I place my hands against his torso, feeling the lean ridges beneath his T-shirt and the heat pouring through.
He pulls me closer. With my soft body up against his hard one, I let out a quivering breath. His head bends down, and he kisses me.
First, it’s soft and warm. Our lips wrap around each other once, twice, three times before his tongue darts out and brushes against mine, eliciting a moan from me. Oh God, do I moan as chills run down my spine and right into my core.
I let my fingers explore his chest, feeling the hardened muscle, appreciating it with every swipe of his tongue, each kiss of his lips, and the rumble of pleasure coming from his mouth.
I lace my hands around his neck and pull him until our bodies are so connected that there’s no telling where one begins and the other ends. His hands are now around my waist and the back of my head, holding me as he claims me.
We kiss for a moment; we kiss for eternity. We kiss until we’re breathless, and a park attendant comes over and tells us we need to stop or leave the premises.
I burst into a fit of laughter and cling to Christian’s chest as he wraps me up in a hug and kisses the top of my head.
“Let’s get out of here.”
He doesn’t have to ask twice.
With our hands conjoined, he guides me out of the cave and out of the zoo where we run down a park path and stop under an elm to kiss some more.
My back is against a tree as he rests one hand on the bark, and the other is on my cheek, in my hair, on my waist. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and it’s better than I imagined.
Soft yet strong.
Warm yet insanely hot.
There’s no awkward dance as we get to know each other. It’s as if we’d been kissing for years.
I have nowhere to go, so I take the weight of him as he leans into me, captivating me. He’s bowing down, so I rise up to my tiptoes, and our bodies align perfectly. I gasp at the feel of his very aroused body pulsing against my core.
It drives me into a frenzy. He must sense it because he pulls back, breaking our kiss, and rests his forehead against mine as we catch our breaths.
“Your lips are red and swollen,” he says.
I run a hand along his jaw. “You should shave if you’re gonna kiss a girl like that.”
“Like what?” he teases. “How do I kiss?”
“You devoured me,” I say and watch as his tongue skims his lower lip, causing me to bite my own.
“Years of pent-up curiosity.”
I raise a brow at him. He steps back and grabs my hand, pulling me off the tree. Then, he turns around.
He shrugs off his duffel bag and takes a seat on the closest bench. “Race you to the fountain?”
My head is fuzzy from kisses and an afternoon of way too much honesty. He’s taking his skates out of the bag, followed by mine, and he puts them on the ground.
Taking a seat next to him, I put on my skates and grin as he brushes my hands away, so he can secure the buckles on them himself.
“Loser buys ice cream?” I suggest, and he nods, working on his own buckles. “Start!” I shout and get my head start down the lane that leads back toward Bethesda Fountain.
I’m not surprised when, a minute later, he’s zooming past me, powerful and giving me a fantastic view of his backside until we reach the end of the lane.
He buys me ice cream at a vendor in the park, and we enjoy it while sitting on the edge of the fountain, laughing and retelling stories of our youth.
We take the long way home, getting an extra mile in on our skates. The sun is still bright in the sky as we roll up to the front awning of my building. Salvatore is outside and opens the door at our approach.
“I’ve got it, Sal,” Christian says, letting the doorman know he can go inside.
We step out of our skates and put our shoes on. I have mine wrapped in my arms, feeling short and unsteady now that I’m back on solid ground.
“Thank you for these,” I say, gesturing toward my skates.
His dimples make an appearance with his smile. “I’m glad you had a great date.”
“So far, you’re two for two.”
He takes a step forward. “That reminds me. What are you doing next weekend?”
I look in my mental calendar and see I have nothing going on. “This is where I should say I have plans to make it seem like I’m an in-demand kinda girl, but it’s just you, so I’ll be honest and say, I have nothing.”
“Then, this is where I should say, I’ll call you and then wait two days before I ask you out again, but since it’s just you, I’m going to come out and ask you to go to the gala for the Heart Institute next weekend.”
“You still want me to go to the gala?”
He sways his head from side to side, his eyes looking around, as if trying to understand my comment. “We can go as friends.”
“Friends,” I state.
He takes a step forward, his hands firmly in his pockets. “Meadow, no matter what happens, we’re friends first and always. I won’t let that change.”
“Oh.” I don’t know why, but my heart deflates a little. “Yes, we’ll go as friends.” I step back, grab the door handle, and open the door.
“Meadow.” His word causes me to a halt.
I turn around.
“What do you think would have happened if I’d asked you to the winter formal in high school?”
“You would have broken my heart, and we wouldn’t be friends,” I say honestly.
He nods solemnly. “Promise you’ll tell me if I’m breaking your heart. If I’m taking this too far.”
The thump in my chest scares me into thinking it’s too late. I shake my head and realize how silly that thought is. One make-out session doesn’t warrant a broken heart.
“My heart has already been broken by a giant hockey player with a scantily clad woman in a hotel room. Trust me when I say, I can handle it.”
My answer seems to appease him because he leans in close and gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek.
He waits on the sidewalk as I walk into my lobby. I glimpse him turning around as Salvatore comes over and holds out a box.
I thank him and look down at the gift box with a red bow. I take it with me into the elevator and up into my apartment. I place it on the kitchen counter and untie the ribbon, lifting up the box to see a white card on top of tissue paper.
I open it and read the simple note, “Love, Christian.”
Inside the tissue paper is a sapphire silk evening gown. It’s form-fitted and elegant. I hold the fabric up to my chest and look at the length. It’s perfect.
How does a man who just declared our steadfast friendship sweep me off my feet with his chivalry and woo?
The line between fantasy and reality blurred today. I have to remember, this is only an experiment, a game … a means to an end. We’re creating a child out of love, not because we’re in love.
“Do you want the paper?” I offer my dad as he sits in the leather chair in the waiting room.
They took my mother into her procedure on time, so Dad, Brian, and I have been sitting here, waiting for over an hour.
I’ve been incessantly talking to my dad about today’s op-eds as he bounces his knee. Brian ignores us as he sits in the corner on his iPhone.
Dad takes the New York Times from me and skims over the front page, his eyes unfocused. I try to put him at ease.
“It’s a routine ablation. Thomas does them all the time.”
He folds the paper in half and rolls it up in a tube. “I know. I worry.”
Seeing my typically calm father look at the clock has me a little anxious myself.
“I wish he’d let me in to observe.”
“Thomas thinks you’ll be too bossy and tell him what to do.”
“I would never.” I blanch as Dad tilts his head down with graying eyebrows. “Okay, fine. I’d ask him a few questions. But I’d never tell him what to do. Thomas is brilliant. Mom’s in the b
est hands.”
He nods. “She wouldn’t dream of being seen by anyone else.” The paper in his hand is now being tapped into his other palm. With a deep sigh, he looks up at the television that’s playing Live with Kelly and Ryan and notions toward the screen. “She looks like a mom, don’t you think?”
I glance at the pixie of a talk show host. She has a wide smile and vibrant blue eyes, just like my mother. Her hair is also a similar style with Mom’s being a touch shorter.
“Mom could have been a TV host. She loves to tell stories.”
“People gravitate to her. Makes it easy to go places. She holds court, and I sit back to enjoy the food and drink.”
“Has she always been this charismatic?”
“Always.” He leans back and crosses his arms in front of his body, looking down toward the floor, as if recalling a memory. “On our first date, she spent the entire time telling stories about her coworkers. She was a coat model back then and has some colorful tales from the Garment District.” He laughs to himself. “I was enamored, but I wasn’t the only one. By the time dessert came, the hostess was in the seat next to me, the waiter was hovering over my shoulder, and the owner was bringing over cups of espresso because he wanted us to stay all night. Well, not me. She was the magnetic one.”
“That never bothered you? Being with someone who requires so much attention?”
A slow smile builds on his face as he looks back with a sheen to his eyes. “I’m honored just to be sitting in her presence.”
“That’s sweet. A little lame, too,” I say honestly.
“Love makes you lame.”
I let out a sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. “You set the bar high, Dad. It’s probably your fault why she’s so determined to marry me off again.”
Brian makes a grunting sound from his throat. Dad and I look over to him as he thumbs through his phone, not looking at us as he answers e-mails, I presume.
“My fault, huh?” Dad asks. “Maybe I should be a jerk every once in a while.”
I nod against his shoulder. “That would be helpful. Maybe cool it down with the love notes on your anniversary. When she wants to play cards with her friends, tell her she can’t because a woman’s place is in the house. Oh, and say her cooking sucks.”
He laughs. “I could cancel movie night. She looks forward to our popcorn dates on the couch.”
I shake my head. “Dad, everyone knows you’re the romance junkie. You cried during The Notebook.”
“Everyone cries during The Notebook.”
“Something’s Gotta Give?”
“He had sex three days after having a heart attack! It’s beautiful,” he jokes.
I hit him in the arm just before he raises it and wraps it around me, pulling me into his side. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, Meadowlark.”
Brian rises from his chair as he shakes his head with a grimace. “How much longer will she be in there? I thought he said it was a quick procedure.”
I sit up straight. “The procedure itself is quick, but the pre- and post-op procedures take time.”
He shoves his phone in his khakis. “I’m getting coffee. You want one, Dad?”
Our dad shakes his head, so Brian saunters to the far side of the waiting room where there’s a row of vending machines.
“Does he seem extra on edge to you?” I ask my dad, who shrugs.
“He was fine yesterday. We played eighteen holes on the golf course and had drinks in the clubhouse.”
“Great. So, he’s a total ass just around me.”
“You know your brother. He doesn’t express his feelings well.”
I nod, agreeing with my dad. “I need caffeine, too.”
Brian is standing at the vending machine with his hands in his pockets as he waits for his drink to be made. I sidle up next to him and listen to the screeching sound of the coffee brewing down.
“Everything good at the office?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m missing a meeting, so I’ve been getting briefed.”
Brian is the senior vice president of strategy and finance at a major brokerage firm. He’s all numbers and analytics.
“I’m sure the team is on top of things.” I look at my watch. “You’ll be in the office before lunch.”
“I’m not concerned. Mom is more important.” His words are kind, but the delivery is abrupt. “If you have somewhere more important to be, then go.”
“I’m going to chalk that up to the fact that you’re upset about Mom and taking it out on me.”
“You want one?” He grabs his coffee and then puts money in for me. A gentlemanly courtesy.
“Thanks.” I step up and look up the number-letter code for a latte.
“So, have you frozen your eggs yet?”
My finger halts on the button. “I took an appointment.”
“You’re really going to do this?” He’s incredulous.
I look behind us to where our father is still watching the TV and too far away to hear this conversation. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“I would if I thought they’d talk sense into you.”
I half-laugh and punch in my code for a latte. “Mom will probably hold my hand for my insemination. She’ll pick a random man off the street and ask for his sperm.”
“It’s so impersonal,” he states.
“It is.”
“Who will help you raise this baby?”
His words cause my head to pop up, and my eyes widen. “Why do I need anyone’s help?”
“You think this will be easy?”
“No. I—”
“Thomas!” Dad’s voice interrupts our conversation.
Our attention is diverted to Dr. Gallagher Sr., who is walking up to Dad with his hand out for a handshake. Dad stands up, and Brian and I walk over to them, neglecting the coffee that is being poured in the machine.
“Procedure went well,” Thomas starts. “We have the arrhythmia under control. It’ll take a few days to see if it holds. I got a look at the mitral valve, and there’s a significant leak. We’ll set up an appointment for her to meet with Christian.”
“How much longer do you think the valve can stay, leaking like that?” Brian asks.
“Six months. Maybe a year. Meadow will tell you, a leaking valve can sustain itself for quite some time. The good news is, she’s doing great. You can see her now.”
Dad, Brian, and Thomas exchange good-byes and manly pats on the back. I let him know I’ll see him in the office. First, I have to say hello to my mother.
We walk to the recovery room, a large room with a nurses’ station and where patients lie in their beds, some behind curtains. Mom is in the farthest bed, toward the back of the room. A nurse is blocking our view of her as she takes Mom’s blood pressure.
We take slow steps up to her, not knowing what condition we’ll find her in. To our surprise, she’s smiling.
“There’s my beautiful family!” Mom raises her right arm toward us as a nurse unwraps the blood pressure cuff. She tells the nurse, “This is my husband, George, and these are my babies, Brian and Meadow.”
Brian huffs at the fact that our mother is still referring to her thirty-six and thirty-three-year-old children as her babies. “You look great, Mom.”
“That’s what everyone says! They look at my chart in shock. It’s like they expect me to appear like I’m dying. If I had a dollar for every person who told me how good I looked, I’d be a millionaire!” She laughs loudly as the nurse enters the information into the computer.
“Looks like the procedure went well,” I say with my hand on her leg, grazing it over the sheet.
“I’m just excited I woke up. I get so nervous when they put me under. Meadow, honey, there was a dreamboat of an anesthesiologist in the operating room. Ronald. He’s Korean and single. I gave him your number.”
The nurse looks at me with an awkward glance.
I turn to Mom and explain, “That’s sweet, Mom, but I’m one hu
ndred percent sure Ronald would be more interested in Brian.”
“How so?” No sooner does she ask than her mouth forms an O as she comprehends what I mean. “Oh. Well, it doesn’t matter. If he calls, go out with him. Gay men make the best husbands.”
“Mother!” I admonish.
She closes her eyes with a flick of her hand. “Your sex life dies down after twenty years, so it shouldn’t matter if you’re gay or straight. All that matters is, he has good teeth.”
“And doesn’t look like a yeti,” Brian adds.
I squint my eyes at him even though he’s right. Brock was scruffy during the mid-season.
“I’m starving. Am I free to go now?” she asks the nurse, who gives her the okay. “Who wants Chinese food?”
“Careful getting up.” Dad grabs her arm as she sits up on the bed.
She swings her legs around and makes it to the edge. Then, she pauses. Her hand goes to the top of her head as she lets out a groan.
I rush to the bed and brace her in case she falls back. “As excited as you are to get out of here, you need to take it easy today,” I say, rubbing her back as she gains her bearings. “Go straight home and order takeout. I don’t want to see you back in the hospital ’cause you overdid it.”
She grabs my hand and rubs it between both of hers. “You’re right. I’ll spend the day in bed, eating egg rolls.”
“Good plan.” I grin.
“And watching a Meryl Streep movie. Daddy has such a crush on her.” Her comment makes him blush as she kisses his cheek. “We can watch that one with Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin. Where they get divorced and have an affair with each other.”
Dad lights up. “It’s Complicated.”
“What’s complicated about watching a movie?” Brian asks.
“Dad’s chick flick,” I explain.
Brian still looks confused. I offer to explain while we let Mom change out of her hospital gown.
We wait for Mom to sign her discharge papers and walk her and Dad downstairs to the car service they arranged to bring them here and back. Brian heads toward the subway to go to his office downtown, and I head into work.
As I head through the doors of Park Avenue Cardiology, I recognize many of our regular patients waiting on the plush sofas for their upcoming appointments. I say hello to a few, including one who has brought her granddaughter with her. The little girl with curls in her hair is throwing the magazines on the floor as her grandmother tells her she can’t make a mess of the waiting room. I walk to the reception desk and open the drawer where I keep a stack of activity books and crayons I get at the dollar store. Then, I set the girl up at the coffee table with an Elena of Avalor coloring book. Her grandmother thanks me, and I head back to the break room where I put my stuff away in my locker.
A Really Bad Idea Page 14
