The Perfect Fit (Riley O'Brien & Co. #2.5)

by Jenna Sutton

  All the breath in her lungs left in a whoosh. Zeke was an amputee, and she’d been completely ignorant of that fact.

  Questions floated through her mind. How and when had Zeke lost his leg? Had it occurred while he’d been in the military, serving his country? That seemed likely.

  Was his nightmare related to his missing limb? Did he have nightmares regularly? And were they a symptom of a larger problem, perhaps post-traumatic stress disorder?

  Roby shifted closer to Zeke and exhaled a contented sigh. Zeke was no longer moaning or talking in his sleep. He seemed to be resting peacefully, his face relaxed.

  She turned off the flashlight app, plunging the room into darkness. She didn’t know if Zeke’s nightmare had ended on its own or if Roby’s presence had something to do with it, but she decided to let the Doberman stay where he was … where she wanted to be.

  Lucky dog.

  She stood there for a moment before returning to her room. She left her door open in case Roby wanted to return to her bed, but she doubted he would move until Zeke forced him to.

  Of course, Zeke would be shocked when he woke up with Roby in bed with him. He would wonder how the dog had gotten into his room.

  She rarely lied, believing the old adage “Honesty is the best policy,” but she was going to lie to Zeke. She would tell him that Roby had wanted to go out during the night, and that she’d fallen asleep before he’d come back in. She would insinuate that her dog had found his own way into Zeke’s bedroom by opening the door.

  Zeke would buy that story. Dobermans were one of the smartest dog breeds, and they could be trained to do almost anything, including open doors.

  After removing her robe, she slid back into bed. Lying on her side, she stared at the open doorway, where the night-light glowed faintly. Her thoughts were spinning, faster than a Tilt-a-Whirl.

  Zeke had mentioned during their first meeting that he had served in both Afghanistan and Iraq. With an uncle in the Army, she had always held servicemen and women in high esteem, appreciating their dedication and sacrifice. They made it possible for her to live her life the way she wanted to, and she was grateful.

  Was Zeke one of the thousands of soldiers who had lost a limb in combat in the Middle East? Or had the injury occurred in a more innocuous setting here in the U.S.—a car accident on the way to the grocery store or a hit-and-run while he crossed a busy street?

  She didn’t know the answer because he’d never mentioned that he was an amputee. He’d never even hinted at it, and she’d never guessed, despite the fact that they’d lived together for more than two months.

  He always wore clothes that covered his lower body—jeans, cargo pants, pajamas, sweats—so she had never seen his legs. And while she had occasionally noticed that he limped, it was so slight she had never imagined anything more than an achy ankle or a bum knee. No one would ever guess that he had a prosthetic leg.

  She had never known anyone who’d lost a limb. Her expertise was limited to quadrupeds; several patients at Bay Area Animal Care were missing a limb.

  Animals lost limbs in a variety of ways—usually an accident—and most could function with only three legs. Losing a limb didn’t prevent them from living full lives, and she believed the same was true for humans.

  She thought about getting up and researching amputation online, but decided against it. She had an early-morning surgery scheduled, and she owed it to her patient to be alert. She would conduct her research during her lunch break.

  Her heart ached when she thought about Zeke and the pain he must have endured, both physically and emotionally. First, the trauma of the injury, and then the trauma of having to relearn how to do everything. Moreover, losing his leg meant the end of his military career, which he obviously had loved.

  And what about Andrea? Had she abandoned Zeke when he’d needed her the most?

  Marriage was sacred, especially the part about “in sickness and in health.” If you couldn’t rely on your spouse, who could you rely on?

  Margo clenched her fingers into her plush down comforter. Her jealousy was clouding her judgment; she wasn’t being fair. She was assuming the worst about Zeke’s ex-wife, with no proof that Andrea was a heartless bitch.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Zeke had suffered a tremendous loss, yet he had somehow found the courage to start over in a new city with a new job.

  She had respected and admired him before she’d known about his leg. But now, those feelings were amplified. His determination and strength awed her. She doubted she would have the resilience he’d demonstrated.

  She imagined that it must have been particularly difficult for Zeke to adjust to life as an amputee. She wouldn’t be surprised if he thought his missing limb meant that he was lacking in some way.

  Maybe some women would find an amputee unattractive. But she wasn’t one of them. For her, Zeke as a whole was greater than the sum of his parts.

  Her feelings for him were completely different from any she had felt before. She’d had only one serious relationship, and that had been years ago, when she had attended Michigan State. During veterinary school, she’d dated sporadically, but no one had interested her more than her studies and her future career as a veterinarian.

  She had never felt this strongly about a man. And her feelings for Zeke were growing stronger by the day.

  She was falling for him.

  Margo wished Zeke had told her about his leg. His silence on the subject—his secrecy—hurt her feelings. But knowing Zeke, she doubted that he discussed his condition with anyone.

  Nonetheless, she wanted him to want to tell her what had happened to him. She wanted him to trust her enough to share the most painful parts of his past.

  She felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to anyone. She told him everything … well, almost everything. She didn’t tell him that she thought of him as more than a roommate and more than a good friend.

  She didn’t tell him that she wanted to go down on him while he sat on the sofa in the living room. And she didn’t tell him that she fantasized about him picking her up, holding her against the wall, and loving her until they were all sweaty and sticky and satisfied.

  Hmm.

  Was that kind of sex even possible with a prosthetic leg? She wondered how much weight it could bear. It would probably depend on the model of the device, as well as material and age.

  What sexual positions were best for lower-limb amputees? Were some more comfortable than others?

  Hmm.

  That was something she was going to have to research … just in case.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Every Tuesday, Zeke had softball practice at Lindley Meadow in Golden Gate Park from seven to eight o’clock. This evening was the first time his team would meet, and Zeke had just enough time to stop by the apartment to scarf down a snack and change clothes.

  Roby was waiting at the front door to greet him, and Zeke spared a moment to sit on the sofa and rub the Doberman’s belly. It was their evening routine.

  Zeke had grown up in a pet-free home because his mother was allergic to all furry beasts. To his surprise, he really liked having Roby around. He didn’t even mind when the dog snuck into his bedroom and crawled into bed with him.

  But he did mind Roby’s enthusiastic wake-up kisses. Those he could do without.

  He gave the canine one final pat and hurried to his bedroom. After removing his brown lace-up boots, he shed his jeans and button-down shirt and donned a white long-sleeved thermal tee, a pair of gray sweat pants, and tennis shoes.

  Riley O’Brien & Co. had provided its players with practice T-shirts stamped with the team logo, as well as a full uniform consisting of a team jersey, full-length pants, and cap. Zeke was relieved that they would be wearing full-length pants instead of knee-length pants so he could hide his prosthetic limb.

  No one at Riley O’Brien & Co. knew he was missing half a leg. Hell, only two people in the entire Bay Area knew: Zeke’s primary care physician and his p
rosthetist, the guy who made sure his prosthetic limb fit correctly and performed as it was supposed to.

  Zeke wasn’t ashamed of being an amputee, but he didn’t advertise the fact, either. He wanted people to view him as a regular guy—one with two legs. He’d seen it happen too many times with other veterans: once people knew you were an amputee, they treated you differently.

  But he had to acknowledge the fact that he was different from other men. His lack of a limb prevented him from doing certain things and performing certain activities. He couldn’t run or shower without the right kind of prosthetic. And he couldn’t have sex, either, unless the woman was on top or they were situated on their sides.

  That was one of the reasons he had avoided sex altogether. Being with someone new was awkward enough with two legs.

  He wasn’t sure how a woman would respond to his stump and prosthetic limb. Would she be repulsed? Or worse, would she find it sexy?

  He hated to admit it, but he was afraid to find out. And that fear was compounded by the fact that he’d had sex with only one woman: Andrea. All his sexual experience was limited to his ex-wife and what she had preferred.

  After pulling the practice T-shirt over his thermal, Zeke headed to the kitchen. On the way through the living room, he caught sight of Roby. The dog was lying on his belly on the Afghan rug with a scrap of purple material tucked between his front paws.

  Knowing that it wasn’t one of the dog’s squeaky toys, Zeke distracted the animal by scratching behind his pointy ears. With his other hand, he snatched the unknown item from the Doberman’s paws. That was when he realized that Roby’s misappropriated plaything was a pair of bikini panties.

  Margo’s panties.

  Tiny. Lacy. Delicate.

  Sexy.

  And then his brain disobeyed a direct order from its commanding officer. It conjured up an image of Margo wearing these panties and nothing else.

  The color would glow vibrantly against her creamy skin. The miniscule triangle would barely hide her pussy; it might even reveal some strawberry-blond curls. And the stretchy lace would lovingly hug the round curve of her ass.

  Oh, yeah, Margo had a great ass. He’d noticed it before; he was a man, and he wasn’t blind.

  But she was his roommate. And more important, she was way too young and too full of joy for someone like him.

  He shouldn’t be thinking about her in her underwear. He shouldn’t be wondering if the pair he held were fresh out of the laundry or if she’d already worn them. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be getting hard just by thinking about how she’d smell, especially when his dick hadn’t been interested in any woman since he’d lost his leg.

  His insubordinate brain needed to be court-martialed, found guilty, and sentenced to life in Leavenworth.

  Zeke stalked to Margo’s bathroom, tossed the panties inside, and slammed the door shut, though he didn’t know what good that would do since Roby could open doors. Her dog wasn’t nearly as well-behaved as she thought he was.

  With that taken care of, Zeke grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. As he bit into the chewy snack, he warned his brain to never again think about Margo naked.

  She wasn’t naked, his brain countered belligerently. She was wearing panties.

  He groaned under his breath. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t lust after his roommate. It would ruin everything.

  On the way out the door, he grabbed his fleece jacket. Although it was still light outside, the temperature had started to fall, and it was a little chilly.

  As he made the trip to Lindley Meadow, he forced himself to think about softball instead of Margo and her sexy underwear. So many Riley O’Brien & Co. employees had signed up for the late-spring/early-summer league, the company had formed multiple teams to compete and coordinated the practice times and locations for each team.

  Because they were playing slow-pitch softball, ten players were on each team. All the teams had jeans-related names, like Pockets and Zippers. Zeke couldn’t decide if the names were inventive or idiotic.

  His team—the Rivets—consisted of six men and four women. Prior to practice, everyone on the team had received an email with the practice schedule, game schedule, and assigned equipment manager. Fortunately, Zeke wasn’t responsible for that onerous task.

  Based on Zeke’s initial assessment, his teammates ranged in age from early twenties to late sixties. He seemed to fall somewhere in between.

  Did that make him middle-aged? Probably so.

  Zeke and his teammates stood in a circle near the edge of the softball diamond. He didn’t know any of them personally, but he knew of one of them: Cal O’Brien, the great-great-grandson of the company’s founder. He headed up Riley O’Brien & Co.’s global marketing and communications department, managing a massive group of people.

  The dark-haired man appeared to be just a few years younger than Zeke, in his early thirties. His tall, lean frame hinted at an active lifestyle.

  Cal spoke first. “Hi, everyone. Let’s start by introducing ourselves. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Cal O’Brien.” He pointed at the twenty-something Asian guy standing next to Zeke. “Bohai, why don’t you go first… tell us your name and what you do for Riley O’Brien & Co.”

  After everyone had introduced themselves, Cal said, “We need a team captain—someone who can represent the team during the games, assign fielding positions, and create the lineup.” His light blue eyes skimmed over the group. “Anyone want to volunteer?”

  Silence greeted Cal’s question, and he chuckled. “I feel like that teacher in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off… Anyone? Anyone?”

  It was physically painful for Zeke to just stand there. The military had conditioned him to step up.

  He waited, counting off the seconds in his head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. No one raised their hand.

  With an internal sigh of resignation, he said, “I’ll do it. I’ll be the team captain.”

  Cal’s eyebrows arched. “Yeah?”

  Zeke nodded. “I played baseball in high school, and I also played on the intramural softball team in college.”

  “Sounds like we’re in good hands, then.”

  Being the team captain wouldn’t be all that terrible. At least it would allow Zeke to decide what position he played. And he would be able to substitute other players in the lineup so he wouldn’t have to run bases.

  “Let’s go sit down and decide who’s going to do what,” Cal suggested, tilting his head toward the bench inside the chain-link dugout.

  As the group started toward the dugout, the O’Brien heir fell into step beside Zeke. “This is a first,” the younger man said.

  Glancing sideways, Zeke asked, “What’s a first?”

  “Usually, I get stuck being the team captain. I think it’s because no one wants to step on my toes.”

  Zeke stopped mid-stride. Everyone except for Cal continued on. They turned to face each other.

  “Am I stepping on your toes?”

  “Hell, no! I’m glad someone had the balls to volunteer. I’m tired of always being the team captain. It’s a pain in the ass.”

  Cal’s candor made Zeke laugh. “I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Zeke shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve volunteered to do something unpleasant.”

  The other man stared at Zeke, his gaze assessing. “You’re one of the veterans we hired through our new program, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought so.” When Zeke arched his eyebrow in a silent question, Cal explained, “It’s the way you stand.” He held out his right hand. “Thank you for your service to our country.”

  It made Zeke uncomfortable when people thanked him for his military service. He had always felt fortunate that he could serve. But he was glad people recognized the sacrifice that servicemen and women made every day.

  Shaking Cal’s hand, Zeke said, “It was an honor.”

  “How do you
like working for us?” Cal asked as they resumed the trek toward the dugout. Before Zeke could answer, the other man snorted derisively. “I doubt you’d tell me if you didn’t like it … since I’m one of the O’Briens.”

  “You’re right,” Zeke agreed. “But I wouldn’t lie and tell you that I liked it, either.”

  Cal laughed, clearly delighted by his answer. “I think Riley O’Brien & Co. is lucky to have you, Zeke,” he said, slapping him on the back.

  Zeke spent the next thirty minutes assessing his teammates’s batting and fielding abilities. Their level of skill surprised him. Apparently, Riley O’Brien & Co. employees took their softball pretty seriously.

  With Cal’s help, Zeke assigned positions and created a lineup. It had been a no-brainer to assign the pitcher position to Norah Williams, a young black woman who worked in the company’s e-commerce department. She had played softball at the University of North Carolina and had a fluid underhand toss.

  No one had wanted the catcher position, so Zeke had forced his teammates to draw straws. The loser was Jake Lilliard, a vice president in the finance department who had roared into the parking lot on a black Triumph motorcycle.

  Jake looked way too young to hold such a high-ranking position with one of the biggest apparel companies in the world. Zeke would guess the tall, auburn-haired man was thirty years old, max. But Jake was supposedly a genius with numbers, and Quinn O’Brien had recruited him directly from Stanford’s MBA program.

  Grumbling, Jake donned the catcher’s protective equipment and took up his position. Everyone had a turn at bat, and by the end of the hour-long practice, the team was playing pretty well.

  “Good job, everyone,” Zeke praised his teammates as they shoved their equipment into the mesh bag. “See you at the game.”

  The violet of twilight had given way to an indigo night sky. Zeke shrugged on his fleece jacket, grateful for its warmth. As he began the walk back to his Jeep Cherokee, Cal and Jake flanked him.