Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2

by Romance, Smartypants

  “I guess you probably should know.”

  I really didn’t need to know. What went on between them wasn’t my business in the least, but my gossip-loving heart was positively giddy that Ken seemed to think I had a right to the information.

  He cleared his throat and continued. “She told me she just wanted to have a sexual relationship, rather than dating.”

  “Did you play hide the salami?” I asked, trying to inject some levity.

  His gaze bore into mine. His eyes were a vivid cornflower blue and they seemed to be trying to convey some meaning to me I couldn’t decipher.

  “No.”

  His eye-contact had me rattled, so I filled the silence. “Why not?” It was stupid of me to ask. I knew the answer and could feel that he didn’t want to talk about it.

  His nostrils flared, and he leaned toward me. “She and I made plans to…hook up. And when the night finally arrived, she stood me up for Nico.” He spoke rapidly like he was trying to get the details out as quickly as possible.

  “My pride was dented,” he continued. “My opinion of her lowered significantly, and work became tense when we were on shift together. She brought with her drama I didn’t need. I’m in a different hospital now and I’m certainly not going to put myself in a position where I dread going in every day because I had the urge to screw someone.”

  His words were slightly heated, and it seemed like he had strong opinions on the matter. I wondered if those feelings were due in part to the role he had played in the shooting of Nico’s stalker, or if Ken just couldn’t get past the way Elizabeth had rejected him.

  As nosy as I was, I did have some boundaries, so I abandoned all talk of Elizabeth and turned the conversation.

  “Do you like your job?” Asking a man about his job was usually a sure-fire way to get him to talk about himself. It also came in very handy as a deflection technique. I wasn’t allowed to divulge much about my own employment, as I had a non-disclosure agreement to adhere to, but I didn’t enjoy explaining even the basics of my job. As exciting as Cipher Systems was, and as challenging and rewarding as I found the work, no one really understood the thrill I got from maximizing profits. The quickest way to get someone to tune out was to talk about cost analysis.

  “I do,” he replied, nodding. “I love my work.”

  The arrival of our food halted any elaboration as we said our thanks to the waitress and dug in.

  The silence was easy and contented, but mid-way through his burger Ken cleared his throat. “I’m an excellent doctor.”

  I glanced up to see his face had morphed into a sour expression.

  “That sounded arrogant as hell. Sorry.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “What I mean is, I know I’ve given you the impression that I’m an uptight, rude asshole.” Out of a sense of courtesy, I started to shake my head in immediate denial, but Ken held up one hand and gave me a rueful smile. “And,” he continued, “you might not think a decent physician should be uptight and rude. You’re right. But when I’m attending—when I’m treating people and diagnosing them—I’m not either of those things. I’m capable and compassionate. I do well under pressure and thrive on responsibility. I go in and rely on my training, my intellect, my instincts, and I excel. I have a sense of confidence and competence when I work that I don’t have in any other aspect of my life. So, yeah, I enjoy my job.”

  I smiled, entertained by the show of emotion in his sudden speech. I was also delighted by his passion. “It sounds perfect. We should all be so lucky to have a career that is so singularly suited to us,” I said. “By the way,” I hastened to add, “I never questioned or doubted your abilities as a doctor. It never occurred to me to think you were anything other than an excellent physician.”

  “Oh.” He looked sheepish. “I didn’t need to spew all of that out, did I?”

  “Don’t apologize, it was great. So much better than, ‘Yeah, being a doctor is cool.’” I said this with a dopey voice, hoping to pull a smile out of him.

  It worked. He smiled broadly and said, “Being a doctor is cool, Steven.”

  A laugh died in my throat as I glanced over Ken’s shoulder toward the bar. Standing in profile was a man who looked identical to King, the psycho from my ill-fated date at Jimbo’s Pub.

  I ducked my head, hoping that Ken’s broad shoulders would obscure me from King’s view.

  “Shit,” I whispered. The last thing I needed was for King to recognize me and make a scene. His last contact with me was through texts, and he’d sent two before I blocked him.

  KING: your pit taste like dog ass

  KING: got nothin to say 4 eyed BITCH?

  In retrospect, I found it hilarious, but at the time, I hadn’t thought it so amusing.

  “Steven, are you okay?” Ken asked, much too loudly.

  I hunched down further and tapped my forefinger frantically against my pursed lips in the universal sign for shut the fuck up.

  Ken, concern and puzzlement etched on his face, reached over and laid his hand onto mine. He gave it a light pat and caress before whispering, “What is it? What can I do?”

  I glanced down at our hands and thought, I bet he’s kind to his patients. I appreciated his concern…and the fact that he’d lowered his volume.

  “There’s a man by the bar with red hair and tattoos—no!” I grunted, as he began to twist toward the front of the restaurant. “Don’t be obvious. This guy has some marbles loose and I really don’t want him to recognize me, capisce?”

  “Alright,” Ken agreed. He put his left elbow on the table and leaned slightly into it, obstructing King’s view of me further. As he slowly turned his head to see him, I bent over to the right, pretending to tie my shoe.

  “There’s no one with red hair at the bar,” I heard him say.

  I popped my head up in surprise, abandoning my concealment. “What?”

  Sure enough, King, or the someone I thought was King, was gone. I glanced around the dining room and didn’t see him anywhere. He must have left.

  “Am I going to have a jealous boyfriend angry with me?”

  He asked the question seriously, with no hint of humor. He didn’t appear annoyed or particularly worried, only desiring to know what his situation could be if King approached.

  “No,” I assured him. “I went out with him once, but he’s not right in the head. Kept yelling about Obama.” I knew it was an oversimplification and a distortion of King’s motives, but I’d only just met Ken, and attempted armpit sexual assault didn’t feel like something I wanted to share this early into our friendship, if ever.

  “Ah,” Ken replied knowingly. “I’ve seen my fair share of those poor souls in the ER. I hope he gets help.”

  And with those words pulling on my heartstrings, befriending DKM didn’t seem like the one-sided charity act it had on Tuesday.

  Chapter Eight

  *DKM*

  I woke up the morning after my date with Steven feeling lighter than I had in…well, since undergrad, probably. It was a great feeling. It felt like the skies had parted and the heavens were singing, infusing me with peace and purpose.

  I was officially ridiculous, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop smiling. I smiled while I showered, I smiled while I made coffee, I smiled while I ate breakfast. It made chewing a little difficult, but there was no stopping it.

  I knew what I wanted, and I wanted Steven Thompson.

  Though the date started rough, it exceeded my expectations. It seemed like Steven had a knack for putting people at ease—effortlessly smoothing over any potential awkwardness and keeping up a flow of engaging conversation. His whole demeanor allowed me to relax and let the night progress exactly the way I hoped it would.

  Well, not exactly.

  Once we decided to share a cab, I began to hope for a kiss at the end of the ride. But just as we pulled up to his building, his phone rang.

  He checked the display and said, “Oh, this is Dan, I have to take this.” When he answered the call, he co
nnected his eyes to mine. Seeing the obvious confusion—and let’s face it—disappointment on my face, he mouthed, “Boss.”

  I nodded and gave him a thumbs up. I knew all about taking work calls at inconvenient times.

  He opened the door of the cab. “Hang on a sec, O’Malley.” Covering the mouthpiece, he said to me, somewhat distractedly, “Thanks for dinner, McPretty. Let’s do it again sometime,” and exited the car.

  It hadn’t been the ideal ending for the date, but I sat back, satisfied with his encouragement.

  Let’s do it again sometime.

  He wanted to see me again. I felt electric with anticipation and edgy from the knowledge I was heading into—or attempting to head into—previously uncharted waters. I’d never been in a relationship with a man before, not a serious one, at least.

  In college, I’d had the occasional fun with a few guys, but it had never been exclusive or even romantic. We’d basically been friends who made out and sometimes gave each other head. It had been exciting because they weren’t shameful, closeted, hurry-up-so-no-one-suspects blowjobs.

  It had been liberating. No one cared what we did, and it was eye-opening and fun. A lot of fun. But none of it had been love or even serious.

  My experience with women far outweighed my experiences with men. But, honestly, that wasn’t saying much.

  With the exception of the first couple of amazing, confidence-and-alcohol-fueled years at OSU, I’d never been comfortable going out of my way to pursue people I found attractive. I always preferred to play it safe and long—to test the waters, see if attraction was reciprocated without putting my neck out there. Then, when I thought my chances were good, I’d make my move.

  This style worked for me. It might mean I went long periods of time without dating or sex, but it suited, not just my personality, but the insane lack of personal time I’ve had since I began med school.

  Plus, there had been Angie. Angie was my only adult, long-term relationship. If it wasn’t love, then it had been damn close. We were together almost two years, finally calling it quits when it became clear long-distance wasn’t an option. She stayed in Columbus and I left for Chicago. Our lives were going in different directions, and though I was sad to lose her, I knew we had to move on.

  Being with Angie made me realize how much I loved being in a committed relationship. I loved the certainty, the familiarity, the trust, and friendship. Not to mention the regular sex. I did especially love that.

  It felt good to end the day with soft touches and sweet words, knowing there was a special person that was all mine—who cared about me. Casual dating and sex hadn’t ever been exactly ideal for me before Angie, but after her, it almost seemed abhorrent.

  Angie and I found each other at a time when I needed someone. She’d been a miracle, really. When I met her, I had been at my lowest. I felt alone. Not just alone but demoralized.

  I spent the first two years of college high on the freedom to be myself—happy exploring who I was away from home and family. And, as far as my sexuality was concerned, I never warred with myself through adolescence. I never thought my feelings were shameful or greedy.

  Growing up in a fairly liberal and close-knit family, I didn’t think my bisexuality would cause anyone to bat an eye. Since I felt like it was a non-issue, I assumed it would be for everyone else, as well.

  I was wrong.

  Over-confident and naive was what I was. I hadn’t realized being anything other than heterosexual was fine and dandy for other people, but when it was me—when it was Robert Miles’ son, things looked a little bit different. Suddenly, all the liberalism went flying out the window.

  My dad had been my idol growing up. He’d been the perfect role model. Educated, wise, and kind. He always had time to explain social and political issues to me and Kari, never talking down to us or making us feel less-than because we were kids. He groomed us to be thoughtful, confident, and ambitious.

  He and my mother set a great model for marriage. I always knew I wanted to have the type of relationship my parents had. They listened to each other, made time for each other and were physically demonstrative. They showed a united front to me and Kari. There was no playing Mom against Dad to get what I wanted, because they were always on the same page, always in agreement. Looking back, I’m sure they disagreed, but if they did, they didn’t make it obvious to us. Our home was warm, our family a perfect, safe haven.

  Which is why, when my Dad showed up unannounced to visit me and caught me making out—like, hardcore making out—with Harry Deluca outside my door, I was shattered by his anger.

  It had been awful. To this day, when I remembered it—remembered the look on his face, I felt sick.

  A lot of young people expected the worst when they came out to their parents. I hadn’t. I thought maybe someday I’d possibly bring a boyfriend home for Thanksgiving and they’d say, does he have any dietary restrictions we need to know about? Like it was nothing. I honestly didn’t think it would matter.

  But it mattered. He stood stunned. And in that moment, worried about the look on his face, I blurted, “I’m bisexual and that’s Harry. Bye, Harry.” Harry ran off. Dad gritted out that we should go inside. Then…he’d raged.

  He told me no one would ever take me seriously. No one was going to trust me, no one was going to want to be with me long-term if they knew. I was on a long road to a successful career and it was important that I seemed like a steady character, that I appeared to be decisive and not a “waffler.”

  He told me that if I had the desire to be with women, it was beyond foolish to pursue relationships with men. I was choosing a difficult career path, didn’t I want the rest of my life to be easy and smooth? Didn’t I want respect and a family?

  He said, “No one respects or wants someone who lets their dick call the shots. You need to get yourself together and grow up.” With that parting shot, he had left, and our relationship was forever altered.

  That day was the only time I’d ever felt heartbreak. He let me down in a way I never imagined he would. Needless to say, my relationship with my father had since been strained and distant.

  I’d been deaf to his arguments. They were ignorant. I was the only one who knew what or who could make me happy and I was the only one who had to live my life. He had it all wrong. He was wrong. My perfect father was completely, utterly wrong and I was determined to live my life just as I had been—on my own terms.

  A month or so after my fight with Dad, I got my shot with Trisha Banks.

  I met Trisha late freshman year. She was gorgeous, funny and had a body made for sex—all curves and smoothness. She loved wearing dresses, even in the cold Ohio winter. Her legs were always on display and I couldn’t help but watch her whenever we were in the same room together. She always seemed to have a boyfriend, so I contented myself with glances here and there, the occasional conversation.

  I hadn’t bothered to see Harry again after that night. He was tainted. I didn’t think I could look at his face without my heart hurting, so I wasn’t seeing anyone. As it turned out, neither was Trisha, finally. I made sure to find myself in her path a couple of times a day, I asked her to dinner, and we had a great time.

  But when I tried to kiss her, she pushed my face away and got very angry. “Oh, no,” she’d said. “I don’t want any of your confused bullshit screwing me up.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” I asked, my own anger rising. I hadn’t liked the sudden shift, her tone or what her words were implying.

  “You know what! I’m fine being friends with you, Ken, but I don’t want to be used.” She had her hands on her hips in exasperation.

  “I like you. I have no intention of using you,” I replied honestly.

  “Suuure,” she let the word drag with sarcasm. “We’ve known each other for almost two years and right after your dad shows up and screams at you, you’re suddenly straight and interested in me? Seems legit.” Her attitude seriously pissed me off. Everything she said p
issed me off. That I’d been the subject of gossip, really pissed me off.

  “For one thing, I’ve always been interested in you, but you’ve always been with someone else. Now, you’re not. Second of all,” I went on heatedly, “I’m bi and nothing that went on between my dad and I is any of your business.”

  Trisha had screwed her face into a grimace. “Spare me. Every girl knows what it means when a guy says he’s ‘bi.’” She made angry, exaggerated air quotes and I was repulsed. Air quotes? What had I ever seen in this girl? Air quotes? Really? “What he really means is he’ll be officially gay when he finally gets the balls to come out. Bisexuality isn’t a real thing, Ken. Quit using girls to work through your personal problems!”

  With that impassioned speech, she fled into her dorm and left me with a sour stomach and a lot to think about.

  I realized I had been too idealistic and naive about myself and the world. I had been walking around for my entire life completely comfortable in my skin, sure that all I was and all I would become would be perfect—sure that my hard work and dedication and brain and heart would get me where I wanted to go. I hadn’t banked on everyone being so damned judgmental—or the possibility that their judgment would affect or hinder me.

  Even though my bliss-bubble had been well and truly popped, I knew my life was mine. And if I had to live without the approval of assholes, then so be it.

  My resolve didn’t take the pain away—didn’t lessen the absence of the comforting illusion I’d had of a supportive and loving father. His loss hurt and I felt alone.

  I had Kari. She was great and helped me through it as much as she could. But at the time, she had been home in Cleveland working on her post-grad, and still felt too far away for real support.

  A few weeks later, when I met Angie, we clicked, and I was smitten. I couldn’t see anyone but her, no one could turn my head. I was happy and contented. She erased the loneliness and made life fun again.

  Until now, I hadn’t been ready, I hadn’t settled—and there sure as hell hadn’t been any guys—or women for that matter—to stir me up like Steven did. I hadn’t felt this excited to see anyone since Angie. If he could make me feel this way again, then he was absolutely worth chasing.