Lockdown Love

by Brisa Starr

  I put my hands up in an attempt at peace, “Aww, come on, he’s not that bad. He just shoots from the hip.”

  “Not bad?” she raises her voice. “How can you say that? He’s rude and mean to people. A classic bully. Look, I’m not a hardcore liberal. I’m actually more of a moderate myself, but you can bet your ass I didn’t vote for Teegan. I’m not stu…” She stops herself.

  I’d love to move our conversation away from politics, but I can’t let that comment go unanswered. “Look, he’s done a great job with the economy, and he’s shaking things up in Washington. I can’t say that I mind that. Furthermore, as a doctor, I’m not interested in socialized medicine. And, frankly, I don’t know any doctors who are.”

  Aggravated, she groans exaggeratedly. “How long are you staying here again?” she glares at me, knowing full well I still have over a week left.

  Just then, I see a flash of red through the fence into my neighbor’s yard. “Hey, I think we’re being a little loud. Beverly is over there listening to us.” I nod my head in the direction of Beverly’s house.

  “That reminds me,” she says with a raised eyebrow, “I bumped into Beverly at the store the other day, and she asked me if I was ‘one of your girls.’”

  I wince and rub my hand over my face. “Oh god, did she?”

  “Yes, and I set her straight that I’m not one of your girls, and I didn’t care for her assuming I was, though I was barely able to get a word in.”

  “But it wouldn’t be so bad if you were,” I say, trying to flirt again, eager to get back to some lighthearted conversation, knowing that my flirting sort of irritates her, but also knowing that she doesn’t totally hate it.

  Just then, the wind kicks up fiercely. The wind chimes clang violently and, before I know what’s happening, two of the patio furniture umbrellas fly up out of their concrete bases. I immediately jump up to grab the umbrella next to me while Emma attempts to do the same with the one by her. Only she can’t reach it in time, and the wind is too powerful. It whips the umbrella’s metal pole toward her, crashing down and hitting her in the head so fast I couldn’t block it. Emma falls to the ground, but I can’t run to her yet because I have to get my umbrella closed so it doesn’t do more harm.

  “Emma!”

  She doesn’t answer. Fuck! Shit! My heart pounds, and adrenaline pumps through my veins. Oh god, I hope she’s OK! I look over at her, silently pleading that she’s alright, as I wrestle to get my wild umbrella under control. Once I’ve lowered it and secured it with its tie, I jump to move Emma’s umbrella away from her and quickly secure it before it can wreak more havoc. I rush and squat down next to her, gently lifting her head in my hand. She’s bleeding.

  “Emma. Emma!”

  Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me. “Ouch, oh my god, my head.” She reaches up to touch the wound before I can stop her. It’s on her hairline above her forehead, and she feels the warm stickiness of blood.

  “Don’t touch it,” I say. “Did you black out when you fell, or have you been conscious the whole time?”

  “I’m bleeding! Owwwww it hurts,” she moans and then adds, “… conscious the whole time, I think. It all just happened so fast.”

  “I know, just relax. You’ll be OK. You’ve got quite the gash… I’ll clean it up and then take a better look at it. Let’s get you up and into the house.”

  I help her stand up. “Easy,” I say softly when she stands up too fast. I put my arm around her to stabilize her. Even though I’m on a mission to make sure she’s alright, I’m also completely aware of how good it feels to have my arm around her, that same electricity I felt when my hand grazed hers, but a million times stronger, and I can feel it throughout my entire body.

  Fuck this. I’m going to carry her. I swoop her up in my arms and take her into the house.

  “Landon. I’m sure I can walk. You don’t have to carry me.” But she rests her head on my shoulder, and I know she doesn’t really want me to put her down.

  We go into the bathroom, and I sit her down on the stool by the vanity. “Stay here. I’ll be right back with my medical kit. Don’t touch your head.”

  “I won’t,” she whispers.

  I run and grab my kit and a clean washcloth. I return to Emma in the bathroom, and the blood that was slowly streaming down her face is starting to thicken. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I got hit in the head with a pole.” She shifts on the stool. “I’m going to have a headache, aren’t I?”

  “You got hit pretty hard,” I say while examining her. “You won’t need stitches, but it’s going to be a bit of a goose egg. Yeah, you might have a headache.”

  I wash her wound gently while she watches me. She’s quiet. It’s so hard sitting here next to her, our faces so close, smelling her. I want to kiss her, touch her all over.

  “Lucky you, I’m a doctor, and a dermatologist to boot. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.” I do a more thorough exam and feel around the back of her head and make sure she doesn’t have any other injuries.

  “Thanks,” she replies. “That happened so fast out there, the way the wind just picked up like that? I’m surprised. How did that happen with the umbrellas?”

  “Yeah, the wind in this area can pick up with no warning, and I don’t think the umbrellas were properly secured to their bases. It pisses me off, but my guess is that, because no one has really been here in a year, things just weren’t secured.” I shrug. “I’m so sorry about your head.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Could’ve been worse. Thank god it didn’t hit my eye,” she says as her slender hand covers her yawning mouth.

  “I’d hate to think. It’s bad enough what happened,” I growl, no longer surprised at my protective feelings for her. There’s no way I could have known to check the umbrellas, but I still feel responsible.

  I apply some antibiotic ointment to the wound and use a butterfly bandage to close it. Then, I apply another Band-Aid on top. “That ought to do it. You’ll be good as new in no time. Want some Ibuprofen for the pain?”

  “No thank you. I’ll take some valerian tincture for the pain and my nerves.”

  “Valerian? Seriously?” I look at her with disbelief.

  “Yes, valerian,” she snaps, her eyes suddenly icy green. “It’s natural and great for pain. And it won’t destroy my liver like Ibuprofen!”

  “Fine, valerian. Whatever,” I reply tartly. “Well if it doesn’t work, I’ll leave Ibuprofen on the kitchen counter.”

  I get up to leave her room, and she calls after me, “Don’t bother, I won’t need it, Doctor!”

  Damn this woman! She fires me up like no one else. I want to take her over my knee and spank her ass and turn her tone from fury to lust. I turn around and face her, “Good night, Emma,” I say tightly. I walk away saying under my breath, “Valerian. Fuck me.”

  She yells from the bedroom, “I heard that!”

  I put some space between us and head to my end of the house. Fuuuuuck! That woman! I want her so badly, and my attempts to have her are not getting me any closer. Just when we start to make progress, we find something to argue about.

  I take a shower to relax. Standing under the hot water, I close my eyes. But all I can see is Emma’s face and the thought of how she was hurt, and it scared the fuck out of me. Emma, Emma, Emma. What is going on here?

  After getting into bed, I decide to look up that valerian shit and see if it has any merit. I flip open my laptop and scan some articles. Hm. I see it might actually help her. It’s a sedative, and apparently an effective one. Interesting, as I read on... valerian helps with pain and sleep. Also great for relaxing nerves. Well what do ya know? I’m mildly impressed. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised though.

  One point: Emma.

  I sigh because I feel bad for how we left things. Her feisty attitude is sexy and fun, but I want us to go to sleep on a positive note. Her being angry with me is the opposite. Time to text her.

  Me: Hi.

  Emm
a: Hi. What?

  Me: The internets would seem to agree with you about valerian.

  Emma: the “internets?”

  Me: Did I make you smile?

  Emma: Maybe.

  Me: Did you take some?

  Emma: Yes.

  Me: How are you feeling?

  Emma: Tired.

  Me: OK, well, I’m sorry I gave you shit about your valerian.

  Emma: It’s fine.

  Emma: Thanks for apologizing.

  Me: Need me to come kiss your boo-boo?

  Emma: Um. No.

  Me: Need me to kiss you somewhere else?

  Emma: Landon?

  Me: Yes?

  A moment goes by, and she doesn’t text. My heart beats faster.

  Me: Emma?

  Me: You there?

  Finally, I see she starts typing again because I see the bubble with three dots.

  Emma: This won’t work.

  Me: What won’t work?

  Emma: This. Us. Flirting.

  Me: I beg to differ.

  Emma: We’re too different. We don’t even live in the same state. And I’m busy right now. I don’t have time to get involved.

  Me: Maybe. We’ll see. But I know you want to kiss me. I can see it when you look at me.

  She doesn’t respond. Is she admitting to herself that I’m right? Maybe she’s heading to my room right now. I sit up straighter. Then, I see her response.

  Emma: Give it up. Good night, Landon.

  Damn.

  Me: Night Emma.

  I put my phone on the nightstand and smile, knowing that her resistance is temporary, and I’ll break down her defenses soon. I get out of bed.

  Time to decorate.

  6

  Emma

  The morning breeze coming through the screen doors tickles my face and awakens me. I smell bacon and French toast, which makes my stomach grumble. Mmmmm that smells good. It can only be Landon, and I smile as I think of him in the kitchen. Cooking. I wonder what he’d look like naked, wearing only an apron. I giggle at the thought, and then I wince as I remember last night. I reach up and gently touch my wounded forehead. Ouch. Still hurts. Though the valerian totally helped me sleep last night.

  I roll over in bed to get my phone and check email. I see our former text conversation and smile while shaking my head. With everything I need to do today, this constant thinking about Landon needs to stop. He’s just a distraction. A hot one, yes. A Republican one, yuck. It only reinforces the fact that I don’t see how this could be anything other than a fling. And I definitely don’t have time for even a fling right now.

  But he is hot.

  I have less than a month to write my book, and making my deadline is important. I’d love nothing more than to finish my book by Granny’s birthday. That would be the best gift to her, and I imagine her smiling down on me at the thought of it.

  I drag myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and doubt clouds my thoughts. Can I even write this damn book? I have no experience writing books. Even though I write health articles for websites, it’s not the same as authoring an entire book. Maybe I’m biting off more than I can chew. What if it sucks? What if no one buys it?

  Shit. Stop these crap thoughts.

  I step inside the walk-in closet and choose my outfit for the day. I glance across the room to the glass doors. I see through the screen that the trees and bushes are blowing quite a bit. I choose a long-sleeved, light pink, cotton sweatshirt and put it on over my sports bra. I want to take a run later. I throw on my lilac running shorts, too.

  By the time I come out of my bedroom, I see Landon left me breakfast. Wow, that was sweet of him, I think to myself as I chomp on a piece of delicious bacon. And French toast, too? Yum! I’m impressed. I’ve never had a man make me French toast. Next to my breakfast, I see my laptop with a note. “Brought this in from outside.”

  He is thoughtful, I’ll give him that.

  That’s when I notice the Easter decorations in the coffee nook, a basket filled with small, pastel wooden eggs. I turn around and search the living room with my eyes, and I see the coffee table has little bunny and chick figurines on it.

  That’s cute. Really cute. He decorated. He must’ve done it for me, or, for us even, because I don’t expect he’d have done this just for himself. I return to my breakfast. He’s not a bad guy. Though he aggravates me to no end. It is nice flirting with him, too. He seems to actually care about my well-being, which is sweet. I can’t say I’ve had that with any of my past relationships. Not even close.

  I’m kind of moved that he would make me breakfast, but maybe he just feels guilty for his behavior last night. He was acting ridiculous when I told him about the tincture I was gonna take for pain. It came out of nowhere. One minute he’s tending to me like a compassionate person, and the next, he’s berating me like a child. A weird combination of patronizing protectiveness. I loved it and I hated it.

  I swipe the last bite of delicious French toast through the maple syrup on my plate and take it to the sink to wash. If I were at home, I’d just let the dishes pile up for the day, but I’m not alone here, so I should clean up my mess.

  I look out the window into the back yard, and I see Landon meditating. And of course, he’s shirtless. As usual, I find myself just staring at him. His body is perfect, and looking at him with his eyes closed, his face peaceful, my heart speeds up and my belly flutters.

  Seeing him like this, my thoughts drift to questions. Could I have a fling? What would it be like to kiss him? My thoughts move to having his hands on my body, and little tingles float up and down my spine. I stop myself from going any further, reminding myself that this is not a good idea. Besides, I’d just get hurt. As usual.

  I finish washing the dishes, and Landon joins me in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” I say, and my eyes make a beeline to his chest and abs. “And... um... thanks for breakfast. It was really good.” I pause before continuing in a trance-like voice, mesmerized by his body, “And the decorations? Um. Those are sweet, too.” I look away then and swallow hard, realizing I sounded like someone possessed.

  Crap. Am I drooling? Is that drool on my face? I wipe the corner of my mouth. Oh, phew. Just maple syrup.

  Entertained by my appreciation of his body, he moves closer with a smirk. “My pleasure. After getting that knock to your head last night, I wanted to make sure you had a hearty breakfast.”

  “Oh...” I’m surprised by his thoughtfulness. “Well, thanks, it was delicious.”

  “How are you feeling today?”

  He moves directly in front of me and raises his hand to my forehead. He lifts my bandage to inspect my wound, and my breath halts at his closeness. Plus, his taking care of me is pretty hot, too. It is sexy that he’s a doctor.

  With him standing so close, I inhale his intoxicating masculine scent, closing my eyes. “I feel fine. I mean, it’s fine,” I stammer.

  “Well, I’m the doctor, and I’ll be the judge of how the wound is doing.” He sees that the ointment from last night has been completely absorbed.

  “It’s time to change the bandage and put more ointment on,” he says as his hand falls to his side. “I’ll go get the stuff.”

  I wish he was still touching me. I clear my throat, pretending not to be affected by his touch. Leaning over the counter, I say, “That’s not necessary,” as I grab a jar of manuka honey and my tea tree essential oil.

  A flash of anger crosses his face and he growls, “What do you mean that’s not necessary? Of course it’s necessary! You don’t want it to get infected.”

  Startled by his suddenly dark tone, I put my things back down and look at him. Matching his tone I say, “I have better stuff to put on it,” emphasizing the word better and throwing my hands in the air.

  “Oh, and what is that, pray tell? More plant shit?”

  “Plant shit?” I repeat, almost hysterical. My blood boils. “Maybe Wisconsin hasn’t gotten the m
emo yet, but manuka honey is used in hospitals all over the world. It’s incredible at preventing infections in wounds. I’m surprised you didn’t learn at least that in medical school.”

  I continue snapping at him, “And tea tree oil is a natural antiseptic. It’s been used for almost 100 years for disinfecting wounds.”

  “Emma, don’t mess around with this. You need proper care. Put the fucking antibiotic ointment on.”

  “Excuse me. You’re not the boss of me. I’ll friggin’ treat my wounds how I see fit,” I snap as I grab the honey and the tiny essential oil bottle, stomping into my bedroom. I slam the door behind me for good measure. Oh that man gets on my nerves. How dare he question the way I treat my own wound.

  “Can you believe it, Granny? Typical doctor!” I say out loud, expecting her to be out there, somewhere, listening. I talk to her all the time, feeling her spirit with me. A ghost, I guess. Her ghost.

  I expect she’d be shaking her head at how Landon is treating plant medicine. Tsk Tsk Tsk’ing, too. “It’s like he has no respect for my work,” I vent to her. Just when I’m heartened that he looked into valerian online, he behaves like this.

  Then it dawns on me. He was probably only researching valerian to make sure I wasn’t harming myself or to prove he was right.