, Cam.

  The heels I’m wearing are killing me at this point. I curse my Choos and sit down at an empty table to remove them for a break. As I rub at the ball of my foot, I feel someone approach from behind. His hand brushes across my shoulders and the skin pebbles slightly. Doc.

  “Ya know, it’s a baptism. Not a bachelorette party,” he says, sitting down in the chair next to me. He twists it to face me directly.

  “Yeah, I got that from the church and all the God stuff,” I snark.

  His lips twitch, stretching wide in amusement. “Excellent. I just meant with the stripper shoes.”

  “These are Jimmy Choos, motherfucker. I only wear stripper shoes to formal functions, like wakes.”

  He smirks. “Right. Got it.”

  “How’s your mum?” I ask. Sophie relayed that the operation went well, but after our last interaction, I was hesitant to contact him for any reason. “I heard they think they got all the cancer.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. She’s good,” he says. “Mum’s a trooper. She told Lynn and my brother-in-law Jeff how excited she is to burn all her bras.” He chuckles lightly.

  “She got a double mastectomy?” I ask. “Oh God, I hadn’t realized. Is she not having reconstruction?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t much like the idea of fake boobs—or another surgery. She says, ‘Fifty-seven years of tits is enough. Bras were invented by the devil anyway.’”

  I laugh at his higher-pitched inflection, lovingly imitating her complaint. “I like your mom, if just for that statement.”

  His eyes cut to me and his lips part, but our shared glance is brief. The moment goes quiet, and I let my eyes wander the room, knowing his remain on me.

  “So, Rachelle seems nice,” I hear myself say. It immediately feels false, although she does, in all honesty, seem nice.

  He clears his throat before I look back to his face. “She is.” He doesn’t sound super-enthused.

  I force myself to sport a concerned expression and not a villainous smile.

  “Fox introduced us, but I don’t think… I dunno,” he says.

  “What?” I ask, possibly a little too interested. Back off. Why do you care?

  He looks in my eyes. “I’m not all that interested, in truth.”

  “Oh.” My eyebrows pinch together. “Then why did you bring her to a baptism?”

  “She’s Fox’s friend as well.”

  “I—”

  “Nora!” I look past Doc to see Zeke walking in. “It’s so good to see you, gorgeous. How are you?”

  “I’m all right, thanks. You’re a bit late, but here for the most important part—the party,” I say as I stand to give him a hug.

  “God, who let you in?” Doc asks by way of greeting.

  Zeke laughs, calls him a “fucker,” and they man-hug.

  “You two seem cozy,” he says, his eyes volleying back and forth.

  I can feel myself pale. “Just talking,” I say.

  Doc doesn’t say anything right away. “I was making fun of her stripper shoes,” he finally offers.

  “Those are Jimmy Choos, man,” Zeke says.

  “How the hell do you know that?” I ask.

  He laughs. “My ex was obsessed—had a closet of at least thirty pair, got catalogs in the mail and everything. I’m surprised she was able to pay her rent with what she spent on those shoes.”

  We chat for a few, until Sophie interrupts. “Hey, would you mind heading back to the house and getting out the coolers and stuff? Fox and I are going to go have some pictures taken with Henry and our parents.” She rolls her eyes. “Margaret forgot to tell us she hired a photographer for the whole day. Not just the ceremony. I swear, if it takes one minute longer than half an hour, I will hose down the camera.” She grabs a bigger-than-usual boob and pretends to aim it at me.

  “That’d be a picture to frame above the fireplace,” I tell her.

  Zeke and Doc laugh. Sophie pivots and pretend-aims at both of them. “Watch it, gentlemen. No one’s safe.”

  They hold up their hands in surrender.

  “I’ll go make sure things are ready for the fiesta,” I tell her with a salute before waving at the guys. “See you all there.�
��

  Sophie walks with me to the table where I left my keys and bag, chattering under her breath. “So things seemed good. You and Doc. Civil, friendly. You guys were talking for a few. Laughing, even.”

  “Stop,” I demand as my feet do just that. “It’s all good. We’re fine.”

  “Yeah, I got that. I just think he’s still—”

  “Doc. He’s still Doc. It’s fine.” I lean down to pick up my purse. “Nothing is happening. We’re… okay.”

  “What about that time after work?”

  I freeze. “Who told you about that?”

  “Paulie. I stopped by on the way back from Henry’s checkup to see you in drink-slingin’ action, but you weren’t there yet. I had the days wrong. Anyway, he told me he saw you two in the parking lot attached at the face. Either you were kissing or one of you is actually a parasitic alien.”

  I snort, relaxing into a slump. “It… That was just a… Fuck.”

  “Just a fuck?” She barely masks her amusement. That is, she doesn’t. At all.

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean, yes, technically we had sex in some stranger’s driveway, but I meant—”

  Sophie’s expression is more hurt than any kind of shock. “You rode the baloney pony in a stranger’s driveway and didn’t tell me?”

  “One, never say ‘baloney pony’ to me again. Two, I don’t tell you about all of my hook-ups, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.” My argument sounds incredibly stupid. I’m not even sure it makes sense. “We ended the evening badly, okay? I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  She crosses her arms under her self-proclaimed milk sacks. “You like him. Don’t bother denying it. Why is he such a bad idea? I just don’t get it. He’s a really good guy.”

  “He’s a player.”

  “He’s the most honest player I’ve ever met.”

  My mouth drops open, and I can’t argue with her. I roll my shoulders back and exhale roughly. “What about Fox?” I say, regretting it instantly. Fortunately, she just laughs.

  “Nice try. As a matter of fact, you sound like him with that lame-ass attempt at redirection.” She shakes her head. “Two points to Sophie!”

  “What game are you playing?”

  “The one where I win.”

  “Jesus, I’ll go set up the house.”

  “Think about it,” she trills as she backs away and heads toward her boys. Fox is holding Henry, surrounded by their families. Sophie kisses H on the head and Fox on the lips, and I have to ignore the pit in my gut and rush out to my car before I can think about why.

  The entire ride over, everything that’s ever happened between Doc and me cycles through my mind. We had a good time. Our chemistry is off the fucking charts. Pun intended. I’ve never had such intense sex with anyone. And not just intense, but fun and… comfortable. Then he suggested we go public, come clean with our friends that we were more than fuck buddies. His words. I panicked and called it all off. For real. I’d told Sophie we’d stopped screwing around months before, because I’d intended to end it. But Declan Wellesley is like a drug, so I kept going back. I kept picking up his calls, responding to his texts. He agreed to keep it under wraps simply because I asked him to.

  I know he’s an honest guy. He was always up front. It’s me that wasn’t. Then I thought I was pregnant, and I made him the baddie.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  When I pull into the driveway at the beach house, I derail my train of thought and hop on a more practical track. I am exceptionally good at compartmentalizing when I want to, so that’s just what I do. I pull out bottles and am setting up the bar when Flowerkraut comes ambling out of the bedroom. She does not help to put out the chips, dips, guac, and other munchies, but I’ll let her pass. I stop to give her a scratch behind the ears and let her out to do her business. Fox’ll probably order pizzas later unless someone picks up a tray of tacos from Old Mexico.

  Oh my God, I want tacos.

  I dig my phone out of my purse and fire off a text to Zeke.

  Z. Old Mex. This needs to happen tonight.

  You are a fuckin genius. Marry me.

  LOL your girlfriend might have a problem with that

  IDK… you know Ash’s bi & I think she has a side crush. Fancy a 3some?

  Get the goddamn tacos, OK?

  HAHAHA Yes, ma’am. Zeke out.

  Dumbass. He’s the most ridiculous flirt. I shove my phone back in my purse and spin on my heel to go get coolers from the garage. I jump and shriek when I find Doc staring at me, standing with his hands in his pockets just inside the door.

  “What’s got that smile on your face, Beauty?”

  Conflict rolls in my belly like an arm-wrestling match between kraken-sized octopi. One side of my internal argument is a melting, swoony mess. Maybe it’s the light, maybe it’s the suit, or the smile sparkling in his warm hazel eyes. Or perhaps it’s the relaxed set of his lips that makes him look so sinful and heavenly at the same time. I don’t know, but every part of my body wants to be as close to him as I can physically get. He is intoxicating, much like a siren’s call, and immunity is impossible.

  The other octopus of the problem is… well, scared to death. Declan Wellesley is dangerous for my sense of control. Just the way he’s looking at me… I am exposed and defenseless. I’m terrified all the truth will come spilling out. If there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s to dig up that grave. I will be nice, civil, but I want to keep distance. Or I don’t. I’m not sure anymore. He’s making it really difficult to be resolute right now.

  “Zeke’s picking up Old Mex.”

  His eyes close in the wake of such all-but-orgasmic news. “Fuck. Yes.” He groans happily and takes a casual step in my direction. Maybe not so casual. “Can I help you with anything?” The way he asks is even less nonchalant. More suggestive.

  Another step.

  “Where’s your date?” I ask, straight-up serious.

  He sighs, stopping in his non-casual tracks. “She got called in for a shift.”

  “That’s too bad,” I say. Hmm, I sound a little playful. Am I flirting? How can I forget what I’m like when I flirt? I need a whiskey.

  Yet another step. “Is it?”

  “Isn’t it?” I ask. Who’s got the upper hand here?

  “I don’t think so.” Step. Two more and he’ll be all up in my dance space.

  “Why not?” I step back.

  He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Because she was never really my date.” Step.

  “What?” Confusion and shock lift my posture to ramrod straight. I step back again and hit the wall. “You said—”

  “I lied.” Step.

  Gaping at him. Gapety-gape gape gape. With a side of WTF?

  Step. “I wanted to make you jealous,” he says, emitting a gaze of such intensity, I feel pinned by his eyes and his eyes alone.

  “You wanted to make me jealous?” I can only parrot him, blinking as I try to process. Avoid. More processing.

  He laughs and steps forward, leaving almost no space between us. His hands brush down my arms to my fingers, lifting them up to his mouth. His beard tickles my knuckles as he presses his lips to them. My eyes close as my knees briefly wobble. Traitors.

  “I was still smarting after last time.” His confession is quiet, but it’s echoing like loudspeakers in my head. I open my eyes in the need to see his face.

  “Rachelle is a friend. She does work with Fox, and that is how I met her, but she has a boyfriend. Fiancé, actually. Cool guy—very laid back. Anyway, I asked her to be my buffer.”

  I’m so overwhelmed, my head is spinning. “Why?” I want to ask more than why, but I don’t. I want to cry, and I don’t. I want to not want him so much. I swallow hard.

  “Because I miss you. I wanted more of you. I want more of you,” he says. “I won’t take more than you want to give, but please… Consider, I don’t know, something.”

  He drops my hands and moves his to my hips, pulling me off the wall and towar
d him. His body heat next to mine makes it hard to think straight. I look up into his face and watch the corner of his mouth pull up into that smirk that makes me crazy—good and bad. Good because, holy fuck, it’s so goddamn hot, but bad because it’s almost like I can’t fucking resist it. The will to want to resist it is barely more than threadbare.

  “Declan,” I say quietly, not meaning to use his given name, but something about being near him makes me want to be softer, sweeter. Declan sounds sweeter than Doc. In my mind, Doc is the playboy.

  “Beauty.”

  “You fucker.” It’s half whisper, half laugh.

  “If you ask nicely.” His lips are scarily close to mine. “Or just say yes.”

  “Yes to what?” My voice pitches.

  “Me. Us. Nothing too serious,” he says, leaning back to mark an X over his heart. “Spend some time with me. Or a lot of it.”

  “That’s kind of serious.”

  I don’t sound very sure. The swoony part of me is taking over, and it’s frightening. But his mouth closing in on mine right now is not. It’s very welcome.

  His body pushes me back into the wall. My left leg lifts to wrap around his, entwining us.

  “I’m not going to kiss you unless you say yes.” So quiet. Lips feather-light brush across mine, whiskers tickling my chin and cheeks. He nips at my lower lip, and my entire body follows as he pulls away just enough to make me insane.

  I close the distance quickly and mumble into his mouth, “Yes.”

  International Kissing Day had every possible famous kiss flooding social media streams. I feel bad for everyone who can’t see this one, because they know nothing. This is fire, it is hunger, it is sating and orgasmic all on its own. And despite my reservations, I am happy with my decision.

  “Whoa.” I hear our friend Jonah bellow through the door as he comes in. “Bennett, are you setting up a kissing booth? You really don’t need to raise money for H’s college fund. I’m pretty sure Fox and Soph will sort that out.”

  Doc and I turn our heads to glare at him, but our bodies don’t go anywhere. Doc’s left hand is still somewhere on my ass while his right has pulled my leg up over his hip.