by Rebecca Shea
Holding the card against my chest, I can’t contain the smile on my face. Pulling my phone out of the pocket of my lab coat, I run my hand over the smooth surface, unlocking the screen. I type out a quick text to Landon.
I need to see you tonight. I know you’re working, just give me 5 minutes.
I drop the phone back into my pocket and stare at the large bouquet of bright pink and white peonies, just as there is a little knock on my door.
“Your one o’clock is here.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there,” I announce over my shoulder to Melissa. I drop the little card into my pocket next to my phone just as I feel it vibrate. When I glance at the illuminated screen, anxiety courses through me until I tap the messages icon and see his response.
Sure thing Doc. Text me later.
The rest of my day is full of patients, exams, and babies. Fortunately, I’m too busy at work to be distracted by thoughts of Landon; however, as usual, he is not far from my mind. After the last patient leaves, and we’ve charted, cleaned, and locked up the office, it is after six-thirty.
I sit in my car and contemplate seeing him. I know he’s right in the middle of his shift and I don’t want to bother him, but there is something I need to do—want to do. Pulling my phone from the pocket of my purse, I stare at the screen for a few seconds. I shiver slightly when I notice how fast my heart is beating.
It’s been years, make that over fifteen years since I’ve felt these emotions, felt this way about a man—it’s a foreign, yet welcome feeling.
Just leaving work. Let me know when you’re available and where I can meet you.
I start my car and head in the direction of home. I glance occasionally at my phone, which I’ve tucked into the cup holder, just within my reach. I check it at every red light, at every stop sign—and no response. Pulling into my condominium complex, I reach up and push the garage door opener and wait while the door slowly lifts. Behind me, I see the police car and I know it’s him. My heart races and my hands begin a steady shake.
“Breathe,” I whisper to myself as I pull into my garage. Cutting the ignition, I slide down from the SUV and walk to the garage entrance. I hear him before I see him.
“Hey, Doc.”
“Hey, Champ.”
“You wanted to see me?”
“How did you know where I live?”
“We actually saw you a couple of miles back. I recognized your car, so we followed you. Is everything okay?” he asks, stepping in closer to me.
I nod my head and realize just how nervous I am. My stomach is in knots, and I can hardly breathe. But I decide in that moment, when you want something badly enough you have to take risks. I’m not playing it safe anymore. One foot in front of the other, I take two steps and find myself chest to chest with him. He’s only a few inches taller than I am, and our lips almost meet. Almost.
Time stands still while I study every feature of him—his chin, his lips, his jaw, the colorful tattoos that line his arms, and those beautiful blue eyes. I notice the defined muscles in his neck when he swallows, and how he runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me study every last inch of him.
Raising my hand, I place it on his bicep to balance myself as I lift my head and meet his eyes. Those beautiful eyes hold so much mystery, so much danger. Before I convince myself otherwise, I press my lips to his, tasting him for the first time—and maybe the last time when he suddenly pulls himself away from me.
Why the fuck did I pull away from her kiss? Why? She takes a quick step backwards and I instantly take notice of her shaking hands. Her eyes are shifted downward to her feet and her long brown hair covers most of her face.
“Reagan¸” I say, urging her to look at me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and quickly turns around. Her feet carry her quickly away from me and I see where she is headed, to the door at the front of the garage that must lead into her house. I pause momentarily, but know I need to fix this. She is only steps away from her escape. Run. I’ll only hurt you more. I know I’ve crushed her. Run.
“Stop,” It’s an order, not a request. My voice is firm—angry. She stops just in front of the door. The keys are jingling in her shaking hand, but she doesn’t turn around as I approach her. She knows I’m right behind her; I see her shoulders tense as I stand mere inches from her.
I brush her dark hair off of her right shoulder and over to the other side, freeing up the side of her neck. Resting my chin on her shoulder, I can smell her—a combination of citrus and vanilla.
“Don’t open that door, Reagan,” I growl in her ear. I can hear her swallow and, with a deep inhale, she inserts the keys into the lock and twists them, letting her hand fall to turn the doorknob. She’s defying me. She pushes the door open slowly just as I reach around her and pull it closed with a quick pull of my hand. My hand remains pressed on the door handle, pinning her between me and the large door. Her breaths are short and heavy, her body trembles in fear. She’s afraid of me… she should be.
“I said don’t open the door, Reagan.”
“I’ll open my goddamn door if I want to,” she snarls at me, her voice shaking and full of anger.
“No, you won’t. Not until you listen to me, do you understand?” She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t challenge me either. With one hand on her shoulder, I remove my other hand from the door and run it along the side of her cheek and down the front of her neck. My chin rests gently on her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her. The sound of her breath hitching as I run my hands over her turns me on.
“Turn around,” I whisper in her ear. She remains still. “Turn around, Reagan.” My voice is less aggressive, but still demanding. We stand like this for a few moments, my hand gently wrapped around her neck. A sign that I am in control here… me—not her. I hear her breathing finally calm, and her head falls back gently onto my shoulder.
“I’m going to break my rules for you, Reagan,” I whisper in her ear. “Rule number one. I never fuck the same woman twice. Rule number two. I don’t kiss women,” I say, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her cheek. I turn her around gently by the shoulders, positioning her in front of me. With the tilt of her chin, I kiss her. Softly and gently, I kiss her, succumbing to the feel of her soft lips on mine.
Holding her head in my hands, I whisper against her lips, “I’m sorry for pulling away from you, it’s just that…”
“You don’t kiss women. Got it. I’m sorry… I didn’t know,” she whispers back. “But who said we were fucking?” Before I talk myself out of this, I’m kissing her again. This time, my kiss for her is hungrier, needier. Her head falls back as my tongue rolls down her neck. I taste the soft skin from behind her ear down to her collarbone. I can hear a low hum from the back of her throat as I kiss her neck—and I know she’s mine.
In one quick movement, I lift her onto the hood of her SUV. A loud gasp escapes her as I bite at her neck.
“Landon.”
“Shh,” I whisper against her neck. “I don’t kiss women, Reagan, but let me kiss you.” Her lips move with mine and I’m lost in her. Her fingers tug at my short hair, trying to find something to hold onto. As I am standing between her legs, she’s propped at the very edge of the hood of her car. I can feel the heat from between her legs through her thin scrubs and I’m instantly hard. I want nothing more than to take her on this car—right now. Pressing myself into her gently, I let her feel what she’s done to me. She gasps again when she feels me press against her, rolling my hips into her. Guiding her slowly to her back, she’s now lying down—her long legs dangling from the hood of the car. I can see the rise and fall of her chest through her light green scrubs. Her legs tighten against my sides. She knows she’s in a vulnerable position, lying like this with her legs spread and me standing between them.
Leaning over her, I press a kiss to her neck again. I can feel the heat from my breath ricochet off her neck and back onto my face as my breathing becomes heavier. It’s taking every ounce of self-c
ontrol not to continue grinding myself into her. Both of my hands find the sides of her firm waist, holding her in place. I can feel her stomach muscles tighten as my thumbs rest on her abdomen.
My hands move slowly to the edge of her pants. I have her where I want her. I want her to know if I wanted her, she’d give herself to me, although I have no intention of taking her here on the hood of a car. With my left hand resting on her chest between her breasts, I hold her gently in place. I tug at the tie on the waist of her scrub pants and, with one quick tug, they are untied and the waist is loose. Running my fingers just inside the waist of her pants, I touch just the top band of her panties. She gasps loudly and tries to sit up, but I hold her down with my hand on her chest. I press my erection into her warm center. “Feel that, Reagan?” I hiss through my teeth. She nods quickly as she lets out a moan. “That’s what you do to me.”
I continue to hold her down—leaning in to kiss her again while my other hand taunts the soft skin just inside of those scrub pants.
“As much as I want to fuck you on the hood of this car, I’m not going to, Reagan. But this isn’t done, understand? I will fuck you. “ I press a long kiss to her lips. “I have to go,” I whisper and pull her down from the hood.
She immediately begins tying her pants, but never removes her eyes from mine. Her breathing begins to settle and we maintain eye contact with each other—a power struggle that I will win. Her flushed cheeks and full lips taunt me, but I want to show her who’s in control.
“We good?” I ask quietly.
“We’re good,” she whispers.
“We’re not done here.”
“Agreed,” she says confidently, trying to reestablish some form of control over me. It’s not working.
This woman will be the death of me; she’s feisty, yet vulnerable. Confident, yet insecure. Dominant, yet submissive, and she wants me, I know she does.
“Do you want to fuck me, Reagan?” My words catch her off-guard and she stills momentarily. The corner of her mouth turns up just slightly.
“No, because I want to see you again.” With no other words, or even a goodbye, she turns and walks into her condo, shutting the door behind her. And as much as I want her too, she’s so frustrating.
Jogging back to the patrol car, I can see Matt on the phone. I pull on the door and slide into the seat, just in time to hear him tell whoever he’s talking to that he has to go.
“Who was that?” I ask, since Matt never talks on the phone.
“Ah, no one. What’d she want?” he inquires as he tucks his phone into the side pocket of the door.
“Just to thank me for the flowers.”
“That was a long thank you,” he smirks. “And you bought her flowers?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
“Have you ever done that before, bought flowers for someone?” he asks with a look of genuine shock on his face.
“No. I haven’t,” I admit.
“Well, holy fuck,” he bellows. “Someone is pussy whipped!” He laughs, throwing his head back against the headrest of the seat.
“Shut the fuck up; no one is pussy whipped.”
“I’ll be damned, I never thought I’d see the day,” he continues, laughing at me, “and I take it you took my advice and haven’t tapped that piece of ass yet?” Something in how he says that bothers me.
“She’s not just a piece of ass,” I mumble, shutting him up. He puts the car in drive and starts driving, but I hear him say it under his breath, “pussy whipped.” For once, that fucker might be right.
The rest of the night is uneventful, which gives me a lot of time to think about Reagan. Too much time. Of course, my mind goes to what she’d look like lying on top of her car naked while I fuck her senseless, to thoughts of how every inch of her would taste in my mouth.
We turn in our paperwork for the night, and I change in the locker room—tossing on my jeans and a white t-shirt.
“Christianson, I need to see you out here when you’re done,” I hear my sergeant say.
“What the fuck does he want?” Matty eyes me suspiciously.
“No fucking clue.”
“Want me to hang around and wait for you?” Matt is always looking out for everyone—especially me.
“Nah, go ahead. I’m sure it’s nothing and should only be a minute. See ya tomorrow, man.”
“Sounds good. Night, brother,” he says with a fist bump.
Tying my tennis shoes, I grab my wallet, phone, and keys and head down the hallway to Sarge’s office.
“Sarge,” I acknowledge him.
“Christianson, have a seat.” He points to the chair sitting in front of his large wooden desk. I take a seat, waiting for him to tell me why I’m here. “Congratulations, son. Starting Monday, you’ve been assigned to Narcotics,” he says with a giant smile.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, congratulations—looks like someone is following in their old man’s footsteps.” His reference to my father just sends bile rushing to my throat. That is one man I never want to be compared to, except around here, he was an icon. I don’t respond as I let my stomach settle. “You okay?” he asks as he steps around the front of his desk.
“No, yeah, I mean, I’m just surprised,” I say, trying to deflect conversation away from his reference to me being like my father.
“Don’t be. You deserve this. I’m very proud of you, son. And we’re going to miss you on patrol.” He reaches out to shake my hand.
“Shit, I need to tell Matt.”
“Let him know sooner rather than later; you’re off until Monday. We’ve got him training the new kid beginning tomorrow.” He laughs.
“He’s going to be pissed.” I laugh back.
“Yeah, I’m going to let you break the news to him.”
“Fucking great,” I mumble.
I waste no time getting out of bed this morning—I feel good, even though I barely slept. Excitement with news of my job and yesterday’s events with Reagan kept my already busy mind working overtime and not allowing me to rest. I meet Lindsay in the kitchen, where she already has the coffee brewing.
“Where did you stay last night?” I ask her. She wasn’t home when I got home from work and I heard her come in early this morning.
“None of your business,” she says as she cuts up fruit on the kitchen island. “And since when do you care where I stay?”
“You’ve been gone a lot lately. Seems like whoever you’re seeing, things are getting serious.” I see the knife still as she is about to slice the last piece of peach.
“Nope, nothing serious. Just having fun.” She offers me a reassuring smile.
“Be safe, Linds.”
“Really, you’re going to offer me the ‘be safe’ speech? Pfft.” She has a point, but it’s my job to protect her—and I’ll be damned if I let anything or anyone hurt her.
“Fine, all right. Lecture’s over.”
“Good,” she says, pouring us two giant mugs of coffee. “So how are things with Reagan?” she asks, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of me while she goes back to cutting fruit. When I don’t immediately answer, she stops cutting and turns her head, narrowing her eyes at me. “Please don’t fuck this one up. I actually like her,” she says. I can’t contain my laughter as it gets the better of me.
“You met her in a bar, Lindsay, and talked to her for all of five minutes. How do you have any clue if you like her?”
“You met her in a bar too, Landon, and I just have a gut instinct about people and I can tell she won’t take your shit, so that means I like her. That means I really like her.” She sets the knife down and crosses her arms across her chest. “So dish it, brother.”
“It’s good, I guess. I mean, we’re just hanging out.”
“How was your date the other day?”
Sipping the coffee, I set the mug down. “Oh, you mean walking the stray dogs?”
“What?” she says, laughing.
“Yeah, Reagan is a mod
ern-day Mother Teresa. She saves people… dogs… who knows, maybe she can save me.” I wink at Lindsay and pick out some berries from the fruit bowl she has on the island.
“What do you mean she saves people and dogs?”
“She’s a fucking doctor, Lindsay, not some barmaid like I thought she was, and she walks the stray dogs from her ex-aunt’s animal rescue on her days off.”
“Jesus,” Lindsay says, pouring creamer into her coffee. “She’s really a doctor?”
“Yep. Catches babies all day,” I joke.
“Then what was she doing working at Mac’s?”
“I asked the same thing. Her Uncle Mac owns the place and on occasion, she helps him out. Sounds like it’s not often. Just happened to be my lucky night last weekend.”
“That’s called fate, Landon. Don’t fuck with fate. Trust me.”
“I don’t believe in signs and fate and all that bullshit, you know that.”
‘Well, whatever the hell you believe in, that was it—last weekend. Divine intervention or whatever. That. Was. It. Don’t fuck this up,” she says, pointing at me. I actually roll my eyes at my sister.
“Yeah, okay, Linds, I’ll try not to fuck this up like I do everything else.”
“Hey, I didn’t say that.” She lowers her voice.
“I know. But hey, I actually have some good news to share.”
“What?” she asks skeptically.
“I made detective. I got the job.” With a squeal, she lunges at me and wraps her arms around my neck, squeezing me.
“I knew you would get it. I’m so proud of you.” She continues hugging me. “Now don’t fuck this up either.” She fake punches me. “I’m really happy for you,” she says.
“I’m happy too,” I whisper. And I am. For the first time ever, I feel like the fucked up pieces of my life are falling into place.
I can barely make out the sound of the vibration from my cell phone buzzing against the wooden nightstand, but it’s just loud enough to pull me from my morning slumber. Cracking one eye open, I give myself time to adjust to the morning sun seeping through the slats on the wood shutters that cover the oversized windows in my room.