Love in Transit

by Jana Aston

  I stood still, allowing him to tie my gown closed as I made some careful observations. Gray’s outward reaction toward me was not at all what I’d expected, especially based on the earlier boasts about giving me some more hot and dirty sex, whenever I said yes to marrying him. Gray did want me. I knew he was aroused right now, because I could smell it on him.

  It was desire I detected in the spicy scent radiating from him in waves.

  And that monster snake he had going on in his pants was seriously impressive. I regretted that my “Gray’s penis party time” was a lost dream of which I had absolutely no memory.

  “Why are you mad at me?” I asked after he’d helped me to get settled in the bed, and my oxygen cannula back in place.

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Well, you sure aren’t acting very happy after you got to see me naked—so what’s the problem?” I knew I was pushing him, but I figured I was entitled to some information.

  “My lovely Pink, seein’ you naked is not my problem, I assure you. My cock is workin’ just fine where you’re concerned, beautiful.” He cupped himself over his slacks and thrust his hips up from the chair. “How do you think I got this, hmm?”

  “I hoped it was because you had to undress me,” I answered truthfully, although I did find it strange to be so undisturbed by the topic of our open conversation—Gray’s hard-on from seeing me naked. Could this night get any weirder?

  Probably yes, so I shouldn’t even ask.

  His brown eyes pierced right into me before he spoke. “You’re a goddess. There are no other words to describe you better than that. Reese, I definitely want more naked time with you—so much more—but not if I’m gonna send you to the goddamn hospital unable to breathe!” He pulled at his hair with both hands for like the hundredth time tonight. “Fuck!” he barked.

  “But you didn’t cause this, Gray.”

  That big lanky body of his, so tightly posed in the chair beside my hospital bed, looked ready to snap in two; his sandy brown hair a tousled mess from so much nervous hand-dragging through it; the frown lines on his handsome face growing frownier by the second.

  “I upset you to the point of sending you here in fuckin’ distress with a full-blown asthma attack! Baby, how is that not my motherfuckin’ fault?”

  “Language, Mr. State Attorney General,” I scolded gently, sensing he was really beating himself up over this. “Stress can make the symptoms worse, but it won’t be the cause for an asthma attack. I wish you would listen to me.”

  “I’m sorry, baby, so goddamn sorry for doing this to you. I was way out of line tonight and I really hope you’ll forgive me at some point—”

  “I forgive you,” I shut down his rambling repentance with those three little words.

  “You do?” His eyes widened in surprise.

  I nodded. “Yes.” I held out my hand and waited for him to take it. He hesitated for a moment before accepting my gesture, but he did it in the sweetest way. He lifted my hand to his lips and kept them pressed to the back of my hand. “Gray, it’s a medical fact that an asthma attack is not brought on by stress. Other factors cause the airways to constrict, but stress is not one of those factors.”

  “Your fiancée is right. You should listen to her,” said the guy in a white lab coat who strode confidently into my room to stop at my bedside. “Dr. Romero, Chief Consult, Emergency Medicine.” The good doctor extended his hand first to Gray, and then to me. “I heard we have some VIPs visiting us tonight. How can I help?”

  ***

  “SO, WHAT I’D like to do is get you in to see a pulmonologist in the next month or so,” Dr. Romero suggested. “How long has it been since you’ve been to one?”

  “Not since high-school probably. My regular doctor writes the prescriptions for my rescue inhalers right now.”

  “From what you’ve told me, the caffeine has done the job of self-medicating to control your asthma, but since you experienced a concerning episode tonight, I’d prefer to prescribe a daily medication that works pretty much like the caffeine in your coffee, but with regular consistency.”

  “I knew that about the caffeine already, and I missed my usual shot this morning, because my corner coffee shop got shut down for a health code violation.”

  “Seriously, Reese?” Gray scolded.

  “How was I supposed to know? It’s not like Zeke’s is going to share with the public how they regularly violate the health code, Gray,” I mimicked back irritably.

  “That’s not what I meant. I was referring to the fact that you knew about the caffeine and then missed taking any. That can’t happen again.”

  “So, the new meds should solve that issue for you in future,” Dr. Romero cut in, “and it’s likely that your rescue inhaler prescription may need an adjustment as well. Your pulmonologist can help you with that.”

  “But my episodes have always been pretty intermittent. I wouldn’t classify my asthma at anything beyond mild.” I wanted Gray to hear it, because he seemed overly worried about me when I knew it wasn’t necessary.

  “And you will likely continue to present with mild asthma in the same way,” Dr. Romero assured me, “but it’s important to remember as you age, you’ll experience changes in your symptoms that may require a new treatment plan to keep you status quo.”

  “Got it,” I said. “I’ll find a pulmonologist then.” Gray squeezed my hand in support—the same hand he’d been holding since before Dr. Romero showed up.

  “A pulmonology consult is also a good idea if you plan on starting a family. You’ll want to be seen by a specialist, preferably before you get pregnant, so you know all of the risks—”

  “What are the risks?” Gray blurted, interrupting Dr. Romero.

  I stared at Gray in surprise, wondering why he was in need of such information.

  Dr. Romero hedged the question neatly. “It would be best for the two of you to see the pulmonologist together whenever you decide to start a family. He or she can explain the best treatment options for Reese, to ensure a healthy pregnancy as well as manage her asthma symptoms efficiently.”

  “So it’s possible for Reese to have a safe pregnancy, even with her asthma?”

  “Yes, of course,” Dr. Romero assured him with a smile. “I look forward to reading about your healthy babies in the news when they arrive. Those kids will be the closest thing to American royalty as we can get. You know, I hadn’t heard about your engagement, but congratulations to the both of you.” Dr. Romero took out his phone and held it up. “Can I get a picture with you guys for my wife? She won’t believe this. My charge nurse said you came in wearing your wedding dress. Please don’t tell me you’ve just gotten married and you’re spending your wedding night in the ER.”

  “Ha-ha—no—umm, that was just a Halloween party costume I was wearing.” I gave Dr. Romero my best-actress performance and a smile, while digging my fingernails into the palm of Gray’s hand. Hopefully hard enough to draw blood.

  He quickly extricated his palm away from my abusive fingernails and extended his hand to Dr. Romero. “Thank you, doctor, for all of your help tonight. I very much appreciate you straightening out my beloved, and getting her back to healthy breathing,” Gray said, while curling a possessive arm around me. “I won’t lie. I was terrified earlier, before you came in here to speak with us.”

  Another skill Gray had perfected, was how to pile on the Southern charm until the person on the receiving end was practically drowning in it. Not that they minded even a little bit.

  “Doctor, if you would give me your card, I would love to pass along an invitation to our wedding, for you and your wife—if your schedule permits of course—that is, when the date is announced to the press.”

  Super. Ultra. Gag. Vomit.

  My lying “fiancé” had now dug himself into a trench comparable in size to the Gulf of Mexico. How on earth Gray was going to explain his way out of the mess he’d made tonight was a mystery, but I was sure eager to begin the discussion we were hav
ing the moment we had some privacy.

  “Thank you very much. My wife and I would love that,” Dr. Romero said enthusiastically while handing over his card to Gray.

  “When can I go home?” I asked.

  “You can go now, actually. As soon as you’re dressed we can check you out.”

  “Fabulous.” One more time with the damn dress.

  Oh…yeah. That dress had a very hot date with the incinerator in my building as soon as it could be arranged.

  Chapter 5

  Gray

  Leaving the hospital was a lot more difficult than it should have been. Thanks to the technological world of cell phones and social media, and unfortunately for our privacy, word spreads fast when someone with a name like mine ends up in a public place such as a hospital. I’d been dealing with my name for thirty-three years so I was used to the attention in a resigned sort of way. Grayson Lash could have been substituted for Ronald Reagan or Woodrow Wilson and received the same notice from people. I had a president’s name and a president’s blood running through my veins.

  As did Reese.

  Nothing was going to change that fact for either of us.

  It didn’t help that people got pictures, and most likely video, as we stepped out of the ER and into the waiting Uber, looking like a bride and groom leaving the church after getting hitched. I had to admit, Reese in the wedding gown, and me in my gray Brioni were going to appear legit in the pictures that would be posted on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and every other celebrity news outlet that feasted on such things.

  Reese was quiet beside me in the back seat of the Uber car, looking like a princess in her white lacy dress I’d had the pleasure of taking off her tonight. She didn’t let me help her when she put it back on again to leave the hospital.

  I knew she was furious with me.

  We needed to talk so badly, but we couldn’t yet. At least during the time it took for the driver to navigate the Saturday night traffic to Reese’s place in Georgetown, we would have to keep a lid on it. Both of us were hyper-aware of our situation—that we were still out in public for all to judge. I’d already started working on damage control by tapping out an official statement on my phone to be posted in the morning from my office in Columbia:

  South Carolina Attorney General, Grayson Lash III, attended a Halloween party at the Washington, DC home of a close friend last night. During the event, he was called upon to aid party guest, Reese Pinkarver, who required immediate medical treatment for an asthma-related condition. Ms. Pinkarver was accompanied by Mr. Lash via ambulance to George Washington University Hospital Emergency Services where she was treated and later released.

  I passed her my phone so she could read it, watching for her reaction to what I’d decided to share with the public about us. The decision to include Reese’s name, as well as the reason for her medical treatment, was a calculated one. If her name had been withheld, the press would ID her photo within hours anyway, and the speculation behind the reason for secrecy would only be intensified. If her medical condition wasn’t disclosed, the suspicion of illegal drug use would come next. I even debated including that we were both in costume for the party, but decided that part could be revealed later if more of an explanation became necessary.

  It was at times like this that holding a public office was annoyingly invasive. The media was going to run this story regardless, because it was too tantalizing to pass up. I felt it was better to give them some truthful details, than nothing at all. The press might be marginally kinder in their reporting, but you could never predict how a story like this one would play out no matter what your official statement was.

  “That sounds good to me,” she said when she was finished reading. I could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

  “Tired, baby?”

  “So tired, Gray.”

  “Rest your head on my shoulder and close your eyes if you want,” I offered, not sure if she would take me up on it.

  She did though.

  And it felt fucking wonderful having her leaning on me, the flowery scent of her perfume floating up to me so I could breathe her in with each and every inhale.

  Fucking. Wonderful.

  ***

  REESE SLEPT UNTIL the driver dropped us in front of the historic row house she’d called home ever since her move to Georgetown. I’d been to her place to pick her up just one other time, on the occasion of my first proposal of marriage.

  The first time I asked was too soon after her breakup. She wasn’t ready to move on then, but I did not sense Dr. Doolittle was an issue for her any longer. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. This was very welcome news for me. I would take any positive sign from Reese and use it to help my cause.

  What was my cause, exactly?

  To be married before we celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday as husband and wife.

  Sometimes when I had business in DC we would meet for dinner to catch up with each other. The only time we didn’t, was when she was with he-who-must-not-be-named. I also learned how much I missed having Reese in my life during that time. It was an evolution more than any one thing. A slow evolution of my Neanderthal brain once it realized she’d be beneath the furs of another man in the cave.

  Our night together nearly two-months ago, had also been an epic clusterfuck—with not quite the seriousness of tonight’s trip to the ER—but a clusterfuck just the same.

  It had also been the best night of my life.

  Chapter 6

  Gray

  Two months ago…

  “Are you ever going to marry me, Pink?”

  She looked so beautiful sitting across from me poured into a sexy black dress. A little black dress bent on filling my head with the filthy thoughts of what I’d do after taking it off her.

  Please say yes.

  But I knew she wouldn’t. Her hand shook a tiny bit as she brought the wine glass to her lovely lips and finished what was in it. The only small tell visible enough for me to know she was still hurting. Reese could play the Steel Magnolia role very well, which ironically, was part of the reason why she was so perfect for me. Reese Pinkarver was a very strong woman.

  “Ask me that question a year from now, please,” she said with a pointed look at the bottle of Riesling sitting innocently on our table at Plume inside The Jefferson, my preferred hotel whenever I was in the city. I took the hint and refilled her glass before she had to ask me.

  “There is no way I’m waiting a damn year. A month works better for me.” I knew my teasing wouldn’t bother her, because she was used to me. I’d always talked to her this way. Flirting and dirty talk were my specialty.

  “You can’t tell me you’ve ever taken any of that marriage talk about us seriously, Gray.”

  “Of course I take it seriously. We have far too much in common for us not to get married and have some Pinkarver-Lash babies the whole world will fall into a full-blown swoon over. You know I’m right, Pink.” The image of the two of us making one of those babies had me needing a discreet adjustment of my cock below the table. I could just picture her all spread out in the bed with nothing but skin between us. I could worship that body of hers—and I would—if she’d ever let me.

  The look she gave me over her glass was a mixture of sadness and caution, her green and gold eyes flickering down after a moment to escape my scrutiny. I didn’t need any explanation of the reasons behind her feelings. The sadness was understandable, of course it was. Her fiancé—whom she’d loved even if the cocksucker hadn’t deserved it—had left her with little explanation, and he had done it very cruelly.

  I knew where Reese’s cautionary feelings came from as well. Those were a result of my bad. The one time she let me know she wanted to be with me, I pushed her away. If only I could turn back the clock and change my answer.

  “Do you remember when you gave me my nickname Pink?” she asked wistfully.

  “I do.” I picked up her free hand and entwined our fingers. “You were at Mount Laurel for a Christmas party wear
ing a pink dress with white fur on the edges. I couldn’t resist the play on words because, well…immature college student mind at work and all.” I pointed a thumb at my chest. “I said, ‘You really are the cutest little pink elf in all of elfdom, so I’ma hafta call you Pink from now on.’ You were not bothered by my teasing even a tiny bit because you turned the tables on me and said, ‘I am Pink and you are Gray. The colors were already in our names, you big dummy.’”

  She cracked a smile that lasted for too short a time before it went away. “I still have that dress somewhere, because I can’t bear to get rid of it.”

  “Why do you keep it?” I asked, interested in her answer.

  “Because it reminds me of a time when—when I-I didn’t know what hurt felt l-l-like…” she trailed off on a sad sob.

  “I would take that hurt away from you if I could. He did you wrong and you have every right to feel sad, Reese. I just wish I’d given you a different answer before you ever met him, so you never would’ve had to go through any of this at all.”

  “But where would that leave me now, Gray?” She took her hand away from mine and brushed the tear off her cheek with her finger.

  “You’d be with me, and you wouldn’t be hurting or sad right now. I’d make sure of it. All you have to do is say yes to my question.”

  Reese lifted her eyes up to mine again, but this time her expression looked a lot less vulnerable. The Steel Magnolia thing? She had that look in her eyes. “No, I would need more than that.”

  “What more do you need? Tell me and I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

  “I don’t think you can, based on what you said two years ago.” She picked up her wine again and drank probably half of the glass before putting it down with a small shake of her head. “So what has changed so much for you since then? Will you tell me where this marriage idea is really coming from?”