I Wanna Sext You Up

by Evie Claire

  “No one else’s family fell quite so far, Liza.”

  “You lost money. That’s all.”

  Yes, money was the only tangible thing they lost, but how do you put a price on your pride?

  “Liza, are you sure you want me as your maid of honor? I’ve been gone for so long. If I come back, people are going to talk. I don’t want to take away from you on your wedding day.” Tears pooled on her lower lashes—not over her past, but over the past potentially affecting her future.

  “It’s not going to be as ugly as you think it is. People don’t talk about it anymore.” Liza shook her head, but then stopped, rethinking her words. “I mean, it’ll always be part of Social Circle’s small-town lore, but that’s because your family was kind of a big deal. This is your chance to show everybody you are a big deal.”

  “You know how much I hate going back.”

  “Everyone knows how much you hate going back. Why do you think I always volunteer to make the trip to see you?”

  Lorie laced her fingers through Liza’s, admiring the way her diamond sparkled in the overhead light. “It’s a beautiful ring. Jay Baxter better make you the happiest girl in the world.” Because a diamond didn’t make a marriage. “Or else…”

  Smushed together in the chair, Lorie’s and Liza’s heads gently came together, resting there in understanding silence like they had all their lives. Yes, she would do this for Liza. Despite everything else, she had to.

  “He will. I know he will.” Liza seemed certain, and since she had nothing of her own to go on, Lorie believed her.

  “I can’t believe I’m losing you to Jay Baxter.” Lorie frowned, admitting defeat.

  “You aren’t losing me.”

  “If you say I’m gaining another friend I’m going to vomit on this beautiful dress,” Lorie cut her off before she could go there.

  Liza giggled, and put her head on Lorie’s shoulder. “LYLAS,” she whispered into the silence, her best schoolgirl voice somehow muffled just like her braces and headgear used to.

  Lorie burst into shoulder-shaking giggles. She stood, and still holding Liza’s hand, hauled her to her feet. “Let’s see what we can do about this dress. You have to wear it. It’s too perfect.”

  Liza straightened the layers of fabric in the mirror while Lorie made her way to the door. Poking her head out, she found the saleslady waiting outside.

  “Is your seamstress available? I’d like to talk to her about possibly altering the gown.”

  “Certainly!” With a courteous bow, the saleslady disappeared. Liza would wear her perfect dress. Lorie would stand at her side while she did. And anyone who had anything to say about it could kiss her ass.

  * * *

  —

  “You really are a genius.” Liza side-arm hugged Lorie as they walked to their cars. “I could never pick my dress without your help. You’ll come for the final fitting?”

  “Of course.” Lorie nodded as if it was a no-brainer. “Sheer illusion is a godsend in the pageant world. Especially with the modern cut of most couture gowns these days. Even your mom will love it.”

  “Can I buy you coffee?” Liza offered.

  Lorie checked her watch. Damn thing still wasn’t working. “I would love to, but I can’t.”

  “Rough day?”

  “Yeah, I met with an asshole doctor earlier today.” Lorie waved her hand as if it was no big deal. “But I also have to get on the road for an overnight in Macon.”

  Liza smacked her lips. “I’m so bummed. When you got this job, I was thinking it’d be all hot sex in the on-call room with McSteamy and McDreamy. Not assholes and hotel overnights.” Liza leaned against Lorie’s car door. Lorie settled in beside her.

  “Yeah, well, Grey’s Anatomy is in a hospital, not a doctor’s office. Not as many empty beds in need of christening where I work.” Lorie slid her sunglasses on her face and then added, “But this asshole in particular is total McSteamy material. He’s hot.”

  “Hmmm…” Liza tapped a finger against her chin as she thought. “Given your track record, you do have a thing for assholes.”

  “Yes, yes, I do.” Lorie pursed her lips, nodding at a brutal reality she would only tolerate from her oldest friend. “I’ve dated my fair share of feckless assholes. But, Dr. Sherazi is more of an”—Lorie searched for the words—“introverted, intellectually elitist asshole. So same, but different.”

  “Huh…” The sound was high, quick, and slightly suspicious.

  “Don’t even.” Lorie pointed an accusing finger at her friend. “Personal life…” Lorie moved her right hand far away from her body and waggled it around, nodding her head to be sure her friend followed the symbolism. “Professional life…” Lorie raised her left hand and did the same thing on the other side. Hand stretched wide, fingers wiggling, she looked back to her friend. “First rule of being a boss-lady…the two never meet.”

  “I wasn’t implying they were going to.” Liza slid her shades into place, covering any implications in her words. They continued in silence until Liza spoke again. “So, just a minor detail, but do you wear anything other than black these days?”

  “What?” Lorie looked down at her petite friend.

  “You wear nothing but black business suits lately. I was thinking blush for bridesmaids’ dresses.”

  “Your day, your way. I prefer black for work.”

  “That’s cool.” Liza waved a hand. “But why? It’s never been your color.”

  “Do you know why runway models have to stay rail thin?”

  Liza shook her head.

  “Because if they had voluptuous bodies, no one would notice the clothes. I’m not selling me in my offices, I’m selling Lampalin.”

  “So, blush is okay?”

  “Your day, your way.”

  “Until it’s your turn.” Liza winked behind her shades and pushed off the car.

  “Pfft. Don’t hold your breath.”

  Chapter 4

  Saam

  Caucasian male. 63. History of type 1 diabetes and hypertension.

  Dr. Saam Sherazi reread his next patient’s history for the fifth time. His brain refused to focus. Instead spinning in circles over one simple question—How could she smell like an orange blossom fresh off the branch?

  It was June. Back home, orange blossoms were in bloom. But this was Atlanta, Georgia. Not sunny Florida. Had he been in his boyhood bedroom with the windows open on a warm summer’s night he would’ve expected the smell. Drifting in from a small grove of trees in the backyard. It was the ever-present perfume of his childhood.

  A soft, sweet aroma that permeated Jacksonville’s briny summer air. One whiff and it took him back to lazy days when he and his sister spent hours lounging under those trees, their fruit so juicy the memory of it still lingered on his tongue. It was something he would never forget. Biting into a sun-warmed orange picked fresh from the branch had ruined him from grocery store produce forever.

  And then there she was, Lorie Braddock, smelling for all the world like the sweetest memories of his childhood. And as much as he fought the thought, he couldn’t help but wonder…

  Would the taste of her linger on his tongue for days, too?

  Caucasian male. 63. History of type 1 diabetes and hypertension.

  Dr. Sherazi mentally slapped himself and refocused on the electronic tablet in his hand. He had work to do. No matter how tempting pondering her implied sweetness might be, it did nothing to help his patients. Women were a distraction he had sworn off. One didn’t get through undergrad, medical school, and residency in record time by wasting time on distractions.

  Yes, Lorie was different. She had managed to grab his attention long enough to steal his laser-like focus away from his job. There was something to be said for that. But he was a doctor. His patients needed him. And if she was going to mak
e a habit of distracting him from practicing medicine, maybe he should ban her from the office.

  He was just about to make a note of doing exactly that when he was interrupted.

  “Dr. Sherazi, are you dating anyone?” Ashley, his office manager, asked. She was standing with the office phlebotomist, their heads together, obviously talking about somebody—probably him.

  “I’m sorry, what?” He had heard her, but the question was so far out in left field he struggled to see any context it might have.

  “Are you dating anyone? My daughter just broke up with her boyfriend.” Ashley lifted her brows, shrugging, leaving him to fill in the blanks and come to his own conclusion.

  Dr. Sherazi stilled, turning back to his tablet while he thought. Six years ago, the idea of setting her daughter up with him probably wouldn’t have crossed Ashley’s mind. He had enough of his father’s strong Persian DNA to make most people assume he followed the strong traditions that went along with it. And while he didn’t follow his father’s family’s customs, he had dealt with others’ prejudices against them all his life.

  Until recently. Until the addition of two little letters behind his name—M and D. Now, he was hunted like a trophy kill.

  “No, I’m not dating anyone,” he said rather curtly, keeping his attention on his next patient’s electronic record.

  “Well, if you ever get lonely…” Ashley offered again.

  “You two could go to an Atlanta United game,” the phlebotomist suggested. They were obviously in cahoots. “I noticed the team sticker on your car. That could be fun.”

  Saam nodded once, and not wanting to be rude, added, “I do enjoy the games.” A comment he made over his shoulder as he knocked on the exam room door and disappeared inside.

  He waited in the room after seeing his patient, making notes in his chart and listening to the hallway noises to be certain Ashley and the phlebotomist weren’t waiting to ambush him again.

  He didn’t need setting up. Especially not by a mother who wanted her baby girl to marry a doctor—regardless of who he might be on the inside. Sadly, it was his new reality. Women were attracted to the perceived stability of his profession—and the salary. Some were downright aggressive.

  Except her. The thought flew into his head before he could get it out, disrupting his focus again. Lorie Braddock was aggressive about selling her drug. But that was it. When he had taken her hand to apply the Band-Aid she had jerked away like he had cooties or something. The surprise in her eyes bordered on terror. But, why?

  “What insulin does she sell?” he asked loudly toward the door, knowing his nurse would be nearby.

  “Who, Dr. Sherazi?” She peeked her head through the doorway, clearly not thinking about Lorie Braddock like he was.

  “The only drug rep that I’ve seen today.” Saam kept his attention on his notes. It was his nurse’s job to put drug samples away. She should know this.

  “Oh, Lorie?” the nurse asked casually.

  Hearing her name pricked Saam’s ears in a way he wasn’t ready for. The pitch higher and heavier than ordinary words. What was that about?

  “Yes, Lorie.” He cleared his throat to mask any emotion that might try to punctuate it.

  “She sells Lampalin.” His nurse offered an insulin trade name with a smile. “I really like Lorie. Did you know she used to be a beauty pageant queen?” She giggled, swishing her hair playfully and batting her eyes. Further proving the point that women who wouldn’t have noticed him at eighteen now saw a bull’s-eye on his back.

  “Really?” He pushed his stool backward until his shoulders found the wall, ignoring her flirtation but cuing in on the new information. “A pageant queen? What else do you know about her?”

  The nurse shrugged. “Not much. She’s nice. Super focused on her job. She seems a bit different than the rest. More professional.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, you know how Ashley was just trying to set you up with her daughter?”

  Saam nodded. Of course his nurse would’ve heard that.

  “Dr. Dukes has been trying to set Lorie up with his son ever since he met her. She’s never taken the bait. Says it’s a conflict of interest, or something like that.” His nurse waved it away as ludicrous. “Which is crazy. Dr. Dukes’s son is hot, and he’s almost out of his neurosurgery residency.”

  Saam nodded more slowly now, pursing his lips and turning back to his tablet. Interesting.

  “Thank you,” Saam said. “I need a few minutes here.”

  His nurse exited the room, partially closing the door to offer him some privacy.

  She wasn’t into doctors. She was into her job. Maybe the glimmer of fear in her eyes when they’d touched was as simple as that—a potential conflict of interest. It was understandable. It was also admirable.

  He rubbed a hand up the spiky hair at the base of his neck and selected a tab to display the patient’s current medications.

  “Call in a Lampalin script to Mr. Ramirez’s pharmacy,” he ordered over his shoulder as he exited the room. “Please,” he added as an afterthought.

  Truth was, he was still distracted. The morning had been especially grueling which only spilled over into his afternoon. Yet, even the hustle of his day hadn’t shaken Lorie’s memory. It wasn’t fair to his patients. They deserved his total focus.

  Shutting his office door for privacy, he wasn’t prepared for the lingering scent of orange blossoms still vaguely perfuming the air. Most wouldn’t notice it. But when a nose knows it so well, and misses it, even the faintest whiff of home smells like everything. He opened a window for fresh air and slung his lab coat over a desk chair. Removing his shoes and socks, he planted his feet firmly on the carpet, closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and then half somersaulted into the air, catching his weight on splayed hands when he was perfectly perpendicular to the floor.

  With the blood now forced to his brain it would restore his mental acuity. It wasn’t scientifically proven, but it worked for him. He would hold this headstand until his muscles begged for mercy and he was once again in control of his thoughts.

  One minute in, his biceps, abs, and obliques burned, but his mind was clearing. Until a sound interrupted the comforting silence and startled him so badly, he crumpled to the floor.

  “When the rain is blowing in your face…”

  The first lines of his favorite Bob Dylan tune invaded the space—but high and haunting and not at all the rough, gravelly pitch of the weathered rocker he knew.

  What?

  His phone still sat on the desk. In the same spot he’d put it while trying to find a Band-Aid for Lorie’s cut. Its black plastic case vibrated against the wood and the music continued.

  “To make you feel my love.”

  His mind running and already fearing what had possibly happened, he reached tentatively toward the phone. Flipping it over, his suspicions were confirmed.

  On the screen, smiling with that bewitching toothy grin of hers, was a picture of Lorie, an older woman, and a fluffy white dog. Mom stood out in big bold letters atop the image. Not daring to touch the thing, he stared at it—okay at Lorie mainly—until the image went away and Adele stopped singing his Dylan tune. Still staring at it, he waited until it vibrated again, and a voicemail message appeared.

  His heart hammered in his chest. Which was crazy. It was a phone, not an incendiary device. Phones were precious items. Closely guarded. Sacred almost. Having someone’s phone was like holding them in the palm of your hand. There was a certain level of intimacy it suggested. If he thought about it, introverted as he was, his phone would tell people more about himself than he would ever be willingly offer.

  My phone.

  Shit.

  A quick scouring of the office and his coat pockets confirmed his next suspicion. One that checked him in his tracks as he wildly scrambled to r
emember exactly what she would learn about him. Or would she? It was password protected. So, she couldn’t.

  But was hers?

  He pressed the button at the bottom and immediately pulled up the main screen. All Lorie’s life came into focus in the palm of his hand. Folders full of apps, her email, her texts, her photos. Why was it suddenly so tempting to open one or two? No one would ever know. A simple swipe of the finger and he could know almost everything about her. Maybe then he could get her off his mind.

  No.

  He set the phone down. No, he wouldn’t look. That was a total invasion of privacy. Tempting as it was, he wouldn’t do that to her. To anyone. He was a responsible adult.

  They had switched phones. No big deal. It happened. It was an accident easily fixed. He touched the phone icon at the bottom of her screen, pulled up the keypad, and dialed his number.

  It wasn’t until the first ring that his hands went clammy and his Adam’s apple quivered.

  Wait…why were nerves tickling his belly? He talked to people all day long. What made a simple phone call suddenly feel like so much more?

  Chapter 5

  Lorie

  “Shut!” Lorie poked a finger as hard as she could at the stupid, useless watch on her wrist as she zoomed down a desolate back road in the Middle of Nowhere, Georgia. She’d forgotten to tell her neighbor Phebe where her dog’s food was. Brad wasn’t above pouting if his meals were late.

  “Why aren’t you working?” Lorie grumbled at the watch through her teeth as she scanned the roadside for a convenient place to pull over. With all the turmoil of her morning, it was understandable that she had forgotten to tell Phebe. With all the drama of the day, it was also understandable that she had misplaced her phone, too, something normally remedied by the watch. If it ever decided to work again.

  Gravel and dust pelted the underside of her company-issue sedan as she came to a sliding halt on the shoulder. At least the time function was working. If only to show her that she was quite possibly going to be late for her dinner program.