by Vivian Wood
If it’s not that big a deal, and nothing will probably come of it, then why are you throwing such a hissy fit? “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll work out. Your work is incredible.”
“Poppy,” he said slowly. The ice cubes clinked in the crystal tumbler. “Do you even know what getting optioned means?”
She didn’t, and she hated being tested. Do you know what chronic atypical neutrophilic dermatosis with lipodystrophy and elevated temperature syndrome is? she wanted to ask. He talked to her like she was an idiot. She was the doctor, not him. “Not exactly…”
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Jesus, Poppy, you get all excitable over the stupidest things, and you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Will, I don’t know what you want me to say. Do you want me to be happy about this, or…”
“What do I want you to say? To feel? I want you to take an interest in my work for once,” he said. He set the sweaty glass down on the table without even using a coaster. “I don’t want my girlfriend to feel like she needs directions on how to act when I tell her things about my work.”
“Well I’m sorry! I’m sorry I don’t know what an option is. You acted like it was this big deal, and then—”
“You certainly don’t act sorry,” he said as he cut her off. “I’m tired. I have to take an early flight to LA to meet about all of this.”
“You’re leaving? Oh, okay. Well, I guess…”
“Are you going to be here when I get back later this week? Or are you going to stay at your place?”
She had no desire to stay at his place with the idyllic, curated bookshelves and the dark wooden floors that magically never showed a speck of dust. Still, she was never certain what he wanted her to do. Sometimes it seemed like he wanted her to stay, and they’d doze off on the couch together. Other times, it was like he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. It was a guessing game, and she was too tired to try to win.
“I’m not sure…”
He rolled his eyes. “Look, if you stay, it’s really important that you keep everything as it is. I know you like to sprawl out when you’re back from a shift, but it’s vital to my creative process that my space is—”
“I think I’ll go home,” she said.
“Are you sure?” It wasn’t really a question.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“Great, see you at the end of the week.” He didn’t lean up for a kiss, and she certainly wasn’t going to offer.
“Okay. Sorry. Again. For everything,” she said as she stood up and pulled on her jacket.
“Make sure you shut the door all the way.”
As Poppy walked toward the elevator, her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.
You okay? Put Mr. Cranky Pants to bed? Her face lit up immediately. Ryan had always had a knack for doing that. At least there was one man that wouldn’t be mad at her, no matter what. She wished Will got her like that.
I’m okay. He’s pouting and drinking. I’m heading home.
It’s late. You okay driving? Want me to come get you?
She let out a laugh as the elevator brought her to the private garage. Only Ryan would think it was safer to take her home at midnight on a motorcycle rather than her driving her little sedan twenty minutes home.
I’m good, she replied. Just wanna get home so I can wake up for 5:00 rounds.
5??? You doctors are crazy. She liked how Ryan would regularly squeeze in the fact she was a doctor. She certainly didn’t feel like it at the hospital. Interns were at the bottom of the totem pole. She got why, and there were doctors who had been at the hospital for decades. But nothing made her feel like all those years of schooling were pointless like standing around an annoyed patient and having a sixty-year-old doctor shoot questions at their cohort in an old school Socratic method.
Good thing we have mental therapists on call then, she texted to Ryan before she started home.
6
Ryan
He never got that runner’s high everyone talked about, but there was certainly something therapeutic in long runs. He wasn’t necessarily the fastest during his SEAL days, but instead squarely in the middle. However, he could pace like nobody’s business. That meant he was always in the lead, and it drove the five-minute milers insane.
“Boy, you looking good!” He waved, a tad embarrassed, at the elderly woman who seemed to constantly be watering her flowers every time he raced by. He’d made the mistake once of stopping and talking to her. He was certain she would chat for hours if given the chance.
“Ryan, I got your mail again.” His next door neighbor, a guy whose name he could never remember, called out to him.
“Slide it under my door?” he asked. “I gotta hit the weights before I lose my motivation.”
“You? Lose motivation?” His neighbor chuckled and slapped his own mound of a belly. “I don’t think missing a day of weights is going to hurt you.”
He powered through leg day. So fucking stupid going on a run before this. He knew guys on his team who were hardcore into strength training. They lifted first thing in the morning, fasted, then pounded protein and waited thirty minutes before cardio. He admired their dedication—and research skills—but didn’t see how they bulked up any different than the other guys. For Ryan, working out was always intuitive. He just did what felt good.
As he bounded upstairs, legs already strained from the grueling morning, he saw his neighbor had indeed stuck a hefty pile of mail under his door. Bills, junk, overdue notices. He shut them away in a kitchen drawer before he turned on the shower. Out of sight, out of mind might not be the best approach, but right now it’s the only option.
Ryan stood under the pounding hot water and tried to guess what questions the US Marshals recruiter might ask. What about my knee? All the details were in his files, of course. Would they really invite me for an interview if they were going to reject me because of that?
It had been a long time since he was this nervous. Not since Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, probably.
He rehearsed potential answers as he maneuvered the motorcycle to the recruiter’s office. No, I’ve never taken medication for depression, anxiety, or any other mental condition. My best training was the wet and sandy. No, I’m not married and I don’t have a significant other.
The building was unassuming—what more could he expect from the agency that was in charge of the Witness Protection Program? He willed himself to stop shaking his leg nervously as he waited in the lobby in an uncomfortable plastic bucket seat.
“It’ll be just another minute,” the pretty receptionist told him for the third time. He tried to smile back, but it felt forced.
“Petty Officer Scott?” A gruff man appeared at the door beside the receptionist’s desk. “Right this way.”
As he followed the squat man through a narrow and dingy hallway, he couldn’t help but feel like he was in trouble at school and this was the principal who was about to punish him with detention.
“Thank you for coming down,” the man said. “I’m Lieutenant Stevens, and I’ll be conducting this session.” Interview. Is it a good thing he didn’t call it an interview? Or not?
“Thank you for seeing me,” Ryan said.
The man snorted. “I’ll get right down to it. Your records are impressive. Silver Star Medal, impeccable recommendations, three platoons—you’re certainly not lacking in your background and training.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ryan said. He sensed a ”but” coming.
“Here’s the thing. As you may or may not know, we’re in need of solid vets for the US Marshals. The incidents in recent years? The suicides that were all over the news? That’s done a number on our recruitment efforts.”
Suicides? That hadn’t come up in any of his research when he'd been trying to figure out his next move. “I can imagine. Sir.”
“Because of that, we’ve been extremely vigilant about vetting candidates, particularly with regards to their m
ental health.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I see here that you had a patellar fracture. That what got you discharged?” The lieutenant’s steely eyes sized him up and down. Why is he asking me? Doesn’t he already know?
“Yes, sir.”
“Huh,” he said. “SEALs take every little thing serious, huh? Well, as long as you have the go-ahead from one of our doctors, that shouldn’t be a problem. Nothing else, though? You know, up here?” The lieutenant tapped his own head with a pencil.
“Uh, no, sir. No.” Shorter replies were always better.
“That’s good. That’s real good, son,” he said. The lieutenant leaned back in his chair.
Am I supposed to do something now? He kept quiet. If this was some kind of game or test, he didn’t know the rules.
“Nine months,” the lieutenant said.
“Pardon, sir?”
“The hiring process takes about nine months right now. Used to be up to twelve, but like I said…”
“Excuse me, sir, but I’ll be waiting nine months for a decision?
“Hell no, son. That’s just how long the paperwork and all takes. And you applied through your local district. Smart, that’ll speed it up. You’ll have to go through the training academy within a hundred and sixty days of today, but that’s nearby, too. And should be a breeze for a SEAL like you.”
“I’d just like to clarify, sir. I’m in?”
“More or less,” he said. “You’ll enter at the GL-0082-07 level, just like all new recruits. After a year, you’ll be eligible for a promotion. Sorry about that, it’s the rules. Doesn’t matter if you’re a war hero or a nobody off the street. Well, I shouldn’t say that. We don’t really take nobodies.”
The numbers swam in Ryan’s head. He didn’t know what they meant, but what did it mean that the lieutenant was apologizing? That’s gotta be a bad sign.
“Thank you? Sir.” It was the only thing that came to mind.
“Check with Pauline at reception. She’ll have some paperwork for you, and can take it from there.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you, sir.” Lieutenant Stevens rose and shook his hand, but had already sat back down by the time Ryan made it to the door.
“I see you applied to serve locally, too,” Pauline said. “That’s good! We could use some more like you around here.” Her dark cocoa eyes looked hungry.
“Like me?”
“Like you.” Her eyes never once broke his gaze.
He didn’t want to go home yet—if you could call it that. It had been easy as a SEAL. Show up, and everything was already as it was required to be. It had been years since he’d actually had to put some effort into setting up an apartment. Instead, he swerved into a local smoothie shop where he knew they carried his favorite whey protein powder.
When he ordered, the skinny teenager who rang him up eyed Ryan’s forearms. They were bronzed and taut, a surprise that jutted from the rolled-up sleeves of his formal dress shirt. “That protein powder really works then, huh?” the kid asked.
“It helps,” Ryan said.
“Oh my God. Ryan? Ryan, is that you?” The voice behind him was oddly familiar. As he looked behind him, it took him a moment to place her.
“Sarah! Hey, how are you?” he asked as she went in for an awkward hug.
“I’m fine.” He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. “How are you? Poppy didn’t tell me you were back. She’s super busy, though.”
“Good, good,” he said. “It’s been awhile. You look good.”
“Thanks,” she said, and glanced down at her tight skirt. “Work clothes, you know,” she said with a laugh.
It was true, she did look good. In fact, that tight little black skirt looked even better than the floral dress she had been wearing in his dream. Now she was wearing a tailored little black jacket and some kind of pink silk camisole. And what was she wearing underneath her clothes?
“We should get together and catch up sometime,” he said. He couldn’t help the stirring in his trousers as he compared this Sarah to the one in his dream.
“Yes, for sure!” she said. “I have weird hours, but I’m free this Thursday night.”
“Cool. How about dinner, then? Nine o’clock?”
“Sounds good,” she said. “Do you have my number?”
“Yeah, from when I picked Poppy up at your place.”
“That’s right.”
“I only have my bike, though. You okay with motorcycles, or should I get a cab for the night?”
“That’s so sweet that you’d do that! But actually, yeah, I’m good with a bike. It sounds hot. What is it they say? Something about having so much power between your legs.” She gave him a wink. “But I guess, like, this wouldn’t be appropriate,” she laughed and tugged at her skirt.
“Hey, whatever you’re comfortable in,” he said. “I wouldn’t be one to complain.”
“I bet not!” she said. “I’m sure I have some hot biker-friendly gear in my closet somewhere.”
“Your protein shake’s ready,” the kid said in a small voice. Ryan turned to take it, and the cashier held onto the drink to force Ryan to lean in. “Dude,” he said, and nodded slightly to Sarah.
Ryan just smiled and shrugged. “See you Thursday,” he said to Sarah as he left.
“I’ll text you my address in a minute,” she said. He smiled and watched as the cashier ogled her openly. He couldn’t blame him. Every inch of Sarah screamed of nothing but sex. Surely she’d be wild in bed.
Yeah, she was hot. Worth overlooking her annoying voice for awhile, at least. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the whole thing would be as beguiling as his dream without Poppy there.
Why the hell are you thinking that? He could feel Sarah’s eyes on him as he climbed on the bike. He didn’t care what anyone said—there was something about a man on a motorcycle that women couldn’t resist. It wasn’t why he’d bought the hog of course, but it was a lesson he'd learned quickly. He felt like Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones. Even when he’d bought it, the sales clerk had told him, “Better be careful! They’re gonna be all over you now.”
At the time he’d just laughed, but he'd had his first taste of what the man had meant when he stopped for gas a few miles later. “Ain’t nothing hotter than a man and his bike,” the gas station attendant had said. It didn’t matter that she was twice his age and covered in faded tattoos. He knew right then this bike was going to get him in trouble if he let it.
He tucked the drink into his satchel and revved up the engine. Ryan had planned to enjoy his drink there, but didn’t want to stick around for awkward pre-date talk with Sarah.
He ran over the Sarah and Poppy fantasy in his head. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Sarah was just kind of there as a teaser. The trailer before the real deal. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. He’d been known to be impulsive before, sometimes with devastating consequences—like the time he ended up dating a girl who full-on stalked him for a year afterward.
He frowned as he headed home and shook his head. Images of Poppy with her legs spread open on his lap refused to budge from his brain. Even in his dream, which he’d always heard meant you couldn’t focus on details, every inch of her had been in high def. He could even see the damp spot on his jeans where her wetness had overflowed.
If asked, he could deliver a manifesto on the shape of her areolas and describe in perfect detail their exact shade of pink. If someone asked him right now if he could have anything in the world, without hesitation he’d say he'd want to have Poppy’s nipples in his mouth. He wanted to make her squirm against him, beg him to be inside her.
Ryan pulled up to his apartment with his erection raging against his jeans. He raced up the stairs, forgot his drink on the bike, and leaned against the couch as he brought himself to orgasm. The only things he saw when he came were Poppy’s nipples and wide open pinkness from his fantasy.
His phone chirped, and he pulled it from his jeans pocket. It was Sa
rah with a text of her address.
What are you thinking about Poppy for?
7
Poppy
Today was a freaking miracle. As Poppy pulled her blue scrub top over her head, she was amazed. For the first time in weeks, not a single kid had gotten sick on her. Her feet ached and her legs screamed, but all in all it was a good day for once.
“Oh my God, my arms are killing me,” Penny said as she sidled up next to Poppy.
“Your arms? Why?”
“Because I had to carry around the Jackson baby all freaking afternoon.”
“He’s adorable,” Poppy said as she slid her pants down. From the corner of her eye, she could see the youngest intern trying his best not to look their way. It was getting more natural, changing in front of everyone.
“He feels like he weighs a hundred pounds!”
“Penny, he’s two years old.”
“Biggest two-year-old ever,” she grumbled. “You got plans tonight? First earlyish shift in a long time.”
“Not really, probably stream something.”
“No plans with Will?” Penny asked as she stepped out of her own scrubs.
“No, he’s actually out of town for work.”
“Cool! What’s he doing?”
“Meeting some Netflix people. They’re optioning one of his scripts.”
“That’s great! It’s so amazing he’s a creative who’s actually driven and found a way to make money with his craft.”
“Yeah. I guess it is pretty cool.” Sometimes I need to be reminded of that.
“You know,” Penny said as she pulled on jeans, “Ryan’s okay, but Will is a lot better looking, in my opinion. Honestly P, I want someone like that. Someone with ambition who will really take care of me, you know? I hope you know how lucky you are.”
Poppy smiled briefly just as her phone buzzed on the locker shelf.
Missing you HARD tonight. Will’s text came through with a bathroom mirror shot of him, seemingly naked, though only the top of his pubic hair could be seen before everything else disappeared below the counter. Classy. She was a lucky girl indeed. For a second she thought about replying, but pursed her lips and clicked away.