They are my favorite cookies in Portland.
“Dammit …” Warren looks at his phone. “I have to go. Those cookies have nothing to do with your cookie. In fact, they weren’t even my idea. Dr. Hawkins made the suggestion when I said I wanted to send you something. So now do you think he wants your cookie?”
“Yes.”
I choke on my cookie as she deadpans her answer.
A cackle makes its way out of Warren as he covers his mouth with his fist and shoots me a look accompanied by an eye roll. “Sure. Sure he does. I’ll send you something less sexual tomorrow, Mayhem, like a rosary.” Warren leaves the lab.
“Hey, ‘Dr. Hawkins,’ why would you tell Warren to send me a cookie bouquet?”
I pop the last bite of cookie into my mouth. “Why are you air quoting my name?”
“Because you’re weird with your name. Eli. Elijah. Dr. Hawkins. Just so many rules to figure out.”
“At work, Dr. Hawkins is great. Without the air quotes. And I suggested Warren send you a cookie bouquet because I knew you wouldn’t accept it, and I thought Bloomin Bouquet’s cookies sounded really good today. I missed lunch with my mom. I’m kinda hungry.”
“Why did you miss lunch with your mom?”
“Because I had sex with Dorothy Mayhem at my mom’s house last weekend. And I knew that’s all she’d want to talk about today.”
“Maybe you needed to talk through your anger over me taking Roman to the farmer’s market. Maybe she would have told you something really profound like ‘Eli, you should be thankful your son is alive and free of cancer. I bet a lot of your patients’ parents would love for their biggest problem to be that their child didn’t put on pajamas before falling asleep, or that he wet his pants after too much lemonade because he was healthy enough to go to the market.”
Red face.
Shaking balled-up hands.
Clenched jaw.
Dorothy Mayhem is seriously pissed off. Not something I’ve seen before. She doesn’t stutter once. Every word feels planned and rehearsed. Did she recite this speech all night?
“I get what you’re saying, but it’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple! He’s alive. You have a living, breathing child. Stop fucking away the minutes of your time with him by worrying about the stupid stuff.”
I stand, moving closer so she’ll lower her voice and so she can hear my words and feel their gravity.
“Maybe he’s not dying today, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in danger of losing him. Julie doesn’t want you alone with him unsupervised.”
“What?” Dorothy jerks her head back. “Does she know we had sex?”
“Serial killers, rapists, and child molesters have sex. It’s not a ticket to sainthood.”
I hate Julie for being right. Does that make her reasons for leaving me right too? Is she just always right? I hope not. But she is right about Roman and us protecting him needing to be our number one priority. There is no way I will tell her she’s right. But … she’s right. And nothing Dorothy can say will change that.
“You think I’m a serial killer, rapist, or child molester? Seriously?”
“No.” I return a sad smile. “But if you were, I wouldn’t know it. The truth is, there is so much I don’t know about you. And I can’t be guided by blind instinct, or insane moments of passion. I have to always keep a clear head when it comes to Roman. And I haven’t done a good job with that.”
“Because of me.”
“No. Yes … I … I’m not saying any of this is your fault. I approached you. I invited you to do things with us. I asked you to watch him last night. It’s me. I need to be more mature in my thinking. Not be so impulsive.”
With slightly narrowed eyes, she observes me. Then she nods slowly. “Okay. Yeah, it was a mistake.”
“Mistakes happen.” I shrug, giving her my best understanding smile, hoping it beams like her favorite emoji so she’ll know I’m not mad at her, and I don’t blame her.
“So we act like it never happened?” she asks.
“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea. I don’t care to dwell on it.”
Dorothy’s gaze shifts past me. “Were the cookies really your idea?”
“Yes.”
Her lips corkscrew. “Okay.” She grabs the cookie bouquet and leaves.
I shake my head, with a grin affixed to my face. That could have gone badly. She came out fighting, but in the end, I feel we’ve reached a compromise. She took the cookies before I had a chance to snag one more, but I can’t get greedy with my victories.
An hour later, Warren returns with a bounce in his step and humming a tune.
“Thank you, Dr. Hawkins.”
I glance over at him with a lifted brow. “For what?”
“The cookie bouquet suggestion. Once Ms. Mayhem realized it wasn’t my idea, but I made the effort to take your suggestion and get it for her, she gave me the thumbs-up.”
Inching my chair to the side to face him straight on, I cock my head, eyes narrowed. “Thumbs-up for what exactly?”
“Tuesday night I’m taking her to dinner.”
What … the … fuck?
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I wouldn’t joke about this. That girl has been a brick wall for weeks. Then out of nowhere, cookie bouquet equals date for Dr. Warren. Booyah!”
I glance at my watch. “I’m going for coffee.”
“I can get you one.”
“No. I don’t want you having anything to do with my coffee.” I push through the door.
“Dude!” He laughs. “That’s a bit harsh.”
Harsh? Harsh will be when I beat the living shit out of him for not backing the fuck off Dorothy. Harsh will be losing my job for said beating. Harsh will be trying to keep custody of my son with an assault conviction on my record.
I message her.
Me: Where are you?
She doesn’t answer in a timely manner. And by timely, I mean within seconds. So … I call her.
No answer.
But my phone vibrates with a text.
Dorothy: Working. Not allowed to take calls on the clock. Not really supposed to be texting either. (shrugging emoji)
“Willa, how would I find Dorothy Mayhem?”
She glances up from the desk outside my lab. “The transporter?”
“Yes.”
“What do you need, Dr. Hawkins?”
“I need Dorothy Mayhem.”
“I have a few minutes. I can help you.”
“Great. Tell Dorothy Mayhem to come here.”
Her eyebrows snake together. “Um …”
“Two words, Willa. Dorothy. Mayhem. Can you do that for me?”
She nods slowly, pulling her phone from the pocket of her scrub top. “What do you want me to say to her?”
“I don’t know. Request something.”
“For who?”
I shrug, jaw clenched with irritation. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does. You see, you order something like a scan, and she comes to transport the patient. Or equipment. Do you need an ultrasound or something?”
“Fine. A CAT scan.”
“For who?”
I grumble. “It. Doesn’t. Matter.”
“But it does. I have to enter the order into the system under a patient’s name.”
“Jesus …” I run my hands through my hair. “No one is getting an actual scan.”
“But you just said—”
“Never mind.” I stomp off. “I’ll find her myself.” It’s not easy tracking her down, but eventually I catch her returning a patient to their room on the second floor.
“What the—” She stumbles as I back her into the wall, hovering over her without actually touching her.
“I need a word with you.”
“I’m working.”
“I’m not asking. A word. Now. Or I make a scene. Do I need to make a scene?”
“I’d rather you not,” she says, eyes shifting f
rom side to side.
“Move.” I nod toward the empty room several feet behind her.
Keeping her gaze on me, she backs into the room as I move toward her, a slow dance of distrust.
I shut the door and lock it behind us. She stares up at me with unblinking eyes.
“You have a date with Warren?”
She dips her brow in confusion and nods once.
“Why?” I partially yell because I don’t appreciate being blindsided like this.
“Um …” Her eyes shift side to side. “Because he asked me and bought me a cookie bouquet. And … I thought he might be a good way for me to get over us.”
“Over us? What does that mean?”
“Wow …” She clears her throat and swallows hard. “When you said you didn’t want to dwell, you really meant it. Well, you kinda ended whatever it was we had like…” she checks her watch “…an hour ago. So I figured I could spend weeks journaling and obsessing over what exactly went wrong, or I could move on quickly to distract my thoughts. So I chose to move on quickly.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t end us.”
“You did. You called us a bad decision. I said mistake. You said, ‘Mistakes happen.’ And you said you didn’t want to dwell on it anymore.”
“I was talking about last night!”
She jumps. I don’t mean to scare her, but I hate feeling so out of control. I hate the idea of losing her. But she acts like everything is already lost.
This makes me so fucking angry with myself, with Warren, with Julie, with … the world. I’m pissed at the world for no other reason than it nearly brings me to my knees to think of Dorothy and Warren together.
People aren’t property—things to possess. But at this exact moment, my mind says, “Fuck that.” Dorothy Mayhem belongs to me. Period. I own her awkward moments, her goofy, loud laughs, her robotic seduction, and every single inch of her body, leading straight to her G-spot, which … Yes. That belongs to me as well.
“I was talking about last night,” I say with a little less desperation and aggression. “It was my mistake. I didn’t need a babysitter. I have a long list of eager family always ready and willing to watch Roman. I’ve never needed a babysitter. I just …” I scratch the back of my neck. “I just wanted to see you so badly. And I didn’t know if you’d say yes to me, so I took the chance that you’d say yes to Roman.”
Her eyes narrow. “You used Roman to get to me?”
“Uh … yes. I have no shame when it comes to you.” I brush my lips against hers.
To my surprise, she doesn’t stiffen and take time to decide if she wants to be kissed. Instead, she grabs my lab coat and pulls me to her, opening her mouth to me. I kiss every inch of that mouth like I own it too while Dorothy makes little humming noises.
“M-my phone?” She breaks the kiss and grabs her phone. “I have to go.”
I nod, trying to suppress the inclination to tell her to ignore her phone, take off her clothes, and let me find all the spots that bring her pleasure. “Okay.”
She nods, rubbing her lips that hide a tiny smile. “Okay.”
“Tomorrow, pack an overnight bag, and come to my house after work.”
Her gaze shoots up to mine. “Oh … um …”
I smirk. “For Roman. Please …” I wink.
“Are you using him to get me to come over?”
“One hundred percent. And with no regrets.” I chuckle, ducking my head to kiss her neck, to smell the coconut along her skin while my hands palm her ass.
Her breath hitches. “Oh … uh … so you’re inviting me for a sleepover?”
“Mmm hmm …” I torture myself by taking one last taste of her skin, one last squeeze of her curvy, firm ass.
“Okay.”
“Yeeesss …” I slide my hands just past her ass to the back of her legs and lift her up, pressing her back to the door, positioning the head of my erection right between her spread legs.
“I have to go.” She grabs my neck to steady herself as I maneuver her hips to … well, torture my dick some more. “If…” her voice takes on a needy, breathy intonation “…if you don’t stop right now, I’ll have to find a place to masturbate because I won’t be able to stop thinking about the orgasm you almost gave me.”
Yeah, neurotypical people don’t say that. I sure as hell would never confess to a woman that her flirting and teasing will require me to go masturbate. God knows I did it after every fake playdate when I first met Dorothy. And after she leaves this room, I will grab that cup of coffee I said I was going to get, go back to my office, lock the door, shut the blinds, and rub one off. But never would I confess that to her or any other woman.
My forehead drops to her shoulder. “Killing me, Dorothy. You’re killing me.”
“I have to go. If we wait, someone will ask where I’ve been. And I won’t be able to lie.”
Thunk.
Thankfully, she lands on her feet when I let go of her like taking a pan from the oven without oven mitts. I don’t need her telling people about me groping her in an empty room while inviting her to spend the night with me. And that’s how she would phrase it, I have no doubt about that.
“Get to work. Go, go, go!” I unlock the door and give her a gentle nudge.
Chapter Nineteen
Wonder Woman
Dorothy
Instead of dealing with an onslaught of questions, I text my mom after I get to work.
Me: I won’t be home tonight. Been invited to have a sleepover with Roman. Love you.
Come to find out, Eli isn’t working today. Just as well. I have enough issues focusing on my work while my mind keeps wandering to the sleepover. Roman will freak when he sees my pajamas. I have drawers of clothes that I convinced myself I needed at one point and time, but they’re far from practical. However, I keep them on the off chance that the right occasion will present itself, and I’ll have the perfect outfit.
Presenting … a sleepover with Romeo.
Perfect!
After work, I swap clothes in my car. No one at the hospital needs to see my pajamas, although part of me wants to show them off. I’m a little surprised Eli is letting Roman have me over tonight since I get off work at eight, which means I don’t arrive at his house until almost eight-thirty. But it’s a Saturday night, so I assume Roman gets to stay up a little later.
So many assumptions. Being an Aspie isn’t always hot chocolate and marshmallows with rainbow sprinkles. No. Oftentimes it’s showing up to a Star Wars themed party dressed as Mr. Spock, greeting everyone with the Vulcan salute.
“Hey!” I grin proudly when Eli opens the front door. My smile vanishes. “Is that the best you’ve got?” My gaze makes a critical inspection of his faded jeans and plain white tee. Poor Romeo needs a fun adult in his life, one who knows sleepovers involve at least a onesie with critter feet.
“I … I’m …” Eli’s eyes widen, jaw unhinging as I step inside and slide off my jacket. His gaze sweeps along my red, knee-high socks that look like boots, my tiny blue shorts with yellow stars, my fitted, red tank top with the Wonder Woman logo, and my fancy tiara.
“Bor … ing.” I roll my eyes at his attire, brushing past him and dropping my bag by the credenza. “Where is he?” I make my way to the kitchen, where there are two glasses and a bottle of wine—an odd choice for a sleepover. Hopefully he has apple juice for Romeo. But Eli does score big when I notice the large pizza box from my favorite pizza place.
But pizza has to wait. I want to find Romeo.
“Where’s my little Romeo?” I circle to the living room.
No Roman.
“Wonder Woman is here.” I sneak up the stairs to his room.
No Roman.
After staring at his perfectly made bed inside his dark room, I turn in the doorway. Eli stands at the top of the stairs, nose wrinkled and teeth wedged into his bottom lip.
“He’s playing hide and seek, huh?” I whisper.
Eli eases his head side to sid
e, his gaze making a hungry inspection of me.
My posture slumps. “Then where is he?”
“Um …” He clears his throat. “Julie has him this week.”
“What? But you invited me here tonight! I have it on my calendar. I can show you.”
“No … I …” He rubs his mouth, and I swear he does it to mask his grin.
That makes me livid.
“I asked you to stay the night with me.”
“A sleepover.” I hold out my arms.
Hello!
Seriously, did he miss my pajamas? Pajamas equal sleepover.
“You called it that.” He shakes his head.
“You said for Roman!”
“It was a joke. I had just told you how I’d shamelessly used him to spend time with you. And I smirked and winked when I said it because it was a joke. I thought you knew it was a joke and that Julie had him this week.”
My mind explodes. I can’t formulate a single coherent thought.
Anger.
Confusion.
Embarrassment.
Stupidity.
So many emotions. I don’t know how to deal with them. What to say. Or what to do next.
“I …” I shake my head, jaw slack. “I missed that joke then. I miss a lot of humor.”
“I’m really sorry. Can we just let it go? I have pizza and wine. And I want you to stay tonight.”
Oh god … sex. He invited me over for sex!
Suddenly, his sexy jeans and crisp white tee make sense.
“I have to run home.” I make a straight line to the stairs, but he blocks me from going down them.
“What? No. Why? Did you forget something? I have an extra toothbrush. Just stay.”
I look up, giving him a huge duh look. Clearly, I’m the only one who can see the obvious. “This is not the outfit I would wear to spend the night with you. I have one that will work better. I’ll drive home and get it. But right now, I am not dressed for sex and seduction.”
“Oh, Dorothy …” He chuckles, stepping toward me. “I believe you are.”
I step back.
He steps forward with a look in his eyes. I’ve seen it before. And I’m not wearing the proper clothes for what that look means.
Keep This Promise Page 184