by Lake, C. J.
“Yeah?” Tragan said.
Obviously finishing a text, the blonde guy finally glanced up. “Hi,” he said, offering a brief smile. “I’m here to see Andy.”
Tragan stepped back, opening the door wider so he could enter. Was this her boyfriend? Maybe he was just a friend, like Ethan. For some reason Tragan hoped that was the case, but didn’t really believe it. This guy was tall, probably around 6’2”, and looked kind of like a mannequin. His face was almost too smooth, his expression blank. Was this what Andy went for? This pretty boy?
Just then Tragan heard Andy’s door open. When he saw her step out, he felt an instant pull of attraction and couldn’t help staring for a moment. She looked especially pretty tonight. Her hair was almost shiny and looked like soft gold, hanging loosely past her shoulders. She wore a light blue stretchy top that curved around her breasts and lit up her eyes in the sexiest way. God, what’s with me? Tragan thought, irritated, trying to ignore his reaction to her.
Except…
Her black pants were form-fitting enough that for an instant he flashed an erotic image of those lean, shapely legs wrapping around him.
Now her face beamed into a smile--a smile for Brad.
“Hi! I’m ready,” she told him breezily.
“Hi, gorgeous,” Brad said, leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I was just meeting your roommate here.”
“Right, hi. Tragan,” Tragan said, introducing himself.
The blonde guy shook his hand. “Dr. Brad Trewell. Nice to meet you. So, Tragan, Andy says you’ve been very easy to live with. I have to thank you for that.” He spoke affably enough so Tragan didn’t want to dislike him. Still, he found himself sort of bothered by the guy. Maybe it pissed him off that he felt the need to introduce himself as “Dr. Brad.” That seemed pretentious as hell. Or maybe--more likely--Tragan felt a stab of envy. Everyone knew doctors were rich and beating off the ladies with their stethoscopes. And this one got Andy.
For some reason, Brad felt the need to add, “I’m a resident at St. Catherine’s Hospital--vascular surgery. What do you do?”
Andy interrupted. “Brad, I told you, Tragan works in construction. He builds things, right?” she said, smiling warmly at Tragan.
“Oh, that’s right,” Brad said, touching his forehead with reproach, then giving a smooth smile. “I must have forgotten.”
Bullshit he forgot. Tragan figured that Brad just wanted to call the cards on the table, right here, right now. To lay it out in front of Andy how the two men measured up. Asking about Tragan’s job was certainly a subtler way to go about it than asking what kind of car he drove or how much he banked last year.
Brad’s phone chimed; he held up a finger. “Just a second.” He read, scrolled and typed--then read, scrolled and typed. Finally he slid the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that. Well, Andy we should get going. I have eight o’clock reservations at La Vie En Rose.” Amiably he asked Tragan, “Ever been?”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s terrific. On Newbury Street. The duck is phenomenal.”
“Great,” Tragan replied flatly.
“Okay, we should go,” Andy spoke up.
Brad nodded, taking her hand. “And the movie starts at ten.”
As Brad led her to the door, Andy glanced back at Tragan, gave a short wave. “See you later. Have a good night.”
“I’ll get the door.” He followed close behind and caught a trace of her scent as she reached up for her coat. Her perfume was so enticing and feminine, it almost made him hard.
Just great, Tragan thought, shaking his head as he turned the lock and went back around to the couch. Now he was getting horny over his female roommate who already had a boyfriend. Just effing great.
He shook the feeling off, picked up the remote and un-muted the game.
~
Andy turned her key and pushed open the door with a sigh. She felt a headache coming on, but hoped it would level off with some Advil and not explode into a migraine. She was home much earlier than she expected, having bailed on the movie, figuring it would only make her headache worse. Brad was very understanding, of course. She was constantly impressed--and a little confused, to be honest--by Brad’s even-keeled and sanguine approach to her.
They’d shared a tender kiss outside her building when he’d dropped her off and now she fully planned to rest.
However, as she walked through the entry way of the apartment, a sudden image stopped her short. Literally, jerked her to a halt. Made “rest” the farthest idea from her mind. Her breath quickened, her mouth fell open. Diagonally across the living room was Tragan’s open bathroom door. And Tragan, standing in front of his sink, stark naked. Clearly he’d just come out of the shower, as he was rubbing his hair roughly with a towel, unaware that Andy was home and watching him.
Her heart began to pound.
If she’d been thinking about it, she would have been ashamed by how blatantly she was checking Tragan out. But for now, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. Her gaze wandered down his body, taking in every detail. His shoulders, his arms, his smooth back, his muscular, hairy legs… But the most entrancing feature right now, which her eyes kept returning to, was Tragan’s smooth, firm, perfectly proportioned ass.
Licking her lips, she swallowed against the tightness in her throat, trying to understand her overreaction. Of course she’d been attracted to men before, particularly Brad, but she didn’t recall ever feeling this instantly turned on by the sight of a naked male body. Even as heat swelled between her legs, she forced herself to stop looking--and to hurry quietly back to the entry way. This was crazy; he could turn to leave the bathroom any second. If he caught her silently ogling him, how mortified she would be!
She opened and loudly shut the front door. Then she made a point to rattle her keys and click her heels hard on the floor as she walked, giving Tragan plenty of warning.
When she passed the entry way, she saw that his bathroom door was now closed over. Relieved, she put a hand to her heart, which was beating crazy hard and fast. That was close! What has gotten into me tonight? was her first thought.
Her second was: Wait, my headache is practically gone. She hadn’t even taken anything for it yet. Could the endorphins caused by acute, spontaneous lust cure a headache? Was that medically possible? Well, she wasn’t about to ask Brad that one.
Admittedly, she’d thought Tragan was sort of cute when she first met him. And maybe she’d felt the faintest stirrings of something the other night when he’d swaggered into the kitchen with his casino winnings and they’d begun talking. But it was all very innocent, just boy-girl stuff. This was different. This was sexual attraction--strong and undeniable.
Not literally undeniable, of course, since she didn’t plan to do anything about the feeling except ignore it.
Suddenly the bathroom door opened and Tragan emerged, now with his towel wrapped around his waist. Now that he was facing her, she had the full view. She tried not to stare as her eyes coasted over his shirtless upper body. Black hair lightly fanned across his chest and trailed down his stomach. His arms were muscular, and the tattoo on his right bicep seemed more prominent when he was naked. She still couldn’t make out what it was a tattoo of, though.
The lust she’d just vowed to suppress sprung back.
When she realized her mouth was running dry, she swallowed hard, nervously licked her lips. He looked strong and solid, but not rippling like a gym-rat with washboard abs. No, Tragan’s whole body looked thick and powerful, but in a natural way that probably came from his line of work, not as part of a vanity project.
“Hey,” he said to her across the living room, “you’re home early. Do you feel okay?”
“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” she managed. “Just have a slight headache.” As she started walking toward her room, she realized…Wait. He’d asked if she felt okay. Did that mean he knew? She stopped, turned toward him. “Ethan told you, didn’t he?”
Tragan paused,
looking momentarily unsure.
“About the Bronsteg,” she stated bluntly.
“Oh. Yeah, well, he mentioned that you’ve had some medical sh--stuff. He didn’t get into detail or anything.”
She didn’t quite believe him. Damn it, she wanted others to see her not as a sick person but just as a regular girl. And she hadn’t even felt sick for almost three months now. “I feel fine,” she told him. “Plus, Brad thinks this new drug could be the answer,” she added, trying to sound convincing. So far her work with the drug study hadn’t done anything to help, but whatever. “Please, I don’t even want you to worry about me, okay?” Only after she said that did she realize how abrupt and defensive it sounded.
Tragan gave a nonchalant shrug, which oddly reassured her. “No worries,” he said casually, before continuing to his bedroom, adjacent to the bathroom.
Andy let out a sigh as she slipped off her heels and carried them to her own room.
Hadn’t Ethan told her that Tragan only cared about himself? At this point she could see her friend was exaggerating. Tragan Barrett was obviously not a heartless guy. However, if Ethan was at least half-right, it would actually be just as well. The more self-centered Tragan was, the less Andy would have to deal with his sympathy or concern. And the last thing she wanted was his pity, because she liked him--as a potential friend, that was all.
Chapter Nine
Later that night, Andy went to the kitchen to brew herself some tea. She still wasn’t tired enough to sleep and hoped this would relax her mood. After she poured hot water in her mug and twisted every ounce of flavor out of the tea bag, she heard Tragan call to her.
“Andy--you’re still up!”
She ducked her head out of the kitchen and saw he was in the living room, sitting on the couch. “I’m making some tea,” she said. “Want some?”
“Uh no,” he answered right away as if she’d just offered him sour grapefruit.
With a wry smirk, she leaned farther out of the archway. “Okay…” she said, looking at him. “Well, would you like anything else from the kitchen?”
“You,” he said.
Her playful smile faltered. “W-what?” she stammered, caught off guard.
“I mean, c’mere,” Tragan said making a sweeping gesture with his arm to motion her over.
“Hang on.”
A minute later she walked into the living room, carrying her mug of tea.
Tragan angled his head toward her and eyed her up and down. “Is there a blizzard coming?”
She looked down at her pajamas, which consisted of white fleece pants, a worn-out pink hoodie with a fluffy collar, and thick wool socks. “I get cold a lot, okay?”
“All right. Sit down; let’s play.”
“Oh.” Eying the television, Andy shook her head. “No, I don’t know how to play any of those games,” she said, hesitating to join him on the sofa.
Apparently he wasn’t accepting that. “Nah, come on,” he said, shifting over and tapping the cushion next to him. “You’re up anyway. It’ll be fun. Pick whatever game you want.”
“Really, I--”
Now Tragan dropped his head back against the couch, dramatically as if she were being a real buzz-kill. “Oh, come on, Andy,” he droned, “just piiick one.”
Helplessly she laughed. “Fine, okay?” She handed him her mug, before walking over to the wooden crate filled with discs. As she shuffled through them, her mouth pursed. “These all look so violent,” she said, discouraged.
“No, there are some non-violent ones,” Tragan insisted.
“Really, I’m not a gamer--oh, wait.”
“Which one?”
She held up a plastic case that was brightly colored, cheerful, and nostalgically familiar. Tragan’s mouth broke into an approving smile. “Super Mario--nice! The gateway drug.”
“So this one’s okay with you?”
“Yeah, pop it in, let’s go.”
“Where?”
“The Wii--the white one,” he clarified, pointing to the middle console. Again he patted the cushion next to him. “Sit.”
“You’re kind of bossy,” Andy remarked, as she plopped down next to him and took her tea back. “Ethan didn’t warn me about that.”
Half smiling, Tragan said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Truthfully--inwardly--she was a bit flustered sitting this close to Tragan after the whole ogling-him-naked thing from a couple hours earlier.
“All right, now do you know how to play?” he asked as he was pressing buttons on the controller.
“It’s been a long time.”
“Okay, well, this is an easy one.”
“To you.”
“Meaning, it’s pretty self explanatory. Still, I’ll help you as you go.” He used the controller to punch in his name as player 1. For player 2 he began writing “A-n-d” and then stopped and shot her a questioning look. “Hey, how come you go by Andy? Not Andrea. That’s your name right? I’m assuming.”
She hadn’t expected that question so her reply wasn’t as polished as it could have been. “Uh not exactly,” she said.
Now Tragan turned his head fully to face her. Lifting his eyebrows, he repeated, “Not exactly?”
“No…”
“Okay…”
He was obviously waiting for more intel. She explained, “My real name is sort of…awkward. So, ‘Andy’ has always worked better for me.” If she figured that vague answer would be the end of it, she was deluding herself.
At first Tragan’s mouth opened, then he gave a short laugh. “C’mon, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and walk away.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“What’s your real name?” he pressed her. Now his face was determined, interested--and way too playful. So much for being “all about himself,” as Ethan claimed Tragan was. Why was he so curious?
And…was he flirting with her a little?
At the thought, Andy felt a faint blush come over her cheeks. A mini sprint started in her chest. Tragan was sitting so close to her, she realized. Those same muscular thighs she’d seen naked a few hours ago, were right beside hers; their legs were almost touching. She took a breath and ignored her quickening pulse. “What do you need to know my full name for?” she challenged, tipping her head at him. “Are you getting something engraved for me? Because please don’t. I find personal engravings pretentious.”
His grin widened. “All right, smartass. So it’s what--Andirons?”
“Right, sure. Andirons.”
“Oh, no, I know. Andouille?”
Andy rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not named after a sausage.”
He laughed. “Hey, I thought maybe your parents wanted a boy.”
At that, she wrinkled her nose. “What? That is gross!” she said, shoving his arm (which felt as thickly solid as she imagined it would).
He laughed harder, barely moved by her shove. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands, still laughing at her reaction. “I’m a guy; I’m immature.”
“I see that,” she agreed, laughing, too, then set her tea down on the coffee table. “Oh, do we have coasters? I don’t want to get rings on the table.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, really,” she insisted, the grabbed a nearby newspaper and set her mug on it. “This coffee table is beautiful--you should take care of it.”
He got a strange look on his face for a moment before mentioning, “I actually made it.”
“The table?” she said, surprised.
“Yeah. I built it a couple years ago.”
“Wow! That’s impressive. I knew you built houses, but I didn’t know you were, you know, a craftsman.”
“Nah, it was nothing, really,” he claimed.
“I love the curve detail under the legs--”
Seeming uncomfortable with the praise, Tragan cut her off: “Look, do you want to talk coffee tables or do you want to play?”
“I want to talk coffee ta
bles. Is that a choice?”
“Too bad; we’re playing.”
Andy yelped a laugh, then looked up to the ceiling, muttering, “Oh my God, so bossy…”
“But first tell me your name.”
“Not that again.”
“Is it Antifreeze?”
She slid him a sideways glance. “That doesn’t even make sense. Clearly if my name was ‘Antifreeze,’ I would go by ‘Freezy’ or ‘Tif.’”
He ignored her sarcasm. “So tell me.”
“Oh my gosh, Tragan, why do you even care?”
“Because I’m your roommate and I take that very seriously. This is the kind of thing that roommates need to know about each other,” he stated with mock severity.
She was almost sure he was flirting with her now. It should make her want to retreat to her room and put an end to the night. Instead, she turned on the couch to look at him, dead on. “Fine. It’s Andaline. There.”
For a moment, he paused--even furrowed his brow. “Andaline,” he repeated carefully, no longer mocking. Respecting it. It was actually kind of sweet.
“It was my great-grandmother’s name,” Andy explained. “My mom always loved it. My dad got to pick Emma’s name, and then when I was born it was my mom’s turn. Okay?”
“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it--Andaline?”
“Tragan,” she warned, “this conversation never happened.”
“Why? It’s not a bad name.”
“Do you want me to play or not?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Yes. Okay--Andy,” he said, giving her one last smile before turning his attention to the screen.
“That’s better,” she agreed, sinking deeper into the couch, as hot tea and a strange sense of contentment warmed through to her bones.
Chapter Ten
As the sun rose, it shone blindingly through the plate-glass walls that lined the Cambridge Athletic Club & Spa. Brad dropped his first set of free weights and reached for a heavier pair, as his friend, Manny Suárez, sat on an adjacent weight bench, catching his breath.
Manny was also a second-year resident at St. Catherine’s, but unlike Brad, he was doughy and out-of-shape--and possibly not as motivated to fix that as he claimed. This was only the fourth day he’d tagged along for Brad’s daily workout--cardio followed by lifting--and by the exhausted, pained look on Manny’s face, Brad wasn’t counting on him to last much longer.