by Nova Rain
Chapter Five
Sean
Was that a mistake?
This question dominated my mind, long after I woke up the next morning. I had no idea who I would be having dinner with in a few hours. Would it be the loving woman who had kissed me in my office, or would it be the short-tempered girl who demanded “nowhere public”? And what in the world was that all about? So what if we didn’t move in the same circles? There was no rule against me meeting with someone who doesn’t work in a hospital. Of course, I could speculate why she would not want to be seen in public with me. I was a doctor; I was nothing like the “street” guys with whom she socialized. Perhaps her friends would mock her for going out with someone so different from them. Still, this was just a theory. Until she and I met that night, it was impossible for me to verify it.
At any rate, I had the opportunity of beholding that incredible beauty once more. In spite of her unpredictability, I had to admit that Monica was a work of art. Whatever transpired at this dinner, I would get to be in the company of a stunner. I could marvel at that hair, that skin tone and that figure for as long as she stayed in my house.
Her question right after my proposal had indeed limited my options. She wouldn’t appreciate fancy meals, full of numerous courses neither of us could pronounce. And if I set a romantic mood, there was a good chance she would hurtle out of here and call me all sorts of “niceties.” Therefore, I chose to keep it simple. I went online and found some quick and easy pizza recipes. Then, I selected my favorite ingredients: mozzarella, ham, bacon, mushrooms and fresh tomato. Forty-five minutes later, the smell of molten cheese was tantalizing my nostrils.
Checking the pizza, I heard my doorbell ring. As I answered my door, I was reminded of the fact that Monica wasn’t the “girliest” of girls. She looked more like a female rock star from the eighties. Her attire consisted of knee-high, black boots, tight jeans torn just above the left kneecap and a leather jacket.
“Good evening. Interesting outfit,” I commented, holding the door open.
“Hi. Cute apron,” she smiled in reply, stepping inside.
“Crap…” I muttered under my breath, reaching behind my back to untie the apron. Its reddish color didn’t exactly make me look masculine.
“It’s nice seeing this place with the lights on,” Monica remarked, scanning the living room. “Ooh, I have got to get me one of these,” she went on, noticing the 70-inch TV in the upper left corner. “Watching NASCAR must feel pretty realistic.”
“Gee, I wonder why you like to watch custom-made cars race one another,” I spoke in ironic tones.
“Is that so bad?” she asked, turning to face me.
“No, but it does confirm what I saw last night,” my voice returned to its normal registers. “You’re a street racer, aren’t you?”
“You say this because I like NASCAR?” Surprise pitched her own voice higher.
“Because of the way you drive,” I pointed out, intensifying my stare. “Monica, you took that corner at what, sixty miles an hour? Or was it seventy? Also, that Mercedes Kate was driving is a ridiculous car. The torque it produces tends to destroy the tires, and its brakes overheat when you drive it at the limit. Now, I don’t know about the tires, it was too dark for me to check, but I do know that Kate couldn’t stop last night because the brakes were cooked.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” she inquired, taking a step closer to me.
“Have a seat,” I suggested, pulling a chair from the table. “Pizza’s ready.”
She gave me a puzzled glance, before brushing past me. To be honest, bringing up this matter just seconds into her visit wasn’t what I had planned. I didn’t want to mess with her temper. This was just a spontaneous reaction to her comment on my TV. Still, it was a good start. The two of us had something in common, and this was precisely the matter I meant to discuss with her.
Pulling the door open, I eased the tray out and set it on the table. With the pizza cutter in my hand, I seated myself beside Monica, stealing a glance at her. The expression on her face sent waves of disappointment washing over me. She was pressing her lips together, keeping her gaze on her thighs. The relaxed girl who had just walked into my home was gone. Now, she resembled the burglar I had confronted in my BMW.
“Relax,” I urged, slicing the pizza. “I didn’t invite you over to judge you.”
“Well, you didn’t sound like you like street racers,” she stated. “FYI, I took that corner at sixty-eight miles an hour.”
“I don’t like street racing,” I stated, assuming an emphatic tone. “I think it’s stupid, dangerous, and irresponsible. Male street racers are all about one thing: posturing. Somehow, they all think that jacking up their cars is cool. Trust me, there’s nothing cool about winding up in the ER with fifty shattered bones and brain injuries. I’ve had sixteen cases of street racers in the three years I’ve worked as an ER doctor. Three of them died. Five of them will have to spend the rest of their lives in a wheelchair.”
“It does have its perks,” Monica countered, sinking her teeth into the crust. “I can make five or ten grand in a single race.”
“Ten grand…” I gave a mocking leer, recalling some of the prizes I had won over the years. “I’ve made a lot more from racing, and guess what: I never have to jeopardize my safety or anyone else’s. That’s how I know about all that Benz’s faults.”
“You…” she swallowed a chunk of pizza, her brows shooting up.
“...Race? Yeah,” I answered her question before she even posed it. “I just like to do it on race tracks, not on the street. Do you remember that Camaro I was driving the other night?”
“Yes?”
“I won it from my hospital manager, about three months ago,” I continued, pouring water into her glass. “I raced him for slips in Beaumont Motorsports Park; it’s a race track just past Yonkers Raceway. He’s a great neurosurgeon, but he doesn’t have a clue about cars. No one told him that muscle cars are fast in a straight line, but suck at taking corners. He was so adamant that he could beat my M3 that he bet his Camaro.”
“Okay, wait a minute,” she murmured. “That M3 costs more than a hundred grand. I know you’re a doctor, but you’re still pretty young. You can’t have bought it by racing. I mean, what kind of racing is that? How come I’ve never heard of it?”
“It’s nothing…” I paused, “...official per se. It’s just some amateurs racing each other in stock cars. And most of them are quite rich. Again, I should point out, it’s safe. We wear racing overalls and crash helmets. There have been some incidents over the years, but nobody’s ever suffered anything more than a few bruises. That track I mentioned is open to the general public on Tuesdays. I tell you what. Let’s go there together next week. See for yourself how fun it is.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” All of a sudden, her voice lost its nerve. Monica tore her gaze away from me, as if I’d suggested something terrible.
“Listen up,” I urged, my tone stiff. “I’ve had enough street racers die on me. You’re a talented driver, there’s no doubt about that, but make no mistake. If you don’t stop this street racing thing, you’ll end up dead or disabled. I don’t want that fate for you. I believe you deserve better.”
Monica brought her gaze back up to mine, swallowing hard. I was desperate to hear what she had to say after my little rant. Once more however, she shut down on me, and preferred to gaze up into my eyes. Just when I was about to break my silence, I sensed a featherlike touch on my knuckles. A mere glance down confirmed my suspicion. Monica was tracing her fingers down mine as she sucked in a deep breath.
“Do you mean that?” She spoke in a wobbly tone, tears pooling in her eyes.
“Of course I do,” I nodded, my own tone mellower this time. A smile of hesitation burst upon her lips as she lifted her hand up to my face. Scooting her chair nearer to mine, Monica brushed her lips against my mouth.
“Why are you so kind to me?” she whispered, caressing my cheek.
>
“Why shouldn’t I be?” I answered with a question of my own, unable to understand why she wanted to know that.
“You’re going to get me in trouble, Dr. Granger,” she added in a feathery voice, her lips half an inch from mine, “in big trouble. You…”
I didn’t allow her to finish her sentence. The temptation was much too great for me. I pushed her hair back from her face and claimed her lips, her touch sending shivers down my spine. I trailed my fingers across her temple, savoring the tenderness in her kiss. Unlike in my office, there was no haste in it. There was just the desire to enjoy the moment. I sensed the tip of her tongue sliding across my upper lip. My body was aching for more, urging me to take her to bed. Nonetheless, my mind protested against that notion. I might have tamed the feisty redhead for just a few minutes, but one mistake would be enough to destroy everything. So, I pecked a quick kiss on the gap between her nose and her mouth and leaned back.
“Is that your idea of trouble?” I teased her in a near whisper.
“No,” she chuckled, shaking her head lightly. “Sorry; I have to go. What time do you want to meet on Tuesday?”
“Four o’clock is fine.” I replied, somewhat disappointed by her statement. “We’ll have enough daylight for at least one hour of fun.”
“Okay,” she nodded in agreement. “Well, thanks a lot for tonight. I had a great time.”
“Let me walk you to the door,” I suggested as she arose to her 5’6” stature. Trotting alongside her, I scanned her body from top to bottom. Boy was I tempted to reach out and grab that tiny little waist and hold her close. In fact, I couldn’t believe that I was letting her go without insisting she stayed. That didn’t matter, though. My goal that night wasn’t seducing her. It was getting through to her. Monica had to learn a different way of exploiting her talent. Otherwise, it would all go to waste.
Chapter Six
Monica
Was that real? Had that man said all those nice things to me, or was it just my imagination? The taste of his kiss sure felt real.
Half an hour later, I was rolling down the streets of the South Bronx, and I could still feel his soft lips caressing my mouth. I was going to meet my friend Jessica at “Donnie’s” bar, our favorite hangout, and my mind was still in Sean’s place. He didn’t know it, but allowing me to leave without demanding anything more had earned him some brownie points with me. I had lost count of the losers who tried to get into my pants on the first date. I was sick and tired of the same, ridiculous lines, such as “Get ready for a rough ride,”; “I’ve got a real beast hiding in my pants, care to see it?”; and “I can’t wait to take that sweet ass for a spin.”
Barf.
For the first time in my life, I was with a real man, not some idiot who thought that car tune-ups would turn me on. Sean was thinking with his head. The words coming out of his mouth were a product of thought. He was looking at me in the eye. He didn’t even imply anything about me spending the night at his house. When I told him I had to go, he did the gentlemanly thing and respected my want.
Wait, did I just call that a “date”? No. Okay, it had the ending of a date, but it didn’t feel like one at the beginning. It was more like two old friends catching up. And that’s what baffled me. How was it even possible? We were not friends. We had known each other for a few days, and we had a rocky relationship. I definitely wasn’t expecting a Christmas card from him. Still, there was a sense of familiarity in the air. The atmosphere between us was casual, although his bluntness could have ruined everything right from the start. It didn’t go down well with me. Yes, recognizing my driving skills was a sign of intelligence, but he could have waited until we’d finished dinner. In spite of that though, we didn’t argue. How could I have an argument with someone that soft-spoken, polite and… well, hot. That bastard’s looks had affected me. If I had any chance of sleeping with that hunk, screaming at him was guaranteed to blow it.
As usual, the idea of finding some parking space outside of “Donnie’s” turned out to be a joke. It was one of the hippest bars in the South Bronx, and very popular among street racers. The light-green neon sign over the entrance was flashing in the dark, while groups of people were pouring in. The voice of 50 Cent roared out of the hall, loud beats ripping through Central Park Avenue. On any other night, I’d walk in and shake my hips. Yet, after my second kiss with Sean, I didn’t feel like dancing. Standing next to Jessica’s scarlet Supra, I raised the collar of my jacket and called her.
“Yeah?” The noise from the bar forced me to pull my phone away from my ear.
“Jess, it’s me. Come outside. I need to talk to you about something.”
“Are you crazy?” she squeaked. “It’s freezing out there!
“Now, Jessica,” I commanded, putting some force into my voice.
“Fine.”
I pressed the red button and shoved the phone back into the pocket of my jacket, my eyes on the glass entrance of “Donnie’s.” I had let down one of my closest friends, but I didn’t have much choice. I needed her to listen to me. Soon enough, Jessica emerged from the bar, a light breeze blowing her blonde, frizzy hair around.
“Well, well, well… if it ain’t Diana Ross,” I teased, flashing a toothy grin at her.
“Seriously?” she groaned, glaring over at me. “You’re twenty minutes late, you’re ruining my dance, and you’re making fun of my hair?”
A snort of amusement escaped me. “Get over here.”
“So, how did it go with Dr. Righteous?” she asked in an ironic tone. “Were you late because his lecture lasted too long? I still don’t understand why you agreed to that. You…”
“Hey! Slow down!” I shouted, understanding that she was just at the beginning of another one of her rants. “We’ve been over why I agreed to it, and I’m not going to repeat myself. As for Sean?” I drew in a sharp breath, “he didn’t lecture me.”
“Huh?” Jessica raised an eyebrow.
“You heard me,” I nodded. “He cooked me dinner—which, by the way, was delicious—heard me out, gave me some advice and, uh…” I paused. “He kissed me. Girl, he’s a great kisser. He didn’t rush it; he didn’t start to grab me.” I sighed. “It was perfect.”
“Typical Monica,” she grumbled, pursing her lips, “stands her friends up to get laid. Why did I even bother asking?”
“Actually, we didn’t have sex,” I declared, keeping the calmness in my voice. “Sean was a gentleman to me. He even walked me out of his house.”
“Honey, I left a handmade cigarette in your kitchen cabinet last Friday.” Urgency crept into Jessica’s tone. “You didn’t by any chance pick smoking back up, did you?”
I let out a loud laugh. “Nope; I’m not making anything up, Jessica. It happened. And guess what. Sean has a thing for racing. He just prefers racetracks. We’re going over to Beaumont on Tuesday.”
“Are you sure you didn’t smoke that cigarette?” Jessica insisted, assuming a firmer tone.
“Yes, I’m sure!” I banged my head in frustration. “Why the hell is that so hard for you to believe?”
“He’s six four, has washboard abs, chest as blocky as a chest of drawers, killer jawline, ER doctor and he’s a racer,” she added, her gaze hollow, “Am I forgetting anything?”
“No, that’s about it,” I retorted. “I tell you what. I’ll get a few pictures the next time I see him. Good enough?”
“No, sweetheart,” she shook her head in denial. “That’s in two days. I can’t wait that long. We’re going over to his place: right now.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I sighed, pressing my hands to my temples. “What am I going to say to him? ‘Hey, Sean. My crazy friend here thinks I made you up, so, I brought her over to see that you’re real’?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to ring his doorbell,” she claimed, her tone relaxing. “Come on; let’s go.”
Try to dissuade her.
That was my initial thought. I had just come back from a wonderful me
eting with Sean. I would hate for him to find me on his front lawn, along with a weird girl who didn’t even know what “patience” was. Alas, that would be a waste of time. Jessica was mad at me for being late, and this was my punishment: tolerating her impatience and her curiosity.
“Damn it…” she spoke through gritted teeth as we drove off in her car. “I forgot to ask you about Kate’s accident. How is she?”
“She’s okay,” I informed. “She’s getting discharged tomorrow morning, thanks to Dr. Righteous and his friend. I’ve never seen anybody so calm after an accident. It was like he’d seen someone crossing an empty street. That’s how cool he was.”
“I hate to break it to you, but he’s got to stay calm in situations like those,” Jessica maintained. “Imagine an ER doctor getting all hysterical and panicky. They’d lay him off in a heartbeat.”
“Yeah, but still…” I pressed my lips together. “He didn’t demonstrate any emotion at all. How can someone do that?”
“You worry about that when you guys are together,” she advised, taking her attention off the road up ahead to look at me. “That’s if he exists.”
“It’s 1829 Carlton Drive.” I gave her his address, ignoring her comment. I kept my mouth shut for the remainder of our drive. Mentioning anything else about Sean would lead to more of her “smart” remarks. I did enjoy her sarcasm every now and then, but this time, she was questioning my story. It was easier for me to wait until she saw the man to whom I had been referring.
By the time we arrived back in Sean’s neighborhood, there was hardly any traffic, apart from a black Jeep Cherokee in the opposite lane. Jessica turned off the headlights first and then the engine, before parking her Supra under a tall elm tree. The lights in Sean’s living room were on, whereas the white curtains in the windows were drawn. His front lawn was shimmering under the lush moonlight. The BMW in his driveway just past it caught Jessica’s attention in seconds.
