When I got home, I did some laundry, caught up on some paperwork, did some studying for the activities and tests I’d need to take to keep my board certifications, and took a power walk through the neighborhood.
Number of times I thought about Levi Brooks throughout the day: approximately one billion.
Number of times I read through our sext thread: at least one hundred.
Number of times I got myself off in my post-walk shower thinking about him: just one.
But it was a good one—I was glad the bathroom window was closed.
Afterward, I was putting my pajamas on when I heard my phone buzz on the nightstand. I glanced at it—Levi Brooks calling.
I tugged my shirt over my head and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Hi. How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Good. I just got out of the shower.” Thanks for the orgasm. I jumped on the bed and criss-crossed my legs, which were clad in blue and pink plaid flannel pants. “I was a little sweaty after a walk.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“No, it’s just me here. What about you? Dog? Cat? Potbellied pig?”
“Nope. Just an eight-year-old boy and a thirty-two-year-old man here. That’s enough animal for one house.”
I laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”
“How was your day?”
“Good. I had brunch with my family at Natalie’s this morning. Took Skylar and Sebastian to the airport. Did some work this afternoon. How was yours?”
“Really good, actually. Church and then the park, where there was only one minor meltdown over an ambulance siren and he actually played on the swings with a few kids. Then a few errands. I am a little tired today, though. I went to bed kinda late last night.”
I smiled. “I’d say I was sorry, but …”
“Don’t you dare. So what are your plans for this week?”
“The usual. Work.”
“Are you busy on Friday evening?”
My heart thumped a few hard beats. “I don’t think so.”
“Can I take you out for a drink?”
“I’d like that.”
“Is six at Low Bar OK? I wish I had time for dinner too, but I like to be around here at bedtime.”
“I understand.”
“Should I pick you up?”
“Actually, I’ll probably have to meet you. I don’t get out of the office much before that time. Unless you’d be able to do Saturday night instead?”
He paused. “Probably not. Scotty and I have movie nights at home on Saturdays, and I missed it last night because of the wedding. I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK. Friday will work fine, really.”
“OK. Thanks.” A little silence. “I thought about you a lot today.”
I fell onto my back and smiled at the ceiling. “You did?”
“Yeah. I reread our texts from last night in church.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames.”
“Me too. Every time I heard the word God, I imagined you screaming it.”
Gasping, I put a hand to my stomach, which felt like I was cartwheeling downhill. “You are so bad.”
“I know. Because then I thought about all the things I could do to make you scream it.”
It was a moment before I could speak again. “You did?”
“Yeah. Mass was over way too soon today.”
I exhaled slowly, my eyes sliding over to my nightstand drawer. I needed to recharge Magik Mike right the fuck now. God, I loved the way he talked. If only I could record it!
“Silence. Have I shocked you? Told you I was an animal.”
I laughed gently. “Um, no. I was just thinking that I wish I could somehow record this conversation, so I could hear you talk to me like that later on when it’s just me and Magik Mike.”
“Who the hell is Magik Mike?”
My face burned. Had I actually just admitted I had a vibrator? There was feeling at ease with someone and then there was TMI. What if this turned him off? “It’s, ah … a toy.”
“A toy?”
“Yes.” I sighed. You might as well own it now, Nixon. “For grown-ups.”
He laughed, that deep throaty sound that melted my insides. And my panties. “I wish I could come play with you.”
“Well, then I wouldn’t need the toy, silly.”
“Oh no, I’d put that toy to good use on you.”
My jaw dropped. Sweet Jesus. “You would?”
“Definitely. And there wouldn’t be a thing you could do about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’d tie you to the bed first.”
“Oh, God.” I fanned myself as heat rose in my body, prickling on the surface of my skin.
“See? It works. Only I imagined it louder.”
“It would be. Trust me.”
He exhaled. “I don’t want to, but I better go. Scotty’s iPad break is about up, and it’s time to get back to math.”
“Ah, math homework. Can’t say I miss it. How’s it going?”
“It’s OK. He’s actually pretty good at math, he just struggles with directions. If a problem has more than one step, it’s tough. He also hates any kind of writing because he doesn’t have good fine motor skills. He gets frustrated and feels bad about it.”
My heart ached a little. “You must be so patient.”
“I try. Sometimes I need these breaks just as much as he does.”
“I’ll bet. Does he like school?”
“He did last year. He had a very understanding teacher who made him feel safe and capable. This year has had a rough start.”
“What about friends at school?”
He sighed again. “Not many. Scotty struggles to relate to other kids his age. He wants to, but several things make it tough. He doesn’t understand personal space, doesn’t understand slang and sarcasm, doesn’t like when kids deviate from the specific games he wants to play, or break the rules. He does better with younger kids, but I worry that he’s going to be picked on for that as he gets older.”
“Poor thing.”
“And he worries constantly about things other kids don’t understand.”
I rolled onto my side and propped my head on my hand. “What does he worry about?”
“God, some days the list is endless. The weather, the schedule, his schoolwork. Crowds. Storms. The dark. Loud noises. Washing and brushing his hair. Hot food.”
“Wow.” I wanted to ask if Scotty had been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder or even OCD, but I also wanted to preserve the casual, friendly feel of our conversation. I was curious about his son, and my natural instincts were to help, but I wasn’t his doctor and didn’t want to act like it. Mostly I was just listening for Levi, to give him an ear without weighing in.
“And then there are his obsessive interests.”
“Which are what?”
“Baseball stats, for one.”
“Well, that’s pretty typical for his age, right?”
“No. When the average second grader wants to talk about baseball, he wants to recap the awesome win from the night before or maybe say who his favorite players are. Scotty wants to recite the list of top MLB career batting averages, like fifty of them, complete with years played, games played, at bats, hits, runs, and RBI’s.”
“Whoa. He has all that memorized?”
“Completely. And hardcore eight-year-old fans might know names like Ty Cobb or Joe Jackson, but even they don’t really care about what happened in baseball in 1915. In St. Louis. On a Tuesday.”
I laughed. “What else is he interested in?”
“Dinosaurs and Franz Liszt.”
I laughed again. I couldn’t help it. “Baseball and dinosaurs, I understand. But Franz Liszt? The composer?”
Levi chuckled too. “Yes. He loves classical music. He went through a Mozart phase, then a Bach, then a Vivaldi. Now it’s Liszt.”
“Have you tak
en him to the symphony?”
“Not yet. I want to, but I’m worried—one, about the volume level, and two, about the crowd. Same with a Tiger game.”
“Well, he sounds like a very smart, interesting, well-rounded kid.”
“He is. I wish more people knew him like I did. I worry that will never happen.”
Something squeezed my heart. “Sounds like you have a lot of worries too.”
“I guess so, but what parent doesn’t? And maybe I’m making it sound worse than it is. We have plenty of good days too, including today. Anyway, I better get him refocused on math again.”
“Of course. Sorry to keep you with all my questions.”
“No, I’m glad you did. Thanks for asking. And for listening.”
“Any time. I’m looking forward to Friday.”
“Me too. And Jillian …” He sighed. “I’m sorry if I got a little overexcited about sex. I probably shouldn’t say all that to you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to a woman this way, I don’t even remember what I’m doing. I’m like a fucking teenage boy. You’re going to think I’m no different than the asshole who couldn’t last five minutes in the closet.”
I laughed. “Hardly. I don’t think that at all. I think you’re like me. Really focused on one part of your life, so focused that the other parts feel like muscles we haven’t used in a while.”
“Exactly. But I promise I’ve learned a few things since the closet.”
“Guess what?” I whispered. “I have too.”
He groaned. “OK, I’m really going now. Or I never will.”
“Night, Levi.”
“Night.”
I ended the call and dropped the phone next to me. A date. A date! One that I was actually excited about—when was the last time that had happened?
I frowned, thinking about the last few dates I’d been on. I hadn’t even shaved my legs for those, but for Levi …
Scooping up my phone again, I made a note to call the salon on Tuesday and schedule a bikini wax. A full Brazilian.
I didn’t do anything halfway.
Levi
Of course, I was fucking late. I’d been looking forward to seeing her all week long, we hardly had enough time to begin with, and I was fucking late.
But a client meeting had run long, which meant I was late getting to the bus stop to meet Scotty, which made him late for swim therapy and threw his whole sense of equilibrium off for the day, and even Sarah had a hard time getting him settled. He clung to my waist as I left, and I felt like the biggest asshole on the planet for thinking, Let go, champ, Daddy wants to go get laid.
Not that I was positive I’d get laid. In fact, as I sped toward Low Bar, my dick perking up at the mere thought of getting inside her, I told myself to calm the fuck down. Maybe she wants to get to know each other a little better before getting naked, which is perfectly normal, and probably a good idea, so don’t go charging at her like a bull at a red cape. Be a goddamn gentleman. Can you do that?
I could do that. I could be a gentleman. A gentleman with a raging hard-on, but a gentleman.
I parked on a side street and grabbed my jacket from the passenger seat, adjusting myself in my jeans before shutting the door and locking the car. Shrugging into my jacket as I hurried down the block, I hoped she hadn’t been sitting there for too long, although she seemed like the kind of person who liked to be punctual.
In front of the door, I was tempted to stop, take a breath, run a hand through my hair, fix my cuffs, and stroll in all cool and casual, like a badass.
But that just wasn’t me.
I threw open the door and rushed down into the dark, intimate bar, stopping for just a moment to give my eyes time to adjust to the candlelight. As soon as I saw her, standing behind a stool at the bar, hanging a jacket over the back, I strode toward her.
“Jillian.”
She looked up and smiled. God, she was so fucking pretty. Was she really here waiting for me? “Hey you.”
“Hey. I’m so sorry I’m late. An afternoon meeting ran long, which threw off the entire rest of the day for Scotty, and …” I shook my head. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. You’re here. I just got here too.”
I slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close, pressing my lips to her cheek. “I’m here. And you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She slid onto her chair, and I eyed her legs as she crossed them. She had on a tight gray dress with short sleeves and a knee-length hem, black heels, and pearls at her throat. Jillian’s curves were subtle, but the dress hugged every last one of them, and those legs were begging to be slung over my shoulders.
Easy there, caveman. Sit down. Order a drink. Say words. Make nice.
I took the seat next to her, and she slid the cocktail menu toward me. “I haven’t ordered yet, but I’ve looked at this already.”
“You’re much nicer than I am,” I said, dropping my keys and phone into my pocket. “I probably would’ve slammed two drinks by now and bitched to the bartender about how inconsiderate people can be.”
She laughed. “Really. No big deal.”
I called the bartender over and gestured for Jillian to go first.
“I’d like Blue Coat gin, please. Up with a twist, and I like it extra dry. In and out with the vermouth.”
I ordered a Sazerac and turned to face her. “I’ve never heard a woman so particular about her martini.”
She shrugged guilelessly. “I know what I want.”
“I like that about you. You’re discerning.”
“Some might even call it picky.”
I grinned. “Then I’ll take it as a compliment you’re even here. Tell me about your week.”
She sat up taller, clasping her hands around her knee. “It was good. I’d have liked to get a little more exercise, but it’s hard to make myself get up at five and go to the gym, and by the time I leave work around seven or eight, I’m usually too tired. And already craving a glass of wine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not very disciplined.”
“You’re a doctor working long hours. I’d say that takes discipline.”
“Thanks. How was your week?”
“Pretty good. Busy. I’m working on a vacation house in Harbor Springs, so I had to make a trip up there and back in one day, which was a little hectic.”
“I love that area. We used to ski there all the time when I was younger.”
I nodded. “We did too. Every year I say I’m going to go again, and I never do.”
She put her hand on my arm. “I do the exact same.”
“Oh yeah? We should promise each other we’ll go together. And hold the other accountable.”
“Deal.” She held out her pinkie, and I stared at it. “Come on, give me your pinkie.”
Laughing, I hooked mine through hers. “What’s this, a pinkie swear?”
“Yes,” she said, her face grave. “It’s how the Nixon sisters seal deals, and we take it very, very seriously.”
“You have my word. We will go skiing.” I squeezed her tiny finger with mine—not too hard, since I probably could have snapped the delicate bones—and allowed myself the brief fantasy of making out with her in an outdoor hot tub while it snowed.
Then I had to adjust my pants again.
She took a small sip of her martini. “How was Scotty’s week? Get that math homework done?”
I groaned. “Barely. Homework is always a struggle. But he had a good week too, I think. There was one episode at school where he got frustrated and threw his pencil, but nothing major.”
“Good.”
“The thing is, he notices the difference between himself and the other kids now, academically. He compares himself and sees that he struggles to do basic things they breeze through.”
“Poor thing. Any word on the IEP?”
I clenched my jaw. “No. And I’ve called every day for two weeks. I’m beginni
ng to think I need to just go in there and be an asshole until I get an answer on what’s taking so long.”
She sipped her drink again. “Have they told you what the holdup is?”
“I’ve been told it’s ‘administrative,’ which I think is code for bullshit. And I hate to be a jerk about it, but …” I shrugged. “I have to. I’m the only soldier he’s got. He won’t fight for himself. He just gives up.”
She set down her glass and patted my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing. At least, I think you are.”
“Thanks. OK, enough about that. Tell me something fun you did this week.”
She tilted her head to one side and chewed her bottom lip as she thought. “Oh! I attended a sign language workshop. We have a few patients and parents at the office who use it, so I decided to learn some basics.”
“Oh yeah? I know a little sign language. It was part of Scotty’s speech therapy when he was younger.” I set my drink down and signed a few words at her, the only ones I could remember, which were basic things like please, more, play, toy, Dad. “Know what I’m saying?”
She looked adorably baffled. “Nope,” she confessed, laughing a little. “I have no idea.”
“Good, because it’s so dirty.”
Squealing, she grabbed my hands and pushed them down between us. “Hush, then. What if someone in here speaks sign language?”
“Then they’d know what I want to do to you right now.”
Her jaw dropped. Our eyes stayed locked. “Like what?” she whispered.
“You sure you want to hear it out loud?”
She took a breath. “Maybe you could whisper it to me.”
I leaned toward her and put my lips to her ear. “I want to set you up on this bar, throw your legs over my shoulders, and bury my tongue in your pussy.”
She gasped and brought a hand to her stomach.
So much for the gentleman.
“Then I want to pull you onto my lap and watch you slide down onto my cock.”
Love Happens Page 46