Perfect Distraction

by Allison Ashley

  “I like that part, too,” he put in.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said with a grin. “My coworkers are incredible. I’ve never worked with a group of people who cared so much about the patients they see. It inspires me every day. No matter which clinic I’m in, we’re like a family, celebrating the successes of some patients and being there for one another when things don’t turn out well for others. And aside from that, they’re fun, interesting people. Several of the physicians are from other countries, and it’s fascinating to hear what those places are like. Makes me want to visit them all someday.”

  “That’s cool,” Andrew agreed. “I’d love to travel more.”

  “Someday,” she said wistfully. “Where will you go first? When you’re a big-time lawyer and can do what you want and take vacations and stuff?”

  “It’ll be a while before I work my way up and can do what I want. But…I’d have to say New York City.”

  “Really? I was expecting you to say somewhere exotic.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m with you, though. I want to go to New York, too. Go to a Broadway show.”

  “Have dinner in Chinatown,” he said.

  “Ride the subway.”

  “Go for a run in Central Park.”

  “Shop at Tiffany’s.”

  “Whoa, there. Big spender.”

  She laughed. “You only live once, right? What would you drop a lot of cash on?”

  Andrew stroked his chin. “A few weeks ago, I would have said season tickets to the Broncos for my whole family. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  Lauren frowned. “Stop that. Don’t overhaul your family’s favorite team just because the quarterback is a jerk. I’m sure there’s a player on every NFL team who has done something sketchy for the sake of his game.”

  “He’s not just a jerk. He was a jerk to you. I refuse to support him or the team he plays for.”

  She pursed her lips, irritated more at herself by the pleasure she felt in that, than at Andrew for being so ridiculous about it.

  But was it time to let go a little, and face the truth?

  Whether she wanted them to or not, her walls against him were crumbling, and it was only a matter of time before nothing was left.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They kept talking for hours, though Andrew couldn’t have put his finger on exactly what they talked about. They simply talked. They talked about high school, about their hobbies and their best friends. She told him about Kate and Samantha, her closest friends from Cedar Creek, and he told her about some of his childhood buddies and the friends he’d made when he moved to Kansas City. They talked more about music, because they both loved it, and discovered they’d been at several of the same concerts that had been in Kansas City over the last few years.

  “I wonder if we ever crossed paths,” Andrew mused.

  “I doubt it. I think I’d remember…you’re pretty noteworthy.”

  He laughed. He adored her pun addiction. “And you’re nothing but treble.”

  She lifted one shoulder even as she grinned. “But if we had, do you think things would have turned out differently?” she asked.

  “Maybe. If I’d asked you out back then, you’d have had no reason to turn me down. How refreshing.” He grinned.

  “I still would have turned you down,” she returned. “You’re too attractive, remember?”

  “I wouldn’t have given up easily. Just like now, I’d have tried to change your mind.”

  “I hate to admit it’s working.”

  “Good.”

  His gaze roamed over her, and for a split second he considered moving closer to her, to see how she would respond. Would she scold him, or smile up at him, pleased he’d made the first move?

  He thought back to the words she’d said just a few short hours ago.

  She hadn’t tasted him yet.

  He couldn’t do this much longer. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, from the way her breathing sped up as her gaze met his, her lip once again tucked behind white teeth. Damn, he wanted his teeth to be the one nipping at her mouth, his tongue following in the wake to soothe her skin. He craved it like he was an alcoholic and she was a bottle of fine whisky.

  A slight wave of nausea passed over him, reminding him that had he been alone tonight, he would have skipped dinner altogether. But she’d been so excited about cooking for him, and she’d probably been starving. She hadn’t received chemo yesterday, after all. Though the queasy sensation was there and gone, he hesitated. “Should we start the movie?”

  “Sure.”

  Andrew picked up the remote. “Let the record state I didn’t pick this movie. It’s romantic, and I’m not sure you’ll be able to keep your hands to yourself. I promise I’ll be good, but if you suddenly feel the need to come on to me, I won’t say no.”

  Lauren shot him a wry glance. “I’ll try to control myself.”

  As the movie played, Andrew’s mouth felt dry, and his stomach churned. Please, not now. He tried desperately to focus on the movie, like he could use mind over matter to control his body’s response to the poison that had been shot into his veins yesterday. His favorite part of the movie was coming up, where Andrew Lincoln’s character comes to Kiera Knightley’s door and holds up signs to tell her that he’s always been in love with her.

  He and Lauren had inched closer together throughout the movie, and he felt her hand cover his. His heart thumped in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the nausea or her proximity. Probably both.

  He slowly turned his head and found her eyes on him, her gaze focused and her chin tilted up. Her fingers trailed up his forearm, caressed his bicep, and curled around his neck, while she simultaneously shifted onto her knees to bring her face closer to his.

  Holy shit, he wanted this so much. He wanted her so much. His body vibrated with it, ached with it. He gently cupped his hand around the back of her head and pressed his forehead to hers, and his stomach heaved.

  NO. He leapt off the couch and lunged for the hallway, barely getting the bathroom door closed behind him before his knees hit the tile. The burning, cramping sensation in his abdomen intensified tenfold, and he felt light-headed as the bile rose in the back of his throat. As the first wave of his stomach’s contents were expelled, the door opened and Lauren was at his side, her hand on his back.

  “N-no,” he shook his head, pushing her away with his left arm. “Leave, please.” His right hand gripped the edge of the toilet and he spit, the acidic taste bringing on another wretch.

  She didn’t leave, and instead began hastily rifling through his drawers. “Did you take anything today? Where’s your ondansetron?”

  “Lauren, get out of here,” he ground out, mortified beyond measure as he vomited again.

  “I know I sent in prochlorperazine, where is it?” Her pitch was rising, like she was getting panicked.

  He began to sweat, and his stomach cramped again, and the desperation in his chest boiled over. He wanted her gone, far away from him when he was like this. When he was weak and sick and disgusting. He tried one last time, thinking of nothing but isolating himself. “Lauren, get the fuck out!”

  He couldn’t see her reaction because his head was once again over the toilet, but he heard the door close. When he could breathe, he looked up and found himself alone in the bathroom. He closed his eyes and hung his head, rocking back on his haunches. He yanked the bath towel from where it hung on the wall and wiped his mouth.

  When he was sure his stomach had nothing else to throw up, he pushed himself backward and leaned his back against the bathtub. He covered his face with trembling hands and waited until his heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm and his breathing evened out.

  After several minutes he flushed the toilet and stood. He refused to look at himself in the mirror as he covere
d his toothbrush generously with toothpaste, knowing he might never leave the bathroom if he saw his reflection. He scrubbed his mouth thoroughly and rinsed, and then did it again.

  When he opened the door and took in the woman before him, his heart shattered into a million pieces. Lauren was curled against the wall across from the bathroom door, her knees pulled to her chest, her head bent forward. One hand was clasped around the back of her neck, gripping so hard her knuckles were white, and the other covered her eyes.

  She was crying.

  Andrew’s own vision blurred as he lowered himself to the floor. He sat beside her for a moment without speaking, the echo of her halted breathing the only sound in the hallway.

  He swallowed, the crisp taste of spearmint flooding his senses. His shoulders felt heavy as he put his arm around her. He half expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. She didn’t respond at all.

  He pulled her closer to him, side by side, their ribs, hips, and thighs pressed together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in a broken voice.

  She hiccupped and curled into him, burying her face in his shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, reaching across to embrace her fully with both arms. She stretched across his body to hug him back and held tight, allowing her bent knees to fall to the side and rest across his legs.

  They remained that way for a long time. Not speaking, holding each other, her tears subsiding and her breath returning to normal. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back, feeling his heart swell with emotion. When she hadn’t moved in a while he peeked at her face.

  She’d fallen asleep against his chest. He released a slow, steady exhale. What just happened had been horrible, but he felt strangely content in this moment. He kept his arms around her body and leaned his head back against the wall, and eventually sleep pulled him under.

  Several hours later, Andrew woke with a major crick in his neck. He and Lauren were still in the hallway of his apartment—he sat with his legs extended and his back against the wall; Lauren was curled into a ball, pressed against his body with her arms loosely around him.

  He blinked and scrubbed a hand down his face as the events of the night before rushed back to him.

  Lauren cooking dinner. Talking for hours. Watching Love Actually, and Lauren finally making a move to kiss him. His body choosing that exact moment to fail him, and him yelling at her.

  Making her cry.

  He closed his eyes. His body hurt, and so did his heart.

  He opened them again and gazed down at the beautiful woman lying across him. Her dark eyelashes lay across her lightly freckled cheek, and her thick hair was swept back and bunched near his ribs. She’d taken her shoes off when they came in, and her feet looked so tiny and feminine.

  He chuckled at himself. He had it bad if he was admiring her feet, of all things.

  He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. And not only physically, though that was an extremely powerful desire. He wanted to be hers. The one she called when she was upset or excited. He wanted her face to light up when she saw him, like he knew his did when he laid eyes on her. He wanted to hold her hand in public and kiss her in the coffee line at The Grind House. He wanted everyone to know that they were together, and that she was his.

  A line had been crossed. He didn’t know if it was the hours of conversation, the near-kiss during the movie, or holding her after such a raw display of vulnerability. Maybe it was something else entirely.

  But he was done pretending.

  He also felt confident, for the first time, that she felt the same. She’d seen him at his worst last night…and not just on his knees getting sick. He’d yelled at her to get out—no, to get the fuck out—and leave him alone. And yet, she was still here, wrapped around him.

  She stirred, her arm brushing his groin as she moved, and he quickly cleared his throat to wake her up completely. He put his hands on her shoulders and helped her sit up.

  She rubbed her eyes and yawned, her hair tumbling across her shoulders. She lifted her eyes to meet his, and he smiled tentatively, suddenly feeling both nervous and lighter at the same time.

  “Good morning,” she said, her low, sleepy voice sending a shock of desire through him. “Jeez, I’m sorry I fell asleep on you in the hallway. That had to have been miserable.”

  “It was the furthest thing from miserable.”

  She returned his smile and stood up, holding her hand out to him.

  He stood up with her and let her use the bathroom while he went to the kitchen to make coffee. When she joined him, he handed her a full mug.

  “I used some of your toothpaste, I hope that’s okay,” she said.

  “I’m surprised there was any left. I brushed the hell out of my teeth last night.”

  Her gaze was intent on his, and he appreciated that she didn’t shy away from his reference to what happened.

  “How do you feel this morning?” she asked.

  “I’m a little achy, but it’s always like that through the weekend after chemo. Other than that, I’m great.”

  “Good.” Her chest rose with her inhale. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have followed you in there like that, and I should have left the second you asked me to…” She shook her head.

  “You were trying to help. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like I did.”

  “I don’t blame you. If I’d been the one getting sick and you came in? I would have freaked out. I wouldn’t want you to see me like that. But it’s my job, my entire life’s work, to make sure people don’t go through what you did last night. And of all people, you’re the one I failed.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I had no idea you were having so much trouble after chemo, there are so many other things that can help…other medications you can try—”

  Andrew shook his head. “I don’t want more drugs. I don’t even take the ones I have. That doesn’t happen every time, I promise. I don’t feel great for a few days, I’ll admit. But there’s been only one other time I’ve gotten sick like that.”

  She just looked at him with those big green eyes, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I hate this. I hate it that you’re sick. I wish I could take it from you. Or even better, that it never happened.”

  “Don’t say that.” He walked around the kitchen island, coming to stand directly in front of her. “I don’t wish that. I may never have met you.”

  “You technically met me at the coffee shop, before you ever came to the cancer center.”

  He reached out and took one of her hands. “The only reason I stopped at The Grind House was because it was on my way to the cancer center. Plus, you said yourself you wouldn’t have given me a chance, based on that encounter alone. If God hadn’t forced your hand by putting me in your clinic, you’d never have looked at me twice.”

  Her eyelids lowered marginally, and she bit her lip, causing his gaze to drop to her mouth. “I would have looked. I might have never spoken to you, but I definitely would have looked.”

  He grinned, and she tilted her face up to his. Feeling bold, he moved a few inches closer, his eyes moving between her eyes and her lips. Her grip on his hand tightened.

  He slowly lowered his head, watching her, waiting for an indication it wasn’t what she wanted.

  “Lauren?” It was a question and a warning.

  Her breath hitched, her pupils dilated, and her eyes darted to his mouth. He let go of her hand and put one arm around her, his heart beating erratically in his chest. The air sizzled between them, like a firework about to go off. There was nothing he wanted more than this woman standing before him, and he was done waiting.

  “I have one treatment left. In less than two weeks, it will be over. I know I said I wouldn’t make a move until I was done, but I don’t think I can do it anymore.” He b
rushed her auburn hair back from her face. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  For once, Lauren didn’t think about all the reasons this was a bad idea. Or at least she ignored them, pushing them deep down. Instead, she thought about how much she loved being this close to Andrew and how she wanted him closer.

  He spread one hand across her upper back, his fingers spanning the width between her shoulder blades. His other hand brushed the hair away from her face, starting ever so gently at her forehead, leaving a trail of fire across her skin as he smoothed it back.

  His proximity was dizzying, and her heart was like a drum in her chest, vibrating through her ribcage. Her breath came quickly, her breasts brushing his hard chest with each upward movement.

  He towered over her, his eyes locked on hers, and it might have been uncomfortable if it wasn’t so intense. She couldn’t form a coherent thought to save her life.

  “Andrew…” she whispered. She wasn’t telling him to stop, that was for sure. Her fingers gripped his arms tighter, her action completing the thought she couldn’t seem to say.

  He closed his eyes.

  “I have to.” His breath caressed her cheek as he spoke, and a shiver ran through her, down her spine and to the tips of her toes. He touched his forehead to hers. “I have to.” His lower lip pressed upward against her top one. It wasn’t a kiss, exactly…his mouth was open slightly and so was hers, and they weren’t properly aligned. But the feeling of him against her, his nose brushing hers as he shifted to slide both of his lips fully across hers, was earth-shattering. It seared her soul, burning her inhibitions to ash.

  She leaned in to him, molding her mouth to his, their lips becoming the single most important connection between them, despite his arms crushing her body close. A kiss could say so many things, and these words had been denied far too long.