“You do realize you just told me drunk words are sober thoughts…”
She squares her shoulders and stands taller, gripping my hand a little tighter. “I am not drunk.” She says it so matter-of-factly, so clearly, I nearly believe her, except I saw the minor sway when she stood up after taking my hand. “We are supposed to be honest, Miss Parker. It’s the only way we can establish a friendship, trust.” I lead her out of the restaurant out to the fresh night air.
“I’m not drunk. Just a little… tipsy. That’s all.”
“Drunk. Tipsy. Buzzed. Lit. Call it what you want, I want to know if Dr. Desirable is the other name you’ve given me?” I enjoy the flush of her cheeks beneath the parking lot lights while she chews the inside of her cheek. She is fighting with herself here, trying to decide if she should give in or go to battle. Maybe I can sway her a little, help decide the victorious thought. “Hey…” I stop and use her hand in mine to my advantage, gently pulling her closer so we are only a couple of inches apart. I look down into her dark, determined eyes, watching for any change in them as I slide my thumb from the top of her hand along the inside of her wrist softly. “You can tell me. I won’t share with anyone else.”
“Nope. I’m not drunk enough to admit to anything.” Her words are proof enough she’s got just the right amount of liquid courage in her to not even realize her words are all the admittance I need.
“You sure about that?”
“Yep.” Her P pops and she shuffles closer, resting her forehead against my chest and taking a deep breath. “Just give me a second, I’m a little dizzy.”
“Take as long as you need.” Those margaritas are strong, I know. She may have only had three, but if I had to guess, drinking isn’t something she did a lot of while finishing her internship and getting her job secured. I let go of her hand and slide mine around to her back, holding her to me and rubbing gently. “I’ll be your post until it passes.”
“Thank you.” She breathes heavily in through her nose then exhales slowly through her mouth. The warmth of her breath radiates down my stomach through the fabric of my shirt. “You smell really good. I haven’t said that before, but you do. Always.”
“You’re definitely not drunk at all.” I slip my free hand down between us and ease her head up, making sure I have a good hold on her just in case the spins hit her hard. “You’re sharing more of your sober thoughts with me.”
Her lips part slightly, and her tongue slips between them, coating the bottom. It’s the same lower lip I sampled her margarita from earlier. It tasted good from my thumb, but I know without any doubt if I were to take a taste straight from the source, I’d be done for, addicted, and needing more and more.
I feel her hands land on my stomach with a featherlight touch, but I’m so acutely aware of them they may as well be hot branding irons resting over my abs. “I’m not drunk.”
The invitation is there. Each and every sign. Her body is calling to me like a beacon, guiding me closer, begging me to lower my face to hers—I can’t fight it—so I do just that. “You’re tipsy though.”
“I am,” she exhales and the warmth covers my lips like the softest blanket.
“Do you have any other sober thoughts to share?” I connect my hands together with my fingers clasping against her lower back, easing her body into mine with her hands pinned between us.
“Mhmm…” She pushes up just enough to close the tiny gap that exists between our mouths and presses her lips to mine. Her lips are soft, full, and they taste like strawberry and heaven. I let her body dictate my moves. The kiss stays soft and chaste until her fingers clasp my shirt and her tongue darts out momentarily. With her desire comes her approval for me to give a little more.
Instead of a soft, innocent kiss, I nip at her lower lip and suck it into my mouth where I can soothe my tongue over the freshly bitten flesh. The quiet groan of encouragement tells me she wants more of what I can give her, and as if she is reading my mind, she offers more of herself to me.
Our tongues dash and dance, lips tease, teeth nip and tug. It’s an all-consuming kiss I will never forget. It’s an all-consuming kiss I have to end though.
With more willpower than I thought possible, I break away from her and rest my forehead against hers. “We have to stop.”
Her chest rises and falls with her pants and her fingers loosen in my shirt, but she doesn’t take them away yet. “Why?”
“Because even if you think you aren’t drunk, you’ve been drinking enough I could never in good conscience do anything more tonight.” I tilt my head to kiss her lips gently again, then pull away completely, smiling softly, and searching her eyes. “I’m a lot of things, a man of many names, but when it comes to sex I don’t take chances.”
“You don’t trust I actually want it?” She can’t hide the hurt or anger in her eyes, and the margaritas have weakened her resolve in her tone too. I know she’ll be upset by this, but I have to trust she’ll appreciate it tomorrow.
“I do.” I lean in to kiss her again; grateful she kisses me back instead of shoving me away. “I don’t want to end tonight fighting. I’ve had an amazing time, and I would love to take you back to your place. But when this actually happens, I don’t want the possibility of any alcohol-induced doubts to be there in the morning.”
“You’re maddening.” She closes her eyes and swallows, then sighs, “I’m a sure bet tonight.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “You’ll be a sober sure bet another night too, I promise.”
“You’re so arrogant.” She looks up at me again and some of the glaze in her eyes is tapering off, the adrenaline and dopamine minimizing too, as her heart rate slows again and her breathing evens out.
“I’m also a jerk, an asshole, a dick, and desirable. We can’t forget desirable, can we?” Her response this time is her tongue flashing out of her mouth in an adorable, childish way, followed by her arms crossing over her chest.
“I never admitted to that…”
I reach for her hand and take it in mine again, squeezing it as I guide her to my Range Rover in the parking lot. “You didn’t have to say it to admit it. Actions speak louder than words, Gorgeous. Now, tell me where you live so I can get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”
She grumbles out her address then mutters under her breath, “I’m not Cinderella. And you might be Dr. Desirable, but you’re far too grumpy to be Prince Charming.”
****
Dee
For as nice as his car looks on the outside, the interior is even better. It’s pristine, full of all the hottest technology, and the seats are so comfortable. He has the new car smell in here, not the artificial new car smell from a detail shop, but the real new car smell. It’s a nice, calming scent as my stomach churns. Margarita, adrenaline, hormones, and bitter disappointment are a lethal combination on the digestive system. I’m doing everything I can right now to not get sick. I could’ve sworn I wasn’t drinking that much, but everything in me is shouting otherwise now. All I want to do is curl up in a semi-fetal position with a foot hanging to the floor to keep the room from its inevitable spinning, and forget he denied me tonight.
Instead of getting to curl up and wither away in rejected oblivion, I have to ride beside him, knowing the feel of his lips, his mouth, the physical evidence of his desire growing and pressed against me, even though his words halted everything.
Oddly enough, I’m just sober enough to realize if I were entirely sober his thoughts and actions wouldn’t hurt me at all, they’d make sense. I’m inebriated enough, though, for my brain to be playing these tricks on me. Instead of him being logical for both of us, my default reaction is he’s being an ass, just like always, and he wants nothing to do with me because I’m beneath him.
“You’re incredibly quiet over there. You doing okay?”
I glance over at him and catch him watching me cautiously. If I were more with it, I probably would’ve noticed we had stopped at a red light, but… drunk brain. “I’m fin
e.”
“You sure? That was pretty snippy and truthfully, you’re looking a little pale. Are you nauseated?” He sounds genuinely concerned, and it’s disarming.
“What, afraid I’ll puke in your perfect car?” My body is very slowly realizing how much tequila was in those margaritas, and I know I can’t control what I feel or what happens once it really hits me, but I can at least control this moment between us. So since flight away from him and his rejection is out the window, fight has to win out.
He looks away from me, jaw clenched, as the car starts accelerating forward with the changed light. The streetlights and business signs blur and move by too quickly, causing my stomach to gurgle slightly, so I focus on him instead. I can tell I struck a nerve, but he’s not saying anything. I watch him expectantly, waiting for the inevitable fight to come. Instead, he shakes his head and exhales. “Wow, I’m not sure I like drunk you. Most women get flirty and happy; you’re neither of those things now. And no. I don’t give a shit if you puke in here. I do give a shit if you feel awful though.” He glances my way, even as his tendons flex and stretch as his grip on his steering wheel tightens. “I’m a doctor, remember? I took an oath to do no harm.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Well fuck, maybe you’re bipolar then, because the woman you were twenty minutes ago is long gone. I’m doing my best here, Dee. I’d love to fuck you ten ways from Sunday right now, but the good man in me is saying it would be terrible idea because it’s taking advantage of you. I’d love to take you over my knee and spank you senseless for this attitude, but you’re not mine, and I’m pretty sure it’s not allowed. What I’m doing instead is being kind, caring about whether you want to blow chunks because I’ve been drunk on tequila, and I know that shit sneaks up on you and you go from fine to not fine in an instant. I’m taking you home so some horny Lyft driver looking for a good tip or a good time can’t take advantage of you. I’m taking you home so, even though tonight can’t end the way my very tightly wound body wants it to, I can prove to you I’m trying. But hell if you aren’t making that really fucking hard. No pun intended.”
“Oh.” He just threw so much at me, and my mind is barely processing it all. There was a lot loaded into his speech, but all I can really grasp is he’s pissed at me because he does want sex, but he’s being good and not asking for it, and I’m making him hard.
“Oh. Yeah, I’m not being the dick tonight. So, let’s try this again. How do you feel?”
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes. My stomach is shaky at best, my head is starting to hurt, and my mind is definitely foggy. “I think I’m drunk. And my stomach may be revolting against the tequila.”
I can’t open my eyes again yet, the view of signs and lights passing and blurring will only make the feeling worse, so when he puts his hand on my knee and squeezes gently, it startles me. “Just breathe. I’ll roll the window down for some fresh air and turn the AC on. It won’t be much longer before we get to your house. But let me know if I need to pull over for you, okay?”
Just nod your head, Dee. Don’t open your mouth, not right now. God only knows what will come out.
“Thank you. I’ll tell you.” I follow my inner angel, who is more favorable toward him right now than my inner demon, and leave it at that. For the rest of the ride, I rest my forehead against the cool glass window beside me and keep my eyes shut, counting breaths and trying to think of anything but the bubbling feel in my stomach.
“We’re here,” he whispers, as the car comes to a stop and the engine silences. “What apartment are you in? And what floor?”
“I’m in 407.” My brain activates enough to start digging through my purse for my keys before I chance getting out of his car and trying to walk straight.
“Stay there.” He slips out gracefully, causing the dome light to turn on and allowing me to find my keys with ease. He opens the door beside me as I’m closing my purse up, then he holds his hand out for me. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you.” I slide my hand to his, feeling the warmth envelop me instantly, and another shock of adrenaline surges through me, making the queasy feeling worse. “Oh God…”
“Oh no you don’t, I’ve got you.” He helps me out of his Rover and scoops me into his arms with ease. There’s not jostling or struggle, it’s a fluid motion that takes me off my feet and has me hovering off the ground in his strong embrace instantly. “Arms around my neck.”
I do as he says and then rest my head in the space between his jaw and shoulder, nuzzling into his neck and breathing him in as though his scent will be the perfect cure for this feeling. It’s nice. His body is hard and strong beneath me, but his neck is warm and smooth, inviting and soothing. “Elevator is down.”
His chest rumbles against me and his words come out soft over my head, “Of course it is. It’s a good thing I love stairs.” I have half a mind to say I’m sorry, but the overwhelming urge to be sick and pass out overrides it, so I simply nod against him instead.
He takes every step as slowly and carefully as he can. I can tell we aren’t going as quickly as normal, and I’m grateful. The lack of jostling and the presence of him carrying me have settled my stomach just a little. It’s enough for me to open my eyes and identify we have finally reached the fourth floor at least. I recognize the hall I live on immediately and transfer my keys to the hand that’ll be able to reach the door. “Fourth door on the left.” I point carefully to my front door and look up at him, meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stops at my door and takes the keys from my hand, carefully balancing me in his arms as he unlocks my door for us. My apartment is dark, save the light above my oven I left on, but it’s clean and easy to maneuver. “You can set me down here; I think I’m okay.”
He eases me down to the floor, keeping his hands on me until I’m steady on my feet, then sets my keys on my counter. “How are you doing now?”
“A little better. But the tequila hit me hard.” I use the counter to lean against and close my eyes briefly while I fight off another wave of grossness. “Water, aspirin, and sleep are what I need now.”
“You need to find your bed and lie down. I’ll find the rest for you and bring them in. Stay on your side, too. Just in case, okay?”
I want to argue. I don’t need a man to take care of me. There’s something in his expression though, soft and hopeful, that makes me listen and do as I’m told. He isn’t demanding; he’s caring for me. I can accept caring. “My room is just through the door over there. Water is in the fridge and aspirin is in my bathroom in the medicine cabinet.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” He takes my purse from my shoulder and sets it down beside my keys, then gives me a gentle nudge toward my bedroom. I can hear his footsteps over the wooden floor, then the muted sound of the refrigerator opening and closing through my bedroom door.
I should put pajamas on. I should take my bra off. But my bed looks too enticing and the prospect of any more movement than necessary causes my stomach to flinch in reaction. I can change as soon as I feel better. I drop onto my bed and lie on my side. Nate walks in thirty seconds after me and sets an open bottle of water in front of me on the nightstand. “Let me grab your medicine. Then you can take it and pass out.”
I nod and close my eyes, listening to him and swallowing back the bile trying to rise.
“Here you go, Gorgeous. Why don’t you sit up and take this real fast.” I start to move and his hands reach out to steady me. “Easy there. Here. I brought three Advil instead of aspirin.” He puts the three small pills in the palm of my hand and gives me my water. “Slow and steady on the drink. Don’t chug it.”
I swallow all three pills at once and then sip a few more small drinks of water. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure. Now lie down. I’ll lock up for the night. I made sure you have a trash can accessible here beside your bed too. Just in case.”
I close my eyes and nod, feeling exhaustion and alcoh
ol pulling me into their grasps. I know it won’t be long before I’m gone and out, so I say as much as loud as I can, “I appreciate this, Nate.”
“I’ll check on you at work tomorrow,” he whispers, but it sounds so distant as the darkness starts to consume me. “Goodnight, beautiful girl.” I feel something soft and warm press to my forehead then succumb to the power of the alcohol.
Eighteen
Dee
Last night is a blur of happy confusion. I was most definitely drunk, but I remember mostly everything that happened and was said… I think. I was under the influence and tequila can do some crazy stuff to me, so I’m questioning whether some parts are real and whether they’re maybe a dream or something I’m misconstruing now.
For instance, I don’t remember bringing my phone to bed with me last night, and I’m nearly certain I didn’t kick my own shoes off. Yet when I woke up this morning, my phone was plugged in on my nightstand, my alarm was blaring so loud it made my head pound ten times harder than it would have been had I woken up on my own, and my shoes were lined neatly beneath the corner of my bed.
I don’t remember him doing it either though.
He had to have, right? I remember the sting of my lust-hazed rejection, and how angry I was about it. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I’m glad he said no. I don’t think I would’ve regretted anything this morning had he not, but I respect him immensely for looking out for my best interest when I wasn’t able to. He could’ve very easily changed his mind when he got me to bed. He could have changed his mind any time, and I would have let him. So there’s something to be said for spending a first date, first friend dinner, first true time together getting drunk. If the night was about trust, he earned a big chunk of mine based on his actions.
It’s that mentality I’m walking through the hospital with today. I know I’ll see him sometime, and no matter how prickly he may be today, I will approach him with more understanding and respect than I have in past work encounters. He showed me a side of him I can cling to in his moments of dickishness. And for today at least, I will do just that.
Doctor Desirable: A Hero Club Novel Page 12