by Alexis Angel
He missed my book launch parties.
He missed the time Victoria’s Secret had a Memorial Day sale.
So I sat him down when he was in town.
I told him I couldn’t do this long distance thing if he didn’t find a place to settle down. But he couldn’t phone in a relationship from Miami.
He looked at me and told me he’d have a solution in a few days.
He loved me.
It was on his face. In his words.
And now it would be in his actions.
Samantha
“Jesus, Sam. You look like you slaughtered a whole army by yourself.”
“I’ll take as a compliment,” I sigh as I take off my disposable gloves, both of them covered in fresh blood. I throw them into the bin and then I take off my surgical cap and shake my head, freeing my hair and allowing it to cascade down my shoulders.
I look down at my scrubs—blood stains everywhere—and sigh again. Another perfectly good uniform ruined. It’s the second this month.
Oh, well, nobody said that being a surgeon would be easy.
“How did it go?” Mary asks me, leaning against the room door and cocking one eyebrow at me. “You kicked ass, right?”
“Damn right I did,” I reply, finally allowing a smile to creep up on my lips. Being a surgeon is demanding—I’ve been at work for close to fourteen hours now—but it’s all worth it when, at the end of the day, you know you made a difference in someone’s life.
“That’s my girl!” Mary squeals, holding her hand up in the air. I high-five her, run one hand through my hair, and glance at my wristwatch. It’s ten p.m. already, which means my shift ended about two hours ago.
“What do you say we grab a drink and celebrate?” Mary asks me.
“I don’t know if it’s fitting to celebrate an open-hearted surgical procedure over drinks,” I tell her, praying to God that she doesn’t go on another one of her tirades: Oh, Sam, live it up—you’re twenty-eight, no boyfriend, you don’t drink, you don’t party, yada yada.
“So, just calling it a day, huh?”
“That’s right,” I nod, every single muscle in my body aching. Sweet mercy, I think I could just lean against the wall and fall asleep right here.
“Right, fair enough. But if you change your mind, me and some of the staff will meet at The Ensemble for drinks.”
“Gotcha,” I tell her before I march straight into the locker rooms.
That went well—usually, Mary doesn’t give up this easily. I guess she’s growing tired of having to drag me everywhere.
Well, goes both ways. I’m also tired of having Mary egging me all the time, trying to have me go on dates and whatnot. Sure, I don’t have a man in my life…but it’s not like I need one.
Look, I’m not a bore, alright? I’m just driven. Being a cardiac surgeon at twenty-eight isn’t an easy feat, and I studied hard to get here.
I intend to keep on working hard so that I’m the best at what I do. What can I say? I’m an ambitious young woman.
I never bought into the notion that success was something reserved for men, and I made sure to carve out my own path in life. That’s how you get an apartment at The Bradford at twenty-eight—by working your ass off and being the very best at what you do.
Getting out of my ruined scrubs, I then step under the shower and close my eyes, allowing both my body and mind to unwind from a hard day’s work. By the time I’ve finished showering and changed into my clothes, I actually feel so much better. Maybe I can still read a few medical studies before calling it a day?
As I get out of the hospital and start walking toward the cab I’ve already hailed, I feel so wired up that I have to resist the urge to simply turn back and pick up an extra shift.
“Where to?” The cab driver, an old balding man with an easy smile, asks me.
“The Ensemble,” I find myself saying.
Wait—fuck, what the hell am I doing? Is my brain so exhausted that it has stopped working rationally?
What the hell am I gonna do at The Ensemble? Drink like all the others, wake up with a terrible hangover, and waste tomorrow?
“The Ensemble it is,” the driver nods, and then he drives off.
Oh, what the hell. It’s not like a single night is going to ruin my life. Besides, Mary’s right: I work way too hard for way too long. Maybe a night of drinks will do me some good.
By the time the cab stops in front of The Ensemble, a small jazz bar everyone at the hospital seems to love, I’ve already reconsidered turning back and going home a thousand times. But I’m not a quitter, so I just pay the driver and step out of the car. Well, at least I have a nice dress on and won’t look like a dork.
Hurrying toward the bar so that I can escape the cold Manhattan breeze, I step inside. I was expecting to hear a chorus of drunken nurses and doctors, but the place is almost deserted. There are only a few couples sprinkled here and there in the dimly lit room, and they’re all talking in hushed tones.
Just great. The day I decide to meet Mary and the rest of the guys for drinks, it’s the day they decide to go somewhere else.
Sighing, I sit by the counter and take my phone out of my purse. I’m about to call Mary when a deep voice interrupts my train of thought.
“So, he bailed on you?”
“What?” I ask, raising my gaze to meet the hottest bartender I have ever seen. Impeccably dressed in an immaculate white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, he looks like he just stepped out of a billboard ad.
His hair is tousled, but carefully arranged at the same time, and there’s an easy smile on his lips. Taller than me, he has the kind of body that makes me believe he could easily throw me over his shoulder and carry me into his bedroom for a good session of—
Stop right there, Sam! I admonish myself, trying to get my mind out of the gutter. Not an easy thing, if we take into account that I haven’t had sex for…oh, I don’t even know.
“Did he bail on you?” he repeats.
“Who?”
“Your date.”
“Oh…no,” I start, feeling warm blood rushing to my cheeks. “I’m not here on a date.”
He smiles then, a glint on his eyes, and my heart goes wild.
“Lucky me, then.”
Brad
Some women are smart, some women are hot. Some are funny, others seductive. But some women are just…something else entirely. They’re part of a rare breed of women, the kind that knock the air out of your lungs the moment your eyes meet theirs.
And one of those women has just walked into my bar.
Elegant strut, tight-fitting dress, and the kind of face capable of turning a cold-blooded asshole into a romantic wimp.
“Brad,” I say, offering her my hand. Hesitantly, she reaches for it and shakes it.
“Sam,” she tells me, the sound of her voice so sweet that I can’t help but imagine how she’d sound like moaning out my name.
What? It’s not my fault I have an active imagination. Besides, sex isn’t dirty and taboo anymore, right? Yeah, we’re not in the 19th century anymore—and thank god for that.
“So, who did exactly bail on you?”
“Why do you say that?” she asks me, and I can tell by her guarded tone she’s not used to being approached by men.
Which is weird—she’s a beautiful woman and, more than that, she’s fucking hot. And that can only mean one thing…this girl doesn’t go out that much. Like I said: a rare breed of women, that much is for sure.
“Well, you have that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“That one,” I laugh, pointing at her surprised face. I take the chance to take a mental picture of her cherry red lips, and my heart skips a beat as I imagine how they must taste.
“Alright,” she laughs back, slowly loosening up. “I was supposed to meet here with friends, but I guess they went somewhere else.”
“Well, their loss, ain’t it? Why would anyone choose to go somewhere else when they could come to
the best jazz club in town?”
“The best jazz club in town?”
“You bet,” I nod.
“You’re too protective of this place for a bartender,” she comments, and I can’t help but laugh again.
“What? Can’t bartenders be protective of their place of work? But, anyway, I’m not just a bartender. I own the place,” I tell her.
Does it sound like I’m bragging? Because I’m not. It’s just a fact of life—I worked fucking hard to get this place up and running, and if I have the chance to tell a beautiful woman like this one that I own it…well, you better be sure that I’m gonna use it. If it sounds like bragging, I don’t give a fuck.
“Oh. That’s nice…I suppose.”
“You’re not that good at making conversation, are you?”
“Not really,” she laughs, that voice doing something to me.
Fuck, is my heart rate going up? Chill the fuck out, Brad, I tell myself, doing my best to keep my cock under control.
“I noticed. Here.” I push a glass across the counter and, grabbing a whiskey bottle from the shelf behind me, I pour her some.
“Oh, I don’t like—”
“Yes, you do. You’ll like this one,” I insist, pouring something for me as well.
Yeah, I just grabbed the most fucking expensive bottle I have around. But so what? It’s not like women like this walk inside my bar everyday.
Besides, what’s the point in owning a bar if you can’t splurge every now and then?
Slowly, she takes the glass to her lips, then drinks a little.
“Ugh,” she groans, looking like she just drank oil mixed with sand.
“C’mon!” I laugh, taking the whiskey out of her hands and replacing it with a sweet strawberry liqueur. “You disappoint me.”
“Much better.” She smiles, taking a sip out of the liquor. Her eyes never leave mine as she drinks it, and I can’t help but wonder about the woman right in front of me.
“What’s your story?”
“My story? There’s not much to tell. I work at the hospital, and…well, that’s it.”
“Jesus, what an interesting life you lead,” I tell her, leaning over the counter.
Our fingers brush for a moment and, right before she pulls her hand back, I feel electricity crackling under my skin. I don’t know what it is about her, but I feel drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
“Let me guess—you’re a doctor.”
“Yeah. Surgeon.”
“Oh. No wonder you don’t have a life. But I get it—it wasn’t exactly easy, setting this place up, you know?” I tell her, waving my hand at the large room we’re in. “For the first five years I was in business, I think I was actually living under this counter,” I continue, slapping my hand against the polished wood counter while I smile at her.
“So, a workaholic like me?” she asks me, the shape of a bright smile on her lips.
Fucking hell, I’m actually struggling right now—all I want is reach across the counter, pull her into me, and crush my mouth on hers.
“Nah, not a workaholic. I like to think of myself as driven.”
“Makes two of us then,” she agrees, and I start noticing her slowly opening up to me.
She’s not the most social of women, that much I’ve realized, but still…being around her feels like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter: you just can’t move away.
“Boyfriend? Husband?” I ask her, and I immediately feel like a fucking tool.
Am I seriously asking her these lame-ass questions? Seriously, what’s wrong with me? I’m used to pulling tail easily, but it seems that Dr. Beautiful has somehow reigned in my inner Casanova.
“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes still locked on mine. For a couple of seconds, we remain in silence, simply staring into each other’s eyes. The temperature in the room rises, my heart picks up the pace, and I feel my cock coming to life between my legs.
Before I can stop myself, nine dangerous words leave my lips.
“What do you say we get out of here?”
Samantha
Stop.
Seriously, let’s stop for a minute so I can gather my thoughts. This can’t be happening, right? Am I seriously leaving the bar in the company of a stranger? Am I seriously going to let this guy drive me to God knows where?
Well...seems like it, doesn’t it?
“I don't do this kind of stuff, you know?” I find myself saying as I sit inside his sports car, placing both my hands on top of my knees and looking down at my feet.
My cheeks are burning, and I can’t even muster the courage to look him in the eye. Why am I feeling this embarrassed right now?
“What kind of stuff?” he asks me, genuinely confused. “We’re not robbing a bank. You know that, don’t you?”
“It’s not that…” I start, trying to look for the right words. “It’s just that—”
“You don’t want me to judge you,” he finishes my sentence, doing it more perfectly than I could’ve ever done.
He’s right—I don’t want him to judge me just because I got inside a car within a few minutes of getting to know him. Between you and me, this is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this. What this is, I’m still not sure.
“Look,” he continues, reaching for me and gently placing one hand under my chin. He makes me turn to the side, and my gaze meets his. “I’m not going to judge you for anything…and if someone ever judges you, that’s because they’re fucking losers. You’re the most beautiful woman that has ever stepped foot inside my bar. You’re a successful surgeon, and the rest….well, it’s just fucking peanuts. So, hold your head high, yeah?”
“Thank you,” I manage to say, not exactly knowing what to respond.
Yeah, he’s absolutely right about it…but I can’t say I’m used to having a handsome man like him trying to boost my self-confidence. But, hey, he sure as hell seems to have a talent for it, because the next words that leave my mouth are so out-of-character that I can’t even recognize myself.
“Do you know where The Bradford is? I live there, and it’s just right around the corner.”
Yup—I crossed that imaginary line, the one separating the old Sam from the brave and fearless one—the Sam that can already imagine herself waking up in bed with a stranger by her side.
Well, as long as that stranger is Brad, that’s fine with me. I mean, have you looked at him? Tall, built like a Greek marble statue, and with the most delicious grin I’ve ever seen.
Not to mention that he has his manliness perfectly counterbalanced by a deep-seated kindness—a perfect gentleman, if there has ever been one. I just hope he’s not a gentleman inside the bedroom.
Oh my god, did I actually think that? I sooo need to get laid.
We arrive at The Bradford five minutes later, and he parks the car right in front of the entrance. By the time we get there, it’s started raining heavily, the rain pattering down on the pavement hard, the sound of it a constant drumming.
I’m about to leave the car, my hand already on the door’s handle, when I notice two people standing right in front of the building’s entrance. Narrowing my eyes to see past the rain, I immediately recognize Emilia and Evan.
These two have been dating—at least it sure as hell seems like it, judging by the way they look at each other whenever they’re in the same room. But it doesn’t look like they’re being romantic toward each other right now. In fact, it looks exactly like the opposite.
“...after everything, Emilia? How can you even say that?” Evan says, his voice coming at me loud and clear despite the sound of the rain.
Yeah, these two are having an argument—and not a nice one, judging by the look on Emilia’s face. Even though the rain has plastered her hair to her face, I swear she’s crying.
“You don’t understand. It’s not as easy as that, Evan. You just can’t wish for things to be exactly like you want them to be!” she shouts, her voice a blend of anger and sadness. Jesus, what t
he hell is going on?
“So, that’s it, huh?” Evan asks her, and Emilia simply nods sadly.
“That’s it.”
With that, Evan turns on his heels and storms off, walking down the street like a man hell-bent on punching everything and everyone. Getting back inside the building, Emilia ambles through the reception hall like a woman whose soul has just departed her body.
“Friends of yours?” Brad asks me, looking at me curiously.
“My neighbors.”
“Well, seems like your neighbors have just broken up,” he whispers.
“Seems like it,” I mutter, wondering what the hell has just happened.
These two had such chemistry…wasn’t that enough? Are they giving up on their chance at love just because they can’t see eye-to-eye? I know I’ve done that in the past—and god knows how many times I’ve allowed happiness to pass me by just because I was too blind, too focused on work and whatnot.
But tonight…tonight’s going to be different.
Tonight, I’m going to be a better Sam.
“Care to see my bedroom?” I ask Brad, my heart throwing a fit inside my chest.
Sweet mercy, I’m so dizzy I think I’m about to pass out. What if he says no? What if he’s having second thoughts? After all, I’m not that interesting and—
“Lead the way.”
Brad
I don’t even know if we turn right or left, or if the elevator’s going up and down. To be honest with you, right I now, I don’t know anything at all. All I’m aware of is that the moment she opens her apartment door, it’s fucking on.
And it isn’t because of me.
One foot inside her apartment, and she turns to me and grabs me by the shirt. She pulls me into her, and I have no other option but to lean in and kiss her—not that I wanted to have any other option, mind you.
And fuck, the way she kisses, the way she tastes…yeah, this is so much better than what I had imagined. Her lips taste of ripe strawberries, and I can’t help but take my hands to her ass right away.
