by Jade Sinner
“Oh, hi.” Maybe I’m imagining it because I want it to be there, but I think I pick up on some kind of surprise-relief-happiness. “I’m Ashlyn.”
Damn. She said Ash before. I’m sure of it. I assumed it was short for Ashley. But Ashlyn? That name brings back some memories from long ago. The one that got away. Literally.
She pushes a button and the cuff on my arm squeezes again. “Still feeling all right?”
“Better than I have in weeks.” I’ve been in some motherfucking pain for a while. I shouldn’t have been showing off for my team. It was stupid. But I wanted my players to see my talent. Aspire to be like me. Know they were being coached by someone who knew what the hell he was doing. I didn’t play college baseball—and almost go pro—because I was no good at it.
This broke-down shoulder put an end to any hope I had for making it into the pros. I was forced to trade that life for one back in my hometown as a high school baseball coach.
I felt that fucking rotator cuff rip when I was showing the boys my speedball. I wanted to lie on the field and cry like a baby but I held it together in front of them. No way I’d let those kids see me like that.
“They put a block in your shoulder for pain control and immobilization.” Explains why it feels so good right after surgery.
“Which means it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker when it wears off, right?”
Emma swats my leg. “Ryan.”
“Yeah, it’s going to hurt but the doctor will send you home with a prescription for pain meds. You’ll be fine if you don’t wait until it starts hurting to take it. But we’ll talk about that when I give you discharge instructions.”
This was an outpatient surgery so she’ll be sending me home soon. That means I have to work fast if I’m going to score a date with her before I go.
She isn’t wearing a ring on her finger but that doesn’t mean she’s not married or dating someone. I don’t know if nurses are allowed to wear jewelry at work. “Are you single?”
She doesn’t crack a smile as she peels my gown back to inspect my bandage again. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you give me your number so I can call you later? I’d really like to take you out to dinner or something.”
“Or something?” Her veil of hair has fallen again so I can’t see her face as she draws on my bandage. “I don’t go out with patients.”
No way I’m taking that for an answer. “Then it’s a good thing I won’t be your patient much longer.”
This is crazy as hell. I wake up from surgery, see this angel standing over me, and lose my fucking mind because I’m scared I’ll never see her again. I won’t let this be the last time I ever see her.
She releases my gown and steps back. “Dressing still looks good.”
“And so do you.” I know I’m coming on strong but the countdown is on. I need to convince her to go out with me before she kicks my ass out of this bed.
“I don’t date players.”
I point to my injured shoulder. “Mets put me on the bench. Not a player anymore.”
“I think we both know you are.” Her eyes lock with mine and I see her. I mean I really see her.
“Wait. I know you. You’re…her.” Ashlyn, from five years ago.
She quickly looks away without a reply. “Doc will be in to round on you in a bit and we’ll see about getting you out of here.”
She’s the one. I’m certain of it.
The girl I met five years ago at a party.
The girl in my bed who slipped away in the middle of the night.
The girl I haven’t been able to forget.
Holy shit. I walked into that recovery room to take care of my patient, never expecting it to be him. Ryan. One of two people who without fail I’ve thought of every day for the last five years.
Ryan Briggs. I didn’t know his last name until now. Not that I couldn’t have found out if I wanted. But I wasn’t interested. I wanted to forget him. Forget that night. Forget those eyes.
Those pale blue eyes. I’ve seen them every day of my life since that night. Hard not to when you have a daily reminder.
You are beautiful. I knew it was him the minute I heard those three words leave his mouth. They’re the same ones he told me that night. And I believed him.
I’d just had the hardest nursing exam and skills check-off of my life. Passed by the skin of my teeth. I needed to blow off some steam and escape the stress so I could get my head in check for what was coming next. I swore I was going to do better. I had to. I couldn’t afford to flunk out of nursing school when my family was depending on me.
It was homecoming weekend at UT. My best friend, Brittany, invited me over for the game and all the festivities. Huge mistake. I shouldn’t have gone.
No. That isn’t the truth. Going to that party was the best decision of my life.
Brittany scored an invite to a shindig being thrown by her classmate, Brantley, and his friends, Ryan, Ben, and Drake. Ben and Brantley were a pair of big-fucking-deal baseball players for Tennessee. Sounded like the perfect kind of fun before returning to nursing classes the next week. Cardiac. I wasn’t looking forward to starting that unit. The class ahead of us said it was hell and about half failed the exam.
I was surprised when I caught the attention of one of the hotshot baseball players. Not that I wasn’t a catch but I pegged him and his buddy as the kind of guys who’d go for the sorority-girl type. Not someone with a serious agenda like me. But Ryan overlooked every one of those sorority girls to see me. Talk to me. The girl from a community college nursing program, praying she graduated so she could take on some of her family’s financial burden.
Ryan wanted to know everything about me: Where I was from. What I was doing in school. What kind of nurse I wanted to be. We drank and talked and talked and drank. I wasn’t just a little tipsy. I was totally trashed.
The party got crazy. Like really crazy. We could hardly hear each other over the thumping bass, and I wanted to hear every word he had to say, so it seemed like a great idea when he asked me to go upstairs with him to his bedroom where it was quiet and calm.
We stretched out side by side on the bed, facing one another, and talked for hours. That’s all we did. He didn’t even try to kiss me. I admit that was disappointing but I simultaneously liked it because it meant he hadn’t brought me to his room with the intention of using me to get laid.
Lying next to one another, fully clothed. That’s how we drifted off. But not how we awakened.
I don’t know who made the first move. I only remember waking in the middle of the night, the room dimly lit by the bedside lamp, and Ryan lying on top of me.
His long, lean baseball-player-esque body was nestled between my parted legs, his hard-on pressed against me. Rocking. Thrusting. And I didn’t tell him to stop. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was the one who made the first move toward getting naked.
I’m not sure if it was the alcohol or our intense physical chemistry, but I wanted him. Bad. And I was going all the way despite the fact that it was my first time.
A panty dropper at a drunken college party. That’s how I came to lose my virginity at nineteen to a guy whose last name I didn’t even know.
“I discharged both my patients. Want me to watch yours so you can grab lunch?”
“Yes! That would be great.” And what would be even more awesome is if Hutch came around and discharged Ryan Briggs while I’m away so I don’t have to see him again. “Vitals are due on the half-hour.”
You’re. . .her. I push the lettuce around on my plate as I consider what those two words mean.
Her, the girl he screwed while he had a girlfriend?
Her, the girl who was dumb enough to go upstairs and hand over her virginity?
Her, the girl who was so easy he didn’t even have to tell her his last name to get laid?
Ryan was pretty drunk. He probably doesn’t even realize he took my virginity. Probably assumes I was a whore who wanted to hook up with a baseball star
like all the other girls at that party.
“Needed a break from my brother, eh?”
I look up at the sound of the woman’s voice. Ryan’s sister. Great. He hasn’t been discharged yet. “When you’re a nurse and someone offers to watch your patients so you can grab lunch, you don’t say no, since the chance will likely not present itself again.”
She sits on the bench across from me. “He’s not happy another nurse took your place. He wants you.” A grin spreads across her face. “In a long string of choice words, he told her to get out and send you back to be his nurse again.”
“Martha’s an excellent nurse. She’ll take great care of your brother.”
Emma grimaces as she pushes her shoulders back and straightens her spine. “He’s going ballistic; he thinks you left and won’t be coming back in to see him.”
That was the plan but not if he’s potentially going to be mouthing off to my co-workers about the past. I can’t have him asking questions or getting answers about me and my present life, so it’s time to put out this fire.
I gather my lunch to toss in the trash. “I’m on my way back.”
Emma’s expression is apologetic. “I shouldn’t have disturbed you on your lunch break. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Ryan Briggs killed any appetite I might have had.
“I don’t know why my brother’s being so nuts. Anesthesia always makes him say funny things but he’s never been this way.”
“We’ll blame the drugs.” Not the fact that he’s waking up from anesthesia and recalling a night from five years ago.
Ryan’s demanding I return to be his nurse? Going ballistic because he thinks I left? Why? Is he so egotistical he hasn’t gotten over being left in the middle of the night without a goodbye?
Martha laughs when she sees me approach the nurse’s station. “You weren’t gone long, missy. Let me guess. The bossy bastard in room six sent someone to get you?”
“The sister.”
“I figured as much when I saw her scampering out of his room. Guess he prefers a pretty, young thing over this old, wrinkled lady. Can’t say I blame him.”
Already half past the hour so vitals are due again. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him for me.”
“No problem. Maybe you’ll get some downtime for a lunch break after you discharge him.”
“Maybe.” Doubtful. There’s always another to replace the one you send out the door.
I stop at the curtain to Ryan’s room before entering. Deep breath in, Ashlyn. Exhale slowly.
It really pisses me off he still has this kind of effect on me five years after the fact. One encounter. One damn night five years ago and the man can still wreck me today.
Fate is unkind to me. Why the hell couldn’t his body have gone to shit after he stopped playing college ball? Why does he still have to be so damn hot?
Fuck being hot. It doesn’t make up for being an asshole.
“What’s the matter, Ashlyn? Trying to think of a way to explain what you did?”
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
I yank the curtain back and march to his bedside, my hands fisted at my side. “What I did? I know you didn’t actually just say that to me.”
“That got your attention, huh?” His mouth tugs at one corner and the adjacent eye narrows as his brow arches. Holy shit. Jacob makes that exact face…every time the little shit is up to no good.
And now Ryan Briggs is up to no good. I’m sure of it.
Like father, like son.
Releasing July 28, 2016
Duncan Willis should be on GQ, not the co-owner of the company where I work. He's my boss, and he's also arrogant and cocky, knowing how to melt panties with just a smirk. That's why I've avoided him.
I might fantasize about him, but I don't need that in my life.
Until...
Until I catch him—OK, hear him—in a compromising position.
Yes, it was hot, but that's not the point.
I need a date for one weekend. He needs me to keep quiet about what I witnessed.
It's the perfect blackmail...the perfect deal.
Until...
Until one weekend of fantasy leaves me wanting more.
* * *
Read this sexy, predictable, short, hot, dirty, and steamy book and learn how fantasy can become reality! Duncan: The Deal, is a standalone with a guaranteed HEA. Don't miss your next bookgasm.
"What time do you get in?"
I press my blue-tooth closer to my ear, drowning out conversations and traffic, as I emerge from the subway tunnel onto the Manhattan street. The morning sunlight causes me to squint or maybe it's my way to concentrate on what my mother just asked. Damn, if she'd only called a few seconds earlier I'd have been underground and missed her call.
Ugh.
"Get in?" I ask, trying not to let on that I have no fucking idea what she's talking about.
"Thursday, dear. Your dad has an appointment and we want to be sure we can pick you up."
I want to ask again, but if I do, surely she'll figure out that I'm still lost in this conversation. Instead I take it another way. "Dad has an appointment?"
"With his urologist, dear, you know he has that—"
OK. That didn't work. "Mom, sorry to interrupt, but I need to get to work. You were saying?"
"Yes, what time does your flight arrive? You know it's race weekend. I told you not to book a hotel, and if you listened, there's not one available for miles. Besides, we have plenty of room and we want you here with us. I've talked with your father. It's fine for Timothy to stay here, too. I even think...well, if it'll get that man to propose, he can stay in your room."
Like sleeping with someone in my parents' house is erotic?
I shake my head. "Timothy? Mom, we're not going to the race."
We're also not dating anymore, but that's a whole other story.
"Of course not," she replies. "Kurt wants Timothy at the bachelor party. You know I'm not a big fan of parties the night before the wedding. Remember that incident with cousin Bob..."
Fuck! The wedding!
My cousin Scarlet's wedding. My perfect damn cousin.
How did I forget?
I know. I blocked it out.
I don't want to go. I don't want to go back to Indiana and field all the questions about why I'm still not married, why I'm living all the way in New York, why I have a fucking life instead of being pregnant with baby number five at twenty-six years old.
"Mom," I try to interrupt as I push my way through a crowd of obviously lost tourists. "Mom, um, Timothy..."
"Kimberly, you're breaking up. What did you say?"
"We're not..."
"Kimberly Ann, I RSVPe'd for you plus-one. That was six months ago. Oh my lord! Tell me you're not single again! Why didn't you tell me? You know your aunt and uncle paid for a sit-down dinner. The reception is at the Hyatt. It's very formal, place setting and everything. Oh dear lord in heaven, don't tell me that I have to tell them you don't have a plus one."
I take a deep breath and tap the microphone of my blue-tooth. "I-I'm...said...see...going...Thursday...rental car..." I say as I disconnect the call.
Yes, it's a cheap trick. No, we don't have a bad connection. I just don't want to talk anymore. My thoughts are full of dresses and babies, and disapproving looks from my grandmother and mother as I sit at my assigned seat at the reception next to an empty chair.
Maybe if I call my aunt now, she can move me to the kid table. That will be fun.
I grimace at the thought as I make my way along the street to the building where I work at a real job. When I enter the building that houses the offices of Buchanan and Willis, a pharmaceutical distributor, my mind is hundreds of miles away. Out of habit, I squeeze my way into the coffee shop.
"Caffe vanilla light frappuccino. Venti," I say while making mental notes: it's Tuesday. I need to be in Indiana on Thursday. I haven't asked for time off. I don't have an airline ticket or a dress or a date. My mind's a
blur as the barista hands me my coffee and I turn, bumping right into him.
"Shit!" I say louder than I intend.
"Miss Jones."
I look from the steaming coffee that managed to mostly stay within the confines of the cup—thank God for lids—and stare as some trickles down my hand and a small drop lands on my white blouse. My gaze goes to the floor. In front of me are his dark leather shoes. My eyes move upward: his grey slacks that narrow at his waist. I suck in a breath at the way his suit coat hangs from his broad shoulders. Finally, our eyes meet.
Gritting my teeth, I force a smile. "Mr. Willis." I search his suit for evidence of our collision. "Did I..." I motion with a tip of my head.
Mr. Willis grins as his deep voice drowns out the crowd. "Near miss, I believe. No harm, no foul." And then he steps around me.
Shit. Can this day get any worse?
Mr. Willis is half of Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals. He and Michael Buchanan started what has become a multibillion dollar company. It's not that he's smart and rich—even if he is. It's that he's sex on a stick. The man should be on the cover of GQ, not gracing the halls of our office. The way he wears his tailored suits on his over six-foot frame should be illegal. With jet-black hair and stunning green eyes, he can melt panties with just a smirk. No doubt, mine are currently nothing but hot wax.
Not that any of that matters. He hardly knows I'm alive, other than when he wants me to do some menial task: book a hotel or check on an invoice. His requests never involve anything in my actual job description. That doesn't mean I tell him no. From what I've heard, no one ever tells him no.
I admit that there have been more than a few times I've imagined him asking me to do other things. Things that go against company policy. Things that include his large hands and cock.
I don't actually know how big his cock is, but in my imagination it's huge.
Shaking my head, I make my way to the elevator. Minutes later I go from the elevator to my cubicle. Leaving my cup of coffee on my desk, I decide to attempt to save my blouse. Maybe if I can wash the coffee stain away, my day will start to improve.
