Cheater's Regret

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Did that mean I had to touch it?

  “Go ahead, grab it,” he encouraged with a small smile.

  I weighed it in the palm of my hand. “Hmm, it does feel . . . kind of hard.”

  His head jerked up so fast I nearly dropped the implant. His eyes blazing, he quickly took the implant away and replaced it with a smoother-looking one.

  “This one is . . . softer, it feels more real,” I said.

  “This is a saline implant, and because you really don’t need to go larger than one cup size, I’d suggest this.” He grabbed another. “Now, go ahead and stuff them in your bra like you used to when you were twelve while dancing to Britney Spears.”

  I laughed. “I never had to stuff my bra.”

  The smile froze on his face.

  Nancy cleared her throat.

  “So just”—he scratched his head—“shove it in.”

  “Like this?” I scrunched up my nose. “I just shove this in here.”

  Was it my imagination, or was he sweating?

  “Yup.” His voice was hoarse. “Just right . . . inside.”

  “Okeydokey.” I put both implants in front of my breasts and looked down. “Huh, imagine that, I look awesome!”

  Nancy laughed and nodded her head. “It makes you look so much thinner.”

  How cute, she’s passive-aggressive too. I didn’t even want to know how many times she probably dreamed of being in Thatch’s pants.

  Or how good it would feel to let her know her dreams would never measure up to how amazing it really was.

  Then again.

  That pesky little emotion called rejection slammed into my heart.

  We weren’t together.

  He was free to screw whomever he wanted—even his forty-something-to-eighty-something nurse.

  Thatch grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me toward a large mirror. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think . . .” I eyed my body. The implants did add more of a curvy feel to my tall and lanky shape, but they felt fake. In fact, just wearing them in this sports bra made me feel like a poser. Like I was one step away from turning into Nancy over there. “I think I’ll have to think about it?”

  He exhaled like he was glad that I wasn’t so impressed with my new breast size that I’d actually contemplate going under the knife.

  “Alright then.” He moved away from me. “I’ll just let you get changed and I’ll be right back.”

  He left with Nancy.

  I stared at myself again in the mirror, then slowly pulled out the fake implants.

  My chest deflated.

  And I had to wonder—why would he want me?

  No surprise he’d broken up with me.

  Because in the end, how could he not cheat? How could he stay in a relationship when he didn’t have to?

  When he did this every day?

  When he was around so much perfection each day of his life?

  Well, at last, I did have my answer.

  I just wished it didn’t suck as bad as it did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THATCH

  She was waiting for me.

  She had been waiting for me for the last five minutes.

  But I literally couldn’t get my own body under control. I’d been staring at the door, thinking about the same horrible things for what felt like an hour.

  Puppies being murdered.

  Whiskey shortage.

  Riding a bike.

  Frogs.

  Death.

  And still, still, I was hard as a rock and ready to make sure everyone in the hallway knew it.

  “Damn it.” I shut my door and turned toward the closed window, then grabbed myself as visions of Austin’s perfect body surged to the surface, making it almost painful to touch myself.

  “What are you doing?” a voice said from behind me. A familiar voice. Her voice. Swear my dick all but leaped out of my hand in search of that voice and the body it belonged to.

  “Nothing,” I lied. My body straight up hated me for that one, while my brain screamed, Turn around, bend her over the table, lift the skirt, just lift the skirt!

  The sound of a door shutting should not at all be erotic. Or the buzzing of a computer.

  The tense silence.

  But all of it—was killing me.

  Austin made her way around to face me, hands on hips. “Nancy said since I wasn’t a real patient and just doing this for research, that I could come find you.”

  “Did she?” My hand was out of my pants, thank God.

  But I had guilt written all over my face, and I knew it.

  Austin’s eyes lowered.

  While I prayed for control that would keep my cock from meeting her halfway.

  “Someone can’t keep things professional, hmm?”

  “It’s been a while.” Good, Thatch, that really sounds professional, that you hadn’t had sex in a while, and you suddenly got a boner the size of Texas when you touched a woman’s boobs—at your workplace.

  Good thing Austin had never been a real patient.

  My ass would have been fired so fast.

  “So.” I stepped away from her; it was uncomfortable as hell trying to move in my black slacks. “The next appointment is a pre-op appointment. Our finance people talk to our patients about options, and once you pay the deposit, we schedule the surgery.”

  “Wow.” Her eyes darted from my cock back up to me. “That’s really fast.”

  “Yeah.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How many times? Be honest.”

  “How many times, what?”

  “How many times have you jacked off to a patient?”

  The question cooled my lust immediately as I locked eyes with her and said, “Zero. I don’t count this time, since I was caught quite literally with my pants almost down.”

  Her expression couldn’t be any more stunned. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Seriously,” I grumbled, and my body finally went back to normal, though it screamed at me to stop being an idiot and just screw her into next week.

  “So, right now, had I not walked in . . .”

  “Can we just drop it? Please?” I sat in my chair.

  She leaned over my desk. “What happens when I leave?”

  “Nothing.” Liar.

  “Uh-huh.” She plopped on a chair across from me and then very slowly leaned over so I could see her cleavage through the V of her shirt, and just like that, my body was back on board. She continued to lean forward, until I was worried her breasts were in danger of spilling out of her top, and then she stood, grabbed her purse, and started walking toward the door. “Do you need me for anything else?”

  Well, if that wasn’t a loaded question.

  “Actually”—I glanced at my computer to keep myself from staring at her breasts—“I have one augmentation this afternoon. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to talk to the patient and see if she’d be willing to let you scrub in.”

  Austin’s face lit up. “Seriously?”

  “Of course. She’s really sweet, and now that her husband has passed, she’s been hell-bent on starting over—she has an incredible attitude and is probably one of only a few patients I’ve worked on who would probably vote to stay awake so she could watch her own surgery.”

  Austin made a face and paled. “I think that would be traumatic.”

  “She used to be a nurse,” I said, then added, “She finds the human body fascinating.”

  “I just bet she does,” Austin said in a huff.

  Frowning, I stood and checked my watch. “Why don’t you go grab some lunch and meet me back here at three. I’ll double-check to see if she’s comfortable with you standing in. If she says no, I’ll text you.”

  “I’m a bit shocked.” Austin tilted her head, pressing her lips together like she was trying to keep herself from smiling.

  “About?”

  “You still have my number.”

  Sighing, I tucked my hair behind my ears and shrugged. “We broke
up. That doesn’t mean I’m going to completely cut you from my life.”

  “Huh.” She grabbed her purse from the chair and didn’t say anything else. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  What the hell did that “huh” mean?

  And why did I care?

  Mia was at my door again, ready to knock, when Austin walked out and waved good-bye.

  “Dr. Holloway, your next appointment is in exam room three.”

  “Right.” I had a job to do. And now that Austin was gone, hopefully I would be less distracted and horny and able to get through the rest of the afternoon without wanting to blow my head off.

  “I’ll be right in,” I mumbled, glancing back at my computer.

  The computer that still held the screen saver of me and Austin at dinner.

  The dinner when I had asked her to move in with me.

  She was wearing a red dress.

  It was one of the best nights of my life—when I decided to take a leap, and she leaped with me.

  It didn’t last long.

  Not with the Ghost of Christmas Past staying in my same building—not with his inability to keep his head out of my life, or his demands to himself.

  Sometimes I hated my own family.

  And the fact that when I needed my father the most, he was drunk.

  And when I wanted him to stay the hell away from my personal life, he refused to leave—and ruined the best thing I’d ever had.

  Chapter Fifteen

  AUSTIN

  I’d never seen a surgery before—and I refused to count that one time in sixth grade when we were forced to watch a knee scope and I almost puked.

  I had only been twelve!

  I was an adult now.

  I could totally handle watching someone get cut up.

  Shivering, I downed the rest of my fruit smoothie and walked toward the elevators. I really shouldn’t have worn such high heels, my feet were starting to burn where my skin rubbed the soft leather, I knew I was going to get blisters when I put the suckers on, but I wanted to be tall—I hated how big Thatch was in the first place because he’d always made me feel small, safe. And I was a tall girl, all legs.

  So high heels were my armor.

  And I needed armor around him.

  Since the armor around my heart had a tendency to just fall to the ground whenever he smiled at me. Ugh.

  Why was it so hard for me to get the hint?

  He didn’t want me.

  Though he did seem to be having trouble giving his body that memo if what I walked in on was any indication. It had looked like he was literally seconds away from pleasing himself by the potted plant. Then again, I wasn’t vain enough to assume he was even thinking about me.

  With my luck, he was envisioning Nancy’s fake pout.

  Or another girl’s boobs.

  Ugh, everywhere I looked, I saw perfection in that stupid office building.

  I thought I was over my body-image insecurities that had been triggered by my ex from high school—until I started dating a plastic surgeon and was actually exposed to a small dose of what he did on a daily basis. While I was dating Thatch, I hadn’t given my flaws a ton of thought, or maybe I just pushed all of those dangerous thoughts away. And now? Now it was all I could think about.

  Maybe I was being judgmental, but why not go into emergency medicine? Why encourage people to spend thousands of dollars on fixing flaws? On gaining perfection at the expense of their health?

  “Austin.” Mia winked at me. “Dr. Holloway’s in his office, waiting.”

  “Thanks.” Heat rushed into my cheeks.

  She had knowing eyes, that office assistant.

  My heels screamed in outrage by the time I walked to Thatch’s office. The door was open, and he was pulling his blond hair back into the hottest, messiest man bun I’d ever seen in my entire life.

  It was impossible not to physically react to how beautiful the man was. I sucked in a breath and pressed a hand to my chest while I waited for my heartbeat to slow back to its normal rhythm.

  Thatch in jeans. Hot.

  Thatch naked. Hot.

  Thatch in scrubs?

  Holy Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It wasn’t fair.

  Blue scrubs shouldn’t be sexy.

  And they sure as hell shouldn’t fit him the way they did, making his biceps somehow look bigger, or his face that much more sculpted.

  He glanced up and smiled. “Hey, you ready for your first surgery?”

  My body cheered while my brain told all my lady parts to calm the heck down. That smile wasn’t for us.

  Not by a long shot.

  Professional. Be professional.

  Passing the class.

  That’s all that mattered.

  “Sure!” I chirped in a cheerleader-like fashion. Oh man. I was so dead when it came to this guy. “Do I need to change?” I tugged at my blouse.

  He nodded and walked around his desk, pointing to a chair. “Those should fit. I’ll wait outside.”

  For some reason, that deflated me.

  The fact that he was going to wait outside and not watch my striptease. I inwardly groaned. We weren’t dating! What did I expect!

  Besides! This was his workplace, after all!

  I quickly went to work taking off all my clothes and said a prayer of thanks when I noticed a pair of Nike tennis shoes in my size. They looked new, so I wasn’t sure if he had someone grab me a pair so I wouldn’t have to wear my heels with scrubs, or if he just kept women’s shoes size nine lying around.

  Well, that was a depressing thought.

  I pulled my hair back into a low bun and opened the door to announce I was ready.

  Thatch started at my feet and slowly raked his eyes up my body, stopping at my hair. “We match.”

  “Man buns for the win?” I teased.

  His lips twitched. “I think I pull it off better.”

  Damn right he did. Bastard. “Just admit they’re extensions already.”

  “Hah.” His gleaming white smile was almost too much, as in, I almost stumbled against his rock-hard body and had a near heart attack. “Let’s go.”

  His pace was fast, I tried to keep up as we weaved through the office and then took the elevator up one level.

  My heart was hammering inside my chest so hard, I felt like I was going to puke. Why was I nervous? It wasn’t like I had to perform the surgery!

  “This way.” He marched through the halls like he owned them. People stared, they whispered, and it was like he didn’t notice how freaking hot it was when he took charge.

  He stopped and typed in a passcode, and a glass door made a whooshing sound as it unlocked.

  “You’re not touching anyone or anything, but if you want the full experience, you can wash up,” he said as he started lathering his hands, suds going clear to his elbows as he washed and washed and washed.

  “I think you’re clean,” I pointed out when it had been at least two minutes.

  With a laugh, he started rinsing off just as Nancy walked in, a mask covering her mouth. “Ready?”

  “Of course.” His answer seemed so easy and carefree. Meanwhile, I was freaking out—still freaking out.

  She held open gloves for him, helped him into his surgical attire or whatever the heck they called the thing she just put over his clothes and his feet.

  It was like watching a live version of The Night Shift.

  Only this wasn’t emergency surgery.

  Elective—it was elective.

  And yet, he still had to take these kinds of precautions.

  I could feel my adrenaline spike when Nancy walked over to me, covered my mouth and nose with a mask, handed me a scrub cap, and basically shoved me in the right direction with a pat on the back.

  The operating room was really bright; that was the first thing I noticed. And the second?

  There was a team of at least four people.

  Not including the patient who was looking up at Thatch with complete adoration.
>
  A pang of jealousy sliced through me as I waited in the spot I’d claimed by the wall.

  “How are you feeling?” Thatch asked in a soothing yet commanding voice.

  “Oh, I’m just ready,” she said with tears in her eyes. “Very ready for this. Have been for a long time.”

  I held my snort in.

  Why was she so emotional over breast implants?

  A guy—I’m assuming the anesthesiologist—inserted something in her IV, and then Thatch asked her what her weekend plans were, like he wasn’t pulling down her sheet and getting ready to cut her up.

  There were Sharpie marks on her body, and a section of her skin was a bright orange.

  “Oh, I plan on watching some Netflix and . . .” Her speech slurred and her eyes closed.

  “Austin.” Thatch said my name loudly. “You can get closer. She’s sedated, and you know I don’t bite.”

  Hah, false, he did bite.

  And often.

  Typically my neck.

  And sometimes the inside of my right thigh.

  I shivered.

  And then I took a step forward, and another, until I was close enough to see both of her exposed breasts, or what should have been breasts.

  I saw scars.

  And a flat chest.

  I couldn’t help my gasp as the room stilled around me. Before I knew what was happening, a tear slipped down my cheek and then another followed.

  I was a complete bitch.

  That was all there was to it.

  Because while I’d been on my high horse, judging anyone and everyone who had walked into Thatch’s office to fix their imperfections, it had never occurred to me—that he would be giving implants to a breast-cancer survivor.

  “Scalpel.” Thatch leaned over her and made an incision near her armpit. The incision seemed a little too small to stuff the implant into. There was a lot of blood, and then he shoved it in and I nearly puked.

  Her chest inflated—and even with the blood and weird colors, I could tell it was going to look amazing.

  He moved the implant with his fingers, then leaned down, measuring, watching, waiting. Everyone was silent.

  He repeated the process for the right breast, and when Dr. Perfectionist was finished, he sewed her up with angry black stitches that I assumed would dissolve over time.

  I was assuming a lot.