Private Practice

by Samanthe Beck

  “Huh?” He made himself loosen his death grip on the handle above the passenger-side window. “Yes, I think I should drive home.”

  She glanced at him and frowned. “That’s not what I asked. Tyler, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

  “A near-death experience always leaves me pale.” At her confused expression, he tapped the dashboard and said, “I can’t believe you were afraid to ride on my bike. You drive this car around as if a collision with anything bigger than a gnat swarm wouldn’t turn it into a rolling coffin.”

  She laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m a very good driver. I’ve never had an accident.”

  “How many have you caused?”

  She laughed again and swatted his arm. “None.”

  “Both hands on the wheel, Leadfoot. This is our exit.”

  She took the off-ramp. “You’re just a bad passenger. You’re one of those people who always has to be in the driver’s seat.”

  He shook his head in automatic denial. “That’s not true. I’m a very laid-back guy. Ask anyone.”

  “Yeah, you like people to think you are, but you’re not. You’re a closet control freak. Tell me, when was the last time you occupied the passenger seat, before today?”

  “I ride shotgun all the time.”

  “Name one.”

  “Hell, I don’t know…” Damned if he could think of an instance off the top of his head. “It’s not the kind of thing I keep track of.”

  “Difficult to keep track of something that never happens.”

  “Bull— Holy shit, red light!”

  “I see it,” she said tersely and applied the brake, easily rolling to a stop. Then she shot him an “I rest my case” look. “You’re uptight because you’re not the one in charge.”

  He dropped his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes, silently accepting his fate. “Okay, fine. You’re a fabulous driver. The problem is entirely mine.”

  “The problem goes beyond driving. You’re out of practice letting someone else have control, period. I can’t believe you don’t know this about yourself.”

  The defensive feeling tried to rush back, but he throttled it because he wanted to hear what she had to say. “For example?”

  She hesitated, glanced at him, and then took a deep breath and stared back at the traffic. “Well, during our lessons—or should I say, lesson attempts—you’re always the one in charge.”

  “I’m the teacher.”

  “Okay, yes, but I’m the one who came up with the lessons, and so far you’ve refused to follow the plans. Don’t give me that innocent look, Tyler. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He couldn’t argue with her there, but her plans were too single-minded and one-way for his taste. “You seemed to be having a good time.”

  “Well…that’s the problem, too,” she admitted, turning her gorgeous mouth down in a worried little frown at the same time she turned into the discreetly marked parking lot for Slap & Tickle. “I lose my concentration when you don’t stick to the plan. I forget what I’m doing and focus on how you’re making me feel.” She parked and threw up her hands.

  “And that’s a problem?” He asked the question gently, but his heart hammered in his chest. This wasn’t some detached, academic pursuit for her. She wanted it to be, but it wasn’t. Thank God, a voice drawled from somewhere in the back of his head.

  “A big problem. I pay no attention to the lesson, my technique, none of it.” Shaking her head, she went on. “I’m afraid I’m not going to succeed at”—her eyes drifted away—“what I set out to accomplish.”

  Fine by him if she didn’t succeed. Humiliating as it was to admit, the “other man” part of things was starting to seriously piss him off.

  Frustrated with himself, and her, he pushed the thought away. “Unwad your panties, Sparky. You’re acing everything so far.”

  She flinched a little at his sarcasm, and he instantly felt like a dick.

  “Right,” she said softly, obviously not believing him.

  “How can you doubt it? There’s a pretty reliable gauge of success right between my legs.”

  “What happens between your legs can be an almost completely biological reaction, which tells me next to nothing about the quality of the experience or my, um…efforts.”

  “You want a written evaluation?”

  Somehow she managed to look exasperated and more than a little intrigued at the same time, and he couldn’t hold on to his annoyance.

  “Feedback is always welcome, but mostly I need to get back on plan. For our next session, could you let me take the lead, and you just sort of consult as you see the need?”

  “I’ll give it a shot, Doc.”

  “Thank you,” she said primly, as if they weren’t discussing sex rules.

  “So, do I need to grade the extracurricular stuff, like those sexy little sounds you make when you’re about to come, or are we ready to shop?”

  She blushed and opened her door. “I’m ready to shop.”

  “Oh, and Ellie?”

  “Yes?”

  “You can take the lead in bed, but I’m driving home.”

  …

  Standing in the “Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down” aisle at Slap & Tickle, staring at the mind-boggling selection of restraints on display, Ellie realized Tyler had done it yet again—taken her plans and turned them upside down. So much for the quick, list-driven shopping trip she’d envisioned.

  How had he accomplished the feat this time? By bringing her here, where a seemingly simple item like wrist restraints led to a thousand decisions. The variables were astounding, in terms of construction, color, features, and embellishments. Leather or satin or standard-issue handcuffs? Lock and key or buckle or Velcro wrap? Her overstimulated imagination made the choice harder, because she kept picturing Tyler lying across her bed with his wrists bound above his head, completely at her mercy. She’d definitely be in the driver’s seat, so to speak. Just thinking about it made her shiver with anticipation.

  The only thing she couldn’t clearly picture was the type of cuffs. The Velcro ones reminded her of medical restraints, which called to mind every off-the-meds schizophrenic who’d come through the ER during her rotation. Instant buzzkill. The leather belt-style versions looked like too much work.

  “Which ones do you want?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. The book didn’t specify and I had no idea there’d be so much variety. Which ones do you like?”

  “I guess I’m a traditionalist, ’cause…” He slipped a pair of standard, law-enforcement-style handcuffs off the display rack. “They’re the most versatile, if you ever have to make a citizen’s arrest.”

  She nodded, swallowing hard at the updated mental image of Tyler naked, handcuffed to her bed. To hell with the finish on her bed frame. A few more scratches would add character, she decided as he tossed the cuffs into the bordello-red browsing tote he’d snagged from the store’s supply on their way in.

  They moved on to the “Love is Blind” aisle and she found the selection of blindfolds equally overwhelming. There were full-head hoods, hoods that covered the top half only, traditional blindfolds, and eye masks in every color, texture, and material imaginable. She looked over at Tyler and found him eyeing her.

  “Any preference, Doc?”

  “Um, something small”—which eliminated the hoods—“simple to put on”—which nixed any options with complicated fasteners, laces, zippers—“and breathable?” Good-bye leather, rubber, latex, and, jeez…pleather. Everything about his face appealed to her and she didn’t want whatever they chose to conceal too much of it, especially not his very talented mouth.

  “Again with the classics, then.” He selected a black silk scarf from the display and added it to their bag. “Let’s look over here.” Taking her hand, he led her to a perimeter aisle mysteriously named “Ever Ready,” but when she saw the display he stopped in front of, she laughed and backed away.

  “Oh, no, really
. That’s not on the shopping list.”

  Undaunted, he picked up a black box. Hot-pink letters announcing “The Bunny” slashed across the top, and a transparent window revealed an equally pink phallus with a pearl-filled shaft and a bunny-shaped “clit teaser” extending from the base.

  “You’re the one who wants to expand her horizons. Don’t you think you should own”—he read from the box’s back panel—“‘the indispensable sex accessory for today’s sophisticated woman’?”

  She shook her head and took another step away, vaguely aware she was entering the archway to one of the special interest rooms. “No impulse buying. I made our shopping list based on the items recommended by my manual, and a vibrator’s not anywhere on… Whoops!” She accidentally backed into someone. She turned to apologize to the victim of her hasty retreat, but the words died on her lips. “Oh, my God… Roger!”

  “Um… Hi, Ellie.” Stunned blue eyes shifted to Tyler, who’d moved to stand beside her. “Hey, Tyler.”

  She’d never seen someone’s color rise so quickly. Roger looked as if he might throw up, or pass out, or both. While he stood there, clearly at a loss for words, a cute, athletic-looking guy stepped around him and extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Doug.”

  She leaned forward and shook the offered hand. “Roger’s friend from law school?”

  His smile deepened. Humor danced in his beautiful gray eyes. “I like to tell people I spent those three years in a Turkish prison, but yes, I went to Georgetown with Miss Manners here.” He shoulder-checked Roger as he said it, provoking another slightly seasick look. “It’s nice to finally meet some of Roger’s friends from home.”

  “Good old Bluelick,” Tyler said, returning Doug’s handshake. “You never know where we’ll turn up.”

  “In all the best places, obviously,” Doug replied, clearly unperturbed to be caught shopping in an adult toy emporium.

  Roger didn’t share his friend’s nonchalance. “We were just…ah…”

  “Shopping for a friend’s bachelor party,” Doug interjected, aiming an impatient look at Roger.

  Ellie latched onto the excuse with both hands. “Us, too! Well, a bachelorette party, actually.” Then she silently prayed Roger wouldn’t ask whose, or she’d have to speed back to Bluelick, point a shotgun at Junior, and force him to propose to Lou Ann.

  He didn’t ask. He gripped Doug’s arm and tugged his friend down the aisle. “We should get going. Let you two get on with your shopping.”

  “Bye!” Doug called.

  “Nice to meet you,” she replied as they disappeared around the end of the aisle.

  “A bachelorette party?”

  “Would you have preferred I let them think we were shopping for ourselves?” she whispered. “They had a perfectly innocent excuse for being here, so I…borrowed it.”

  “You lied, Doc,” Tyler drawled with the superior air of someone standing on the moral high ground—which he somehow managed despite standing in the aisles of a sex shop.

  “I lied to save everyone from embarrassment.”

  “I wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, I found the whole situation pretty interesting.”

  She rolled her eyes and spied a restroom sign in an alcove at the far end of the aisle. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Take your time.” Smiling smugly, he sauntered away.

  Alone in the restroom, she dissected every nuance of the encounter with Roger. At first, the pleasure of seeing him had blinded her to the embarrassing predicament of being caught shopping at the Slap & Tickle with Tyler. Sooner or later Roger would figure out there was no bachelorette party and then he’d probably decide she was some kind of kinky nympho. Which, come to think of it, was exactly what she wanted him to believe. Maybe the whole awkward incident was actually a blessing in disguise?

  The thought cheered her until she factored Tyler into the equation. Would Roger assume they were seriously involved? No. Everyone in Bluelick knew Tyler Longfoot and “seriously involved” went together like schnapps and pickles. Roger would assume she was the latest in the long line of women Tyler passed the time with. The likelihood he’d think there was anything serious between them hovered somewhere between hell and no.

  All of which should have been a major relief. So why did the thought of being a woman Tyler passed the time with leave her feeling hollow and depressed? She shook her head at her reflection. Tyler specialized in careless fun and didn’t pretend otherwise. Hoping for more from him would be like hoping for a display of fatherly interest from Frank—stupid and futile.

  Focus on your goal, Ellie. Seeing Roger tonight conceivably brought her one step closer to convincing him they were meant for each other.

  By the time she returned to the store Tyler was waiting by the main door, all checked out and ready to go. She hurried over and reached for the shopping bag. “I was going to buy the stuff.”

  He lifted the bag out of her grasp. “Don’t worry about it. I picked up a few things from my own list while you were gone.” He held the door open and waited while she walked through.

  “What’d you buy?”

  “Not gonna tell you.”

  Now curiosity tickled her brain like an itch she simply had to scratch. “Why not?” flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

  He held out his hand for her car keys. “I’m trying to save everyone from embarrassment.”

  She handed him the keys. “Yeah, right. You’re not the least bit embarrassed.” Hiking to the passenger side, she accepted defeat. “Fine, don’t tell me what you bought, but at least let me pay you for my things.”

  “Our things,” he corrected, tossing the bag into the back and then hitting the lever to adjust the driver’s seat, “and let it be. It’s my treat. Hungry?”

  “Sure, but dinner’s on me,” she said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Ellie, let’s get something straight. I’m not your gigolo. You’re not paying me or reimbursing my fucking expenses. Understood?”

  “That’s not what I think, nor what I’m trying to do.” The hint of his temper and her own indignity made her voice shaky. She inhaled a deep, stabilizing breath, exhaled slowly, and continued. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I was actually just trying to be fair. I know you wouldn’t be spending your time or money this way if not for our deal, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “That’s not true,” he replied, but he said it softly, with no heat behind the words.

  “What’s not true?”

  “That I wouldn’t spend time with you if not for our deal.”

  “We’ve known each other all our lives, and you were never remotely interested in spending time with me before.”

  “You’re four years younger than me. You were jailbait, Doc, and then you were gone.”

  She poked him in the shoulder. “Now who’s lying to save himself embarrassment? You weren’t the least bit attracted to me even once in all those years and you damn well know it.”

  He had the grace to look chastised. “You were kind of a late bloomer.”

  She sat back in her seat, crossed her arms over her chest, and found herself stifling a grin. She’d looked like a nearsighted scarecrow in a fright wig most of her adolescence. The idea of the nerdy girl she’d been attracting him…well, she couldn’t hold back the unwilling laugh. “I had better things to do than chase boys anyway.”

  “Doc?”

  “What?”

  “Late or not, you bloomed just fine. I enjoy spending time with you, and it’s got nothing to do with our deal.”

  Surprised, she stared out the window and smiled. It was, quite possibly, the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ellie stayed uncharacteristically quiet during dinner. The restaurant’s wall frescoes of gondoliers steering their boats along Venetian canals appeared to have captured her attention, but Tyler suspected she was thinking about their encounter with Roger.

  He’d stood in t
he aisle at Slap & Tickle, watching a myriad of emotions play across her face. First had been surprise, followed quickly by a glow of pleasure, and then the awkward awareness of exactly where they all were and the dicey implications. She’d been so desperate to offer up an excuse for being there, with him, she’d told a fib—a rickety one at best, because no parties happened in Bluelick without the whole town knowing.

  Her behavior confirmed what he’d already suspected. She’d heard the same stupid rumor about why Roger and Melody broke up, and decided to turn herself into Roger’s perfect nymphomaniac soul mate.

  “It’s Roger, isn’t it?”

  She turned to him. “Hmm?”

  “He’s the reason for our lessons. You heard the rumor about why he and Melody called it quits, and you’re trying to become the kind of woman he’s looking for.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, and took a gulp of her Cabernet.

  The not-quite denial sprung to her lips too quickly, and her cheeks turned the same shade as her wine. He sat back and vented a humorless laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Boy, are you barking up the wrong tree, Doc.”

  “Are you suggesting he’s out of my league?”

  And now he sounded like an asshole instead of just feeling like one. Before he could take back the unintended insult and explain what he’d really meant, she leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. “That’s what you’re implying, isn’t it? Because he comes from a good home, with parents who love him and are proud of him, and I—I’m dorky Ellie Swann, with no mother, and a father who can’t stand the sight of her—”

  “No.” He cut her off with the single word and what he hoped was a steady, unflinching look. “No,” he repeated, and took her hand. “That’s not at all what I’m saying. It’s got nothing to do with you. Ellie, didn’t you notice which room Roger and his…and Doug, were coming out of…no pun intended?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gave her hand a tug. He held on and searched her face. Holy crap, she really didn’t have a clue. She honestly hadn’t realized they were together, not merely shopping together. Hell, they’d been browsing in the “Hard-y Boys” room.