Rush (Men of Rapture #1)

by Faye Byrd

  “Sit up straighter,” she says excitedly, pausing beside the bed while I reposition myself. “I hope I made enough for you.” She sets the tray across my lap and steps back, her expression expectant.

  I take in the tray. There’s a plate filled with bacon, an omelet, and toast with a large glass of milk to the side. “Thank you,” I mutter, suddenly choked up. “Fuck. It looks delicious.”

  “Good.” She’s perky and pleased by my response. “Now eat, and I’ll go clean up the mess I made.”

  “Wait,” I say as she starts to turn. “I wish I could tell you not to bother, that I’d get it later, but my fucking leg won’t cooperate. Where did all this food even come from?”

  She taps her temple. “I wasn’t sure what you had, so I stopped by the store on the way over.” She pauses and glances to the tray. “It didn’t hit me until this morning that you wouldn’t have been able to eat.”

  “I appreciate you thinking of me.” I nab two slices of bacon and stuff them in my mouth. “A fucking lot,” I half-mumble, half-moan.

  She goes back to the kitchen, flitting in and out of view, while I shovel food into my mouth as fast as I can chew. It’s good as fuck, but I don’t pause long enough to savor it. I even turn up the glass of milk when I’m done, and it tastes fucking delicious, too. I can’t remember the last time I drank something non-alcoholic, aside from my morning hangover cure.

  “Should I make you another omelet?” the doc asks, her eyes flitting to my empty plate as she approaches. “It’s no trouble. I have a few minutes before I have to leave.”

  “Nah.” I wave away her concerns and bring my hand down to rub my full stomach. “I haven’t eaten a breakfast like that in …” I pause, tamping down the memory before it can surface. “A long time.”

  Her brows furrow as she studies me, but I hold firm, shoving any inkling of emotion that wants to show deep into the dark depths of my psyche, and stay impassive. Finally, with a shrug, she lifts the tray and takes it to the island before returning with renewed vigor.

  “Okay, then. I have you fed,” she says, reaching into her scrub pocket and drawing out a tube of cream. “Now I just need to look after your wounds.”

  I smirk—this is more like it—and widen my arms. “I promise to be a good little patient.”

  “I doubt that.” She motions for me to scoot over so she has room to sit beside me. “But I’ve already built up a tolerance to your tricks.”

  Using my arms, I lift and slide over about a foot before taking in her upbeat, playful expression. She’s fucking glowing, and I have mixed feelings about that. Doc got laid … and it wasn’t by me. And there’s my conundrum. It should never be by me, yet I still haven’t fully convinced myself that’s the case.

  “What?” she asks, breaking into my thoughts. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  I blink away a pensive expression and plaster on my trademark smirk. “Just noticing how utterly refreshed you look this morning.”

  She diverts her eyes, her cheeks taking on a rosy color. “I am,” she says to my sheet as she fingers the hem. “Very refreshed.”

  I snort, prompting her to lift her eyes. “Not as much as you could be.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she says, tilting her head back and forth as if she’s weighing her thoughts. “Out of ten, I’d say it was an eleven.”

  I throw my head back with a laugh. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She shrugs, her eyes sparking with mischief. “Now let me take a look at these wounds.”

  She reaches for the sheet, and motherfucking chill bumps race up my stomach as her fingers brush against my skin. I suppress a groan and lay my head back, looking away. Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to pretend it’s anything other than her touching me, but the electricity that sparks is undeniable. It races through me, causing my heart to speed and my cock to swell.

  “Hey.” Her soft voice reaches through the lusty haze and drags me back into the present. “Don’t be so tense. It’s not going to hurt.”

  An abrupt bark of laughter bursts through my lips, and I turn my head, spearing her with an incredulous glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I snort, irritation simmering beneath my skin. “Is that what you think? I’m tense because I’m afraid of the pain? I’m not a fucking pussy.” I lean forward, barging into her personal space, and place my lips close to her ear. “I’m tense everywhere, doc.” I lean back, frustrated with her, myself, and this whole push-pull situation. “I’m trying really hard here, but you have to help me out. Stop being so soft and nice and smiley. Really, it isn’t doing you any favors.”

  “You’re serious,” she says, her fingers nowhere near as gentle as they were earlier as she busies herself with inspecting the cut to my abdomen. “That whole idea boggles my mind. Don’t you have female friends? Or women you spend time with who you don’t fuck? Is it that impossible for you to just friend-zone me and be done with it?”

  Her admonishment stings. As simple as those questions are, they’re the epitome of everything I’m not. I don’t have female friends. I don’t spend time with women when I’m not fucking them. I want to be decent, to do the right thing, to friend-zone her, but the game is so very enticing, and she’s way too fucking hot. Her presence is the only thing keeping me afloat during my unintentional exile.

  “Slip your leg from beneath the sheet,” she says, tapping my knee. “And no I don’t mean the third one.” She rolls her eyes and gives me a playful look, letting me know she’s not holding my dickishness against me. “Your stomach looks great, if I do say so myself.” She rambles on, talking about my wounds, telling me I can take a shower if I want and how to care for them afterward.

  I close my eyes and focus on the sound of her voice, yet it doesn’t fucking work. I have no control when it comes to her. Even with my sore thigh, her touch feels soft and enticing, sexual, not clinical like it should. I clench my jaw and pretend it doesn’t matter, that I’m not hard as a fucking rock only inches from her hand, and she blessedly ignores it as well.

  “All done,” she says, laying the tube of cream on the nightstand. “I’d like you to walk some today and put as much pressure on your leg as you can take. It may hurt, and you don’t have to do it long, but you need to try.”

  “Yeah, I’ll definitely take a shower,” I reply with a nod.

  “All right, then.” She stands, her eyes soft. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”

  I sigh, my heart thumping in my goddamn chest, and I don’t even know why. “Thanks, doc. You’ve been amazing.” I reach out and grab her hand. “And I do appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiles and squeezes my hand before letting it drop. “I’ll bring you dinner this evening, and depending on how the walking goes today, it may be the last time I have to stop by.”

  While I’m still processing her words, she turns and bounces her perky ass out the door to leave me staring at the empty space. For the first time since I got my ass kicked, I’m alone and fully alert. There are no pain pills muddling my mind and no desperate need for sleep plaguing me.

  It’s just me and my thoughts.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Slurring

  ALYSSA

  “Knock, knock,” Elle says, poking her head in my door. “You have a visitor. He’s in the waiting room.”

  “He?” I lift a brow, rocking back in my chair. “A patient?”

  “He says he’s a friend.” The look in her eyes implies she thinks he’s more than that. “Anyway,” she says, dragging out the word. “I was about to leave for lunch, so you’ll have the place to yourselves for a few.”

  “Don’t be silly.” I stand on jittery knees and glance at the clock. It couldn’t be, right? He was still bedridden only a few hours ago.

  “He’s a nice looking guy.” She shrugs as she steps back for me to pass. “Sometimes things just get out of hand.”

  I pause and turn to her with a highly arch
ed brow. “Not here they don’t.”

  “Whatever you say.” Her lips twitch as she motions for me to continue up the hall.

  As we near the front of the building, Elle moves behind the receptionist counter while I follow the hallway and veer into the waiting room. I’m brought to a halt as my friend stands from his seat and moves toward me. Because our relationship revolves around the physical, I’m not surprised when his hands grip my waist before sliding around to my lower back and pulling me against him. I’m also not surprised when his lips brush softly against mine before expertly parting them with his tongue.

  Like a hussy who wasn’t thoroughly satisfied by him just last night, I slip my fingers into his hair and indulge in the careful way his mouth explores mine. He tastes minty and familiar, and my inhibitions have flown out the window, along with any semblance of self-control.

  He ends the kiss with a series of soft pecks, and reality comes crashing down as I’m reminded of where we are. “Justin, what are you doing here?”

  His hands shift back to my waist, and he gives it a light squeeze before letting go and taking a step back. “Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”

  I fake a laugh, but internally, I’m already starting to feel ill at ease. “Not likely.”

  His laugh is genuine, and my girly parts react, but this isn’t how we conduct ourselves. We’re not friends. We don’t hang out. We meet for drinks, which is closely followed by hot sex. That’s it. So this appearance is unexpected and, now that I’ve gotten ahold of my hormones, unappreciated.

  He clears his throat, glancing at something beyond me. “I was hoping I could persuade you to have lunch with me?”

  Elle comes hurrying through the room, and I give her the stink-eye. She even has the nerve to make a show of locking the door as she leaves. I shake my head and motion to a small sofa. “Why don’t we have a seat?” Heat burns in my cheeks as I sit and smooth my palms along my scrubs. “Lunch isn’t what we do, Justin.”

  “I thought we could change that.” He places his warm hand on top of my own. “Don’t get me wrong. I love what we have now, but that’s the problem. Every time I’m with you, I just want more.”

  Alarm pulses through me, and I wiggle my hand from beneath his, standing to pace. “That’s … Justin, it’s not that you aren’t a great guy …” I pause, shaking my head. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Okay.” He stands, moving before me with imploring brown eyes. “But don’t you have friends? People you chill with? It’s not like I’m asking you to be my girlfriend. I just want to spend time with you outside of sex.” He shrugs, a genuine smile curving his lips. “You never know.”

  “I do know,” I counter, sensing the end of a beautiful agreement. “I’m not interested in pursuing more with you.”

  “Ouch.” He stiffens, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I thought we had a spark—something extra.”

  “We did,” I concede, pulling my arms around myself. “Do. But it’s purely physical.”

  “Right.” He nods, rocking back on his heels. “What an awful precursor for a relationship.”

  “Don’t sound so bitter,” I snap, irritated with the outcome of this conversation. “You stopped by, unexpected, and dropped this on me. How am I supposed to react?”

  “By discussing it over lunch?”

  My shoulders slump under the weight of his suggestion. Simply by wading into this territory, he’s canceled our agreement. It’s over. I have no interest in pursuing more, and after this, I can’t see him remaining detached.

  “I’m sorry, Justin,” I say simply, opening the door. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  I sigh as I turn the lock behind him, pressing my forehead against the wood. Every bit of tension I worked so hard to release last night has returned ten-fold. Justin and I have shared this relationship since I was in my final year of grad school. I met him at a bar after a rough breakup with my boyfriend of three years. He was the exact opposite of Brad, noncommittal and so sure of himself, and I learned why that first night. He had reason to be. After that, we kept it simple. If one of us made the call, we both knew the outcome.

  Justin’s an amazing guy, given what I know about him. He has a great job, a nice apartment, he’s not married, and he knows exactly which buttons to push to please me every single time. I already feel needy at the loss. So why in the hell would I turn him down so thoroughly?

  His face flashes through my mind, and I want to cry.

  Trudging back to my office, I flop into my chair with the exuberance of a wet sponge. My day has taken an unexpected nosedive, and my mood has plunged right alongside it. My turkey wrap tastes like cardboard, and I brush off Elle when she stops in to let me know she’s reopening the clinic for the afternoon.

  The hits keep coming when an animal displaying symptoms of Rabies is brought in. It breaks my heart to explain to the owner just how serious the situation is, as there is no cure or test, and euthanasia is our only option. It’s a horrid lesson for any pet owner to learn, and the prevention is so cost effective when compared to what you have to lose. These are the things I hope my presence in this community can prevent in the future.

  By the time I leave for the day, I’m too frustrated to deal with Rush, so I call my favorite pizza place and beg them to make a delivery, passing along the codes and instructions on where to find him. It’s not what I told him I’d do, but at least he gets food. I simply don’t have the strength to face him today.

  I spend the evening lost in my own world of doubt and insecurity. I’ve always considered myself a strong, confident woman, but right now I feel dirty and mean. Today has been an eye opener, so I grab a bottle of wine and settle in for a little self-reflection.

  Work goes only slightly better the next day, and by the time I’m off, I’m once again faced with the issue of Rush. I have to see him. I deserted him last night, and it was a shitty thing to do, but he only adds to my confliction. I’m not sure I’m in the right frame of mind to deflect his constant innuendo.

  I’m not sure I even want to anymore.

  After stopping for take-out at a steakhouse near his neighborhood, I navigate through the gate of his community and down the long, rolling driveway. Bright light streams from the windows of the large home, and several expensive cars occupy the circle drive directly in front of the double-door entrance. Feeling out of place in my Honda, I press the gas pedal and hurriedly disappear down the smaller drive beside the garage.

  The sun has already dipped below the horizon, and all seems dark as I pull to a stop near the pool house. Guilt creeps in, and I internally chastise myself for skipping out on him. Rush needs me. He’s depending on me, and I left him hanging out to dry. I hurry from the car, making sure to grab the bag of food from the back seat, and make a beeline for the control panel.

  The sound of glass shattering startles me, and I turn toward the pool with my hand over my thundering heart. “Rush?” A lean shadow wobbles to his feet. “What are you doing out here?”

  Blue lights shimmer from beneath the water, reflecting across his chest and leaving his face in shadow. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t good ole Doctor Cole. You did decide to come back after all.”

  I sigh at his sarcastic tone and slurred words. “I brought dinner.” I hold up the bag. “I thought we’d share a meal.”

  He moves forward, grunting as he places weight on his injured leg. “You should probably just dump the food and go.” He waves his hand, which causes him to teeter, but he keeps his balance. “I’m nothing but a dark spot on your pristine little image, doc.”

  If only he knew.

  Setting the bag on the patio table, I go to the panel and move my finger across the smooth glass until the area around me is bathed in soft light. Rush is beyond the glow, but I feel his stare burn across me as I move back to the table and start unpacking the food. The chilly night air stings my heated skin, creating a zing of anticipation that clashes with my unbalanced emotional state.
On the outside, I appear calm and patient, while on the inside I’m a jittery mess of uncertainty.

  Taking a deep breath, I blow it out slowly as I busy myself with removing the lids and setting out the fancy plastic containers. I take my time, arranging and rearranging the plates before I turn to call Rush over. Instead, I run straight into his hard chest.

  “Oh!” My heart hammers as he grabs my arms to steady me. “I didn’t realize you were so close.”

  His eyes roam my face, dark and intense in the pale lighting. “I shouldn’t be,” he mumbles, releasing me and turning to stumble around the table. “You should go. I don’t need you anymore.”

  He drops into the chair across from me, and I sigh as I drag my plate closer and pull out the seat next to him. “I’ve had a shit couple of days, and I brought dinner.” I spear a baby carrot and point it at him. “So you’re going to eat and pretend you’re happy I’m here, whether it’s true or not.”

  His drunken glare fades. “Oh, it’s true, but that’s the fucking problem.” Shaking his head, he picks up his fork and focuses on his plate. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s had a shit couple of days.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say without thought. “I bet it took a lot of work to get back to your feet without help.”

  “Fucking clueless.” He snorts, narrowing his eyes my way. “It takes a lot of work just to make it through the day. Walking is a piece of fucking cake compared to the other shit I have to deal with.”

  His stare is angry and resentful, but it also sparks with pain. The underlying hurt makes me want to wrap him in my arms and hold him until everything awful from his past has been scrubbed away. It makes me want to be that girl—the one who fixes him.

  But I know better.

  He won’t allow it. He’ll only use me for his pleasure and move on. But isn’t that the only type of relationship I’m capable of? After all my superiority, doesn’t he do exactly what I was doing with Justin? Isn’t he the ideal person to settle into a fleeting relationship with? He’s perfectly sinful and too much of a conceited dick to ever fall for.