Like Lovers Do

by Tracey Livesay

  Oh shit!

  She jerked up in bed, causing her brain to explode and ooze from her ears, or at least, that’s how it felt, and the contents of her stomach to rebel and revolt. She scrambled off the bed—falling hard on her knees—and searched for her phone. She found the thin white charging cord and followed it, until she located the device, connected and charged but on the floor behind the nightstand. With trembling fingers, she powered on the screen and went to her texts, immediately bringing up her last interaction.

  And what do u want?

  . . . swirl my tongue around them, savoring their feel & taste . . .

  . . . I’m so wet.

  Can I feel?

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  She’d drunk sexted Ben!

  And sent him a tit pic!

  She wanted to curl into a ball and hide among the debris and dust bunnies floating beneath the bed. Instead she scooted backward on her ass until she was propped up against the side of the mattress.

  What must he think of her?

  Nic wasn’t ashamed of her body and she didn’t have a problem engaging in fun, flirty sexy talk. She’d shared both with prior lovers. But her relationship with Ben was special. When she thought about it, he was the most important man in her life. She leaned on him and depended on him in a way that she usually reserved for her mother or her friends. It was different from any relationship she had with any other man. Hell, he’d watched her put her curls into two strand twists before stuffing them all into her satin-lined bonnet. She considered that more intimate than sex.

  What if I start with my hands? Gently cover those breasts, then press them hard against you, as your nipples pebble against my palms?

  Even now, remembering the words he’d typed, heat pooled at the apex of her— Wait a minute! She’d thought she was texting Carlos, a resident she’d hooked up with a few times over the years. But Ben had known she was on the other end of the texts.

  Had known and responded.

  Had Ben thought about her in that way? Imagined his hands on her body, his tongue laving her nipples? And now that she saw those words attributed to him, could hear his voice saying them to her, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to forget it. But she had to. As she always said, dick came and went but true friends stood the test of time.

  Despite the sexy promise of those texts, they weren’t worth losing him. And if they took their friendship beyond its platonic bounds, that would be its inevitable result. She couldn’t give him the kind of relationship he was seeking. She didn’t want to.

  What a complete and utter fucked-up mess! She lifted her phone and checked the time. 9:47 a.m. On a typical day she would be hours into her shift at the hospital. The good news was that Ben had already left for his office. He was diligent about his schedule, meaning he probably wouldn’t return until early evening. She planned to be long gone by then. She couldn’t face him, not when her humiliation was still so fresh. She wouldn’t avoid him forever, just long enough to get her head around what had happened and figure out how to best act.

  Because if she did that, if she spent valuable brain activity worrying about Ben, she couldn’t dwell on her fellowship. Her shoulders slumped. The fellowship that she’d worked hard for. That would make her one of the most sought-after orthopedic surgeons in the country. That would imbue her with the financial security and respect she’d sought her entire life.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself! This isn’t over!

  Damn straight. She wasn’t going to take this situation lying down. If they thought she was going to slink away quietly and let them get away with this shit, they had another think coming. She could do both, figure out how to deal with her fellowship and her relationship with Ben!

  Her stomach roiled.

  Later.

  She couldn’t do anything until she dealt with this hangover. Exhaling deeply and resigned to the fact that this was going to be unpleasant, she forced herself to stand and waited for the world to stop spinning. Then, with slow, cautious steps, she headed to the bathroom.

  Next time, order yourself a Shirley-fucking-Temple and stay away from the exotic drinks with dirty names!

  Thirty minutes later, feeling marginally better after a hot shower and clad in leggings and a T-shirt that read “BAE: Black and Educated,” she trudged upstairs to Ben’s kitchen in search of Gatorade. He bought cases of the electrolyte drink for after he worked out. Usually, she loved the light-filled space but this morning she was grateful she’d grabbed her shades to counteract the sun’s rays.

  Nic placed her bottle of Advil on the counter then went into the small pantry and snagged a bottle of Gatorade and a loaf of wheat bread. Returning to the counter, she exhaled at the exertion. Her head throbbed and she regretted her decision to put the shower first. She was wasting her time on this whole orthopedic surgery thing. Imagine the money she could make coming up with a pill to instantly cure the effects of a hangover?

  Popping the cap, she took two pills and downed them with almost half a bottle of the drink. That would take care of the pain and the lost electrolytes. Some toast to settle her stomach and then she’d lie down and let the measures take effect. She slid a slice in the toaster, then went for a plate. Ben kept them on the second shelf, which normally wasn’t a big deal, but today, her arms felt like concrete and stretching on her tippy toes to reach the dishes was sapping what little energy she had.

  Sometimes, she hated being short.

  Fuck it, she’d grab a paper towel and try not to get crumbs on the floor.

  “Let me get that for you.”

  At Ben’s words, her heart practically triple-jumped out of her chest. But before she could fully register the shock at his unexpected presence, the heat of his body seeped into hers, rendering her boneless. Thankfully, the hardness of his chest pressed against her back anchored her or she would’ve melted into a puddle on the floor. He rested one hand on her hip, and reached up to grab a plate with the other.

  “Here you go,” he said, setting the dish on the counter.

  Was it her imagination, or did his hand flex and tighten on her before he stepped back?

  “Thanks,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. It was the hangover, not Ben. She turned to face him, glad he couldn’t see her eyes behind the tinted lenses. “I thought you’d be at work.”

  “I’m going. But I wanted to wait until I knew you were okay.” He hooked a finger around her glasses and tried to slide them down her nose. “That bad, huh?”

  His touch sent her insides scrambling, like the time she’d ridden the Tilt-a-Whirl at the Tipton County Fair. That had to be the hangover, too, right?

  She reached up and grabbed them, holding them in place. “I’ve been better.”

  She scooted away from him, though the deliciousness of his cologne followed her, in torturous glee. He was dressed for the office, in heather gray slacks and a baby blue button-down shirt. A smile lit his face, causing his soulful eyes to crinkle. Damn, that grin was lethal. How had she remained immune to it all this time?

  And “soulful”? Since when had his eyes become “soulful”?

  This hangover was having one hell of an effect on her.

  “I’m sure you have.” He nodded toward her head. “Indulging in a new beauty treatment?”

  Her hand flew up and her eyes closed at the squishy sound confirming the plastic cap she wore. Great. Could embarrassment flush the hangover toxins from her body?

  Funnily enough, this was better than what she’d seen when she’d glanced at herself in the mirror this morning. She’d forgotten, or had been unable, to tie her hair up last night and had awakened looking like the bride of Frankenstein, minus the Hollywood special effects. She’d had no choice but to wash it. “Deep conditioning my hair.”

  “Priorities,” he said, amusement coating his features. The toaster popped. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll bring it to you.”

  She shook her head and regretted it immediately. Wincing, she said, “You don’t ha
ve to do that. Go to work. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve got it. And I’ll make you my special hangover remedy.”

  In spite of herself, she laughed. Not good, either. She seized the plate he’d gotten down. “Thanks, but no. I took Advil and drank some of your Gatorade. The rest is just time.”

  “Spoken like a doctor.” At her furrowed brow, he elaborated, “No imagination. Trust me?”

  Other than her mother and Ava, Caila, and Lacey, she couldn’t think of anyone she trusted more.

  “Yes.”

  His expression softened. “Then go sit down and let me do this for you.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pried the dish from her hand, then set about gathering ingredients. She shivered and looked at her arm, certain there had to be some physical manifestation of the sensations stirring just beneath her skin. Slowly, she turned and headed over to the sofa. She could joke about the hangover being responsible, but she knew it was all her fault. She’d roused this newfound awareness of him. Ben was her friend. Why had she ruined everything by sending those texts and that damn picture?

  “What happened last night?” he asked.

  Dammit. He wanted to talk about it now? Before she could get her bearings? Was that going to be the price for his magical hangover cure?

  She must’ve taken too long to respond because he elaborated, “About work. Did you find out anything new?”

  Thank God! He was talking about work. That she could handle.

  “It’s as bad as I thought. Whitaker’s father believes I unfairly reprimanded his son, and despite several accounts that support my actions, he’s threatening to reach out to Newman.”

  Ben came into the living room, placed everything on the coffee table, then sat on its edge facing her. “I’m sorry, Nic.”

  His shirt hugged his broad shoulders and the fabric of his slacks stretched over his leanly muscled thighs. She drank some Gatorade to replenish the missing moisture in her mouth. “Yeah, me, too.”

  He started as if to speak then stopped and turned his head to look off toward the kitchen.

  Aww, hell.

  “What?” She already felt like shit. She couldn’t feel any worse. She might as well deal with this now and get it all out of the way.

  “I want to say something but I . . . I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

  They needed to talk about it. The longer they didn’t, the more awkward it would become. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “Look, I was trying to text my co-worker Carlos—”

  “I can ask my parents to make a few phone calls—”

  They spoke at the same time. Nic pressed her palms to her heated cheeks as his words broke through.

  “. . . ask my parents to make a few phone calls . . .”

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  He stared at her, his gaze intense, and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to respond. The energy emanating from him suddenly felt hot and dangerous and she waited, with bated breath.

  What are you going to do, Ben?

  Something shifted in his dark brown eyes and though he didn’t physically move, it felt like he’d taken a step back.

  “That intern isn’t the only one with pull. The Van Monts know everyone, including a lot of influential people at Duke. I can ask my parents to make a few calls on your behalf.”

  Astonishment stole her breath. She’d expected several things. That hadn’t been one of them.

  She pressed a hand against her chest. “You’d do that for me?”

  “If it would help,” he said, his tone solemn.

  If it would help? Hell yeah, it’d help! Having one of the renowned Van Monts speak to Dr. Newman on her behalf would demolish whatever some random donor said about her.

  Talk about meeting clout with clout.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He shrugged, but she wasn’t fooled by the nonchalant gesture. Ben didn’t get along with his parents and tried to keep as much distance as possible between them. She knew how difficult it would be for him to make that request.

  For her.

  Nic bit her lower lip. “Why was that so hard for you to say to me?”

  “Because you don’t like asking people for help and I didn’t want you to feel beholden to me. That’s not why I offered.”

  Tears clogged the back of her throat at his generosity. He knew her so well. Understood how she thought. And he was right that accepting his assistance would be difficult for her. But she’d take him up on his offer. She wasn’t stupid. Still, there had to be something she could do for him. To take this from a favor that would hang over her head until she paid him back to a sort of quid pro quo . . .

  “I’ll do it,” she said loudly.

  And then immediately regretted her exuberance.

  Attractive furrows dotted his brow. “Do what?”

  She lowered her voice. “I’ll be your pretend girlfriend.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember, when your friend Davis came here to tell you about Temperance—”

  He huffed out a laugh. “You mean Tinsley.”

  She waved her hand. “Whatever. You were worried about her being there and you didn’t want it to ruin your time with your friends. Davis said you should bring someone and since you’re not dating anyone, take me. I’ll do it. It’s not exactly an even trade, but—”

  He pulled her close and she froze, her arms hanging at her sides.

  She was hugging Ben. No big deal. They’d hugged before. But why did this feel different? Why was she noticing things she hadn’t noticed before? Like how great he smelled? She nuzzled her nose against the base of his neck and inhaled. Damn. Could she manufacture his scent? Make that a part of her hangover cure? Cautiously, she wrapped her arms around his waist and returned his embrace.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “It isn’t necessary, but I do appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” She cleared her throat. “Now, you need to go into the office and I need to get some rest. I am never drinking again.”

  She didn’t want to let go. But she did.

  He studied her face, then nodded. “I’ll give you a call later, to check up on you.”

  “I’m not sick. I’m being punished for making horrible decisions last night. You’re being too nice.”

  “Of course. Because one shouldn’t be too nice to their friends,” he said, bracing his hands on his thighs and pushing himself to his feet.

  “Exactly. I’ll be fine. Go to work and try not to lose your clients’ life savings, please. Including mine. I may need it earlier than anticipated.”

  She settled back into the sofa’s cushions, happy that things seemed to be back to normal between them. Maybe she hadn’t ruined things by sexting him last night. He hadn’t mentioned it and he was willing to do her a wonderful favor.

  “Alright, I’m going. But if I can’t call,” he said, his confident stride sounding against the hardwood floor, “how about I text a dick pic? I hear sending naked pictures is how all the cool kids are communicating with their friends these days.”

  She grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his retreating back.

  “Too soon?” His laugh echoed as he closed the front door behind him.

  Chapter Nine

  Ben pulled to a stop in front of the oversized four-car garage on the large concrete driveway. He cut the engine of his car and twisted in his seat to face Nic. Guilt tightened his chest at the picture she presented. Her eyes were closed, body curled in the fetal position—as much as she could in the front seat, and her head rested against the leather, her lips slightly parted. Last week, her nausea had been caused by her actions. Today, it was caused by his.

  He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to do this for him. He hadn’t intended to hold her to the proposition she’d made. He’d been willing to chalk it up to the gratitude she’d felt for his offer to talk to his parents on her behal
f and he’d told her as much the following day.

  “I’m going. You do for me. I do for you.”

  That was part of the problem, too. He wanted to do for her; do to her. Lots of things. Things that friends shouldn’t do to or for one another. And though, other than his joke, they hadn’t spoken of that night again, Ben couldn’t deny that something had changed.

  In the past, when he’d let his guard down and thought about her in that way, he’d been able to overcome those urges because of their friendship and because, as great as Nic was, Ben knew he could never be involved with a doctor. But after their sexting session, it was getting harder to ignore that voice, harder to stand firm behind “hell no!” and not to edge over into “maybe?”

  Reaching across, he touched the curl that lay on her cheek, projecting a softness he knew she’d hate, and tucked it behind her ear. “We’re here.”

  Her lashes fluttered, then opened and in that rare, unguarded moment, he saw so much in their stunning green depths. Softness, warmth, pleasure, discomfort, pain, and realization. She uncurled from her position and his mouth watered at the length of creamy light gold skin. Nic was petite, but even in her small form, she was mostly legs. And he appreciated every inch.

  She touched the back of her wrist to the corners of her mouth. “If I’d known about this, you would’ve been on your own.”

  “I didn’t know you get seasick. The only way to access Martha’s Vineyard is by boat or plane.”

  Her eyes widened comically. “We could’ve flown?”

  He coughed to cover his chuckle, certain she wouldn’t appreciate his amusement. “I’ll make arrangements to fly back. I promise.”

  He’d stopped at a drugstore as soon as he could and picked her up some Dramamine. Unfortunately, they’d had only the drowsy formula in stock, but he thought the nap might restore the energy she needed to get through the day.

  He handed her the small plastic bag. “The next time we’re in town, we can check some other stores and find you a nondrowsy version. Just in case.”

  She shook her head. “In case of what? I’m not getting on another boat. And if that was your sneaky plan to try and off me to get out of all the House Hunters bets you’ve lost, you’re gonna have to do better.”