WrongorWriteBoxedSetstripped

by Sky Corgan

  “So, Miss Edwards,” he said as he looked at my chart. “It says here you got into an altercation with a kitchen knife.”

  “I think the knife won,” I giggled nervously.

  “Judging by that towel, I would say you're right.” He sat down on the rolling stool designated for doctors and rolled himself towards me while he put on a pair of surgical gloves.

  I held out my hand, cringing away from the sight of my own mangled finger. Instead, I tried to focus on more pleasant things, like the doctor's name tag, which read Doctor Quinones. My peripheral vision traveled up to his gorgeous face, though I tried not to make it too obvious.

  “Will I live, Doctor?” I asked.

  “Yes, but not without stitches.”

  “Ugh.” My eyes watered at the thought.

  “You'll be fine. I'm going to take good care of you,” his words were soothing.

  The process was surprisingly less painful than I thought it would be. The worst part was him injecting the site with a local anesthetic so that he could do the stitches. By the time it kicked in, I felt nothing but the pulling of the sutures as he sewed me up.

  “There, all done,” he said with a smile that would melt the panties off any woman who had the pleasure of looking on it.

  “Thanks,” I replied, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear with my good hand while I tried not to stare at him like some lovesick creeper.

  “You should be good to go for now.” He stood up, took off his gloves and tossed them in the trash bin, informed me that the nurse would shortly return with instructions on how to care for the wound, and then disappeared out the door. I sighed when he left, feeling the weight of my loneliness for the first time in months. There was something missing from my life, but was it worth pursuing it at the risk of messing up everything that was already going so well. I thought not. Someday though. Someday, I would have to move on.

  ***

  Life went on. Alice tried to baby me as much as she could, taking over my cooking duties for the rest of the week. We ordered pizza the night I returned from the hospital. Bloody stew didn't sound too appetizing.

  I researched what I had seen on the news. Sure enough, Darren was a best-selling author, published under the pen name of Dominick Parker. In all the pictures of him, he looked well and happy. I was glad he had made something of himself outside of taking over his family's businesses. In a strange distant way, I was proud of him. Maybe what I had said had sunk in and influenced his decision to branch out, or perhaps it hadn't. For as long as I could remember, he always liked to read and write. Perhaps this would have happened even if I hadn't been in his life.

  Regardless, it didn't matter. Our lives were so far removed from each other. If I tried to get back in contact with him now, he'd probably think it was because I found out he was famous. I didn't want him to think that, so it was best to keep my distance.

  Alice tried to convince me to take a few days off of work. The thumb I had injured was on my left hand, so it really didn't affect my hair cutting much. Besides, even though we had managed to save back some money, I knew the hospital bill was going to be expensive, and I didn't want to further deplete my savings by taking time off.

  The next day, I was back at work, cutting hair and listening to gossip. I really loved being a hair stylist, and my clients were some of the coolest people in the world. They were all very sympathetic to my injury, realizing it was going to take a little longer for me to wash hair one-handed. I even scored some bonus tips for my sob story.

  The week went on as usual until a very familiar man walked through the salon door. I was curling a client's hair when I caught a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision. He was tall with perfectly combed dark hair and soft brown eyes. I choked on the sentence I was saying when I realized who he was.

  “Tara, it's for you,” the receptionist called to me.

  I politely excused myself before walking up to the counter, unable to hide the surprised look on my face.

  “Doctor . . .” His name had been unique, but I didn't remember it.

  “Quinones,” he told me with a smile that made my heart skip a beat. “But you can call me Lawrence.”

  “Alright, Lawrence,” I replied, tasting his name on my lips. It wasn't the sexiest name, but it certainly sounded rich and sophisticated, like him.

  “I hope you don't mind me coming to your place of business. I wanted to check up on you, and I needed a haircut. Do you have time to fit me in today?”

  Fit him in. My mind went straight to the gutter. I'll fit you in alright. Thanks to the blush creeping across my cheeks, my perverted thoughts were probably plain on my face.

  “I was just finishing up with a client,” I stuttered. “I think I could fit you in after her.”

  “Excellent. I'll wait then.”

  My heart pounded in my chest as I returned to my client. Mrs. Wallace was an older woman, but she recognized the look on my face instantly.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” she asked in her feeble eighty-year-old voice. The grin that played on her thin lips was absolutely adorable.

  “No. He's my Doctor.” I felt my cheeks burn from her words. Reflexively, I glanced at Lawrence to make sure he wasn't looking at me. His nose was already tucked away in a women's magazine that I was certain he had no interest in.

  “He's a handsome young man,” Mrs. Wallace commented.

  “You better behave, or I'll tell Mr. Wallace you said that,” I teased her.

  “Oh, dear,” she chuckled at me. “Just because I'm old doesn't mean I can't look.”

  “I suppose not.”

  I finished up her hair and gave her a big hug before sending her to the receptionist's desk. Mrs. Wallace was a consistent five dollar tipper. It didn't matter if she was just getting her nails done or the whole shebang. She had been my client since I first started working at the salon, and she was definitely one of my favorites.

  “Mister Quinones, I'm ready for you,” I said as I watched Mr. Wallace help his wife out the door. They were such a cute couple. Maybe someday I would be lucky enough to find someone to grow old with.

  “Do you always hug your clients?” he asked as he followed me to my chair.

  “Mrs. Wallace is special,” I informed him.

  “She seems sweet.”

  “She is. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I'm just in for a trim. I like to keep it kind of long.”

  “Alright.” I nervously put an apron on him, thinking back to how his hair was the first time I saw him. His haircut had a diagonal flow to it, with longer bangs swooping over his forehead. I was pretty confident I could do a good job on him. Do a good job on him. My cheeks brightened again. Good lord, what was wrong with me?

  “So, have you been a Doctor long?” I asked as I got to work.

  “For a while.” He grinned at me in the mirror. “Have you been cutting hair long?”

  “I just started yesterday,” I teased.

  “Miss Edwards, you are one horrible liar.”

  “How would you know I'm lying?”

  “Because I read your chart.”

  “Isn't that a breach of confidentiality?”

  “I'm your Doctor. It's my job to read your chart.”

  I wanted to fall in a hole and die. Could I sound anymore stupid? He probably thought I was some ditzy airhead.

  “So,” I quickly changed the subject. “I don't believe I've ever seen you come in here before. Did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?”

  “I told you already, I came to check on you.”

  Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut.

  “How's the finger doing, by the way?” He tried to look at my injured hand in the mirror, though it was hidden behind his head.

  “It hasn't fallen off yet, so I suppose it's alright,” I laughed uncomfortably.

  “Good.”

  He was silent for several minutes. I tried to concentrate on his hair, but every time I glanced at his face in the mirror he was s
taring at me.

  “So, I have a confession to make,” he spoke abruptly.

  “A confession?”

  “Yeah. I didn't just come here for a haircut, though you're doing a marvelous job.”

  “You didn't?”

  “No. I was kind of hoping you'd be interested in having lunch with me. I understand that you're probably busy today, but whenever you get the chance. Or we could do dinner if that's easier for you.”

  “Dinner?” Now I felt like a parrot, but in my shock, all that could come out was stupid blubbering.

  “Yes. Dinner. It's the meal you have between lunch and bedtime.” He grinned that gorgeous infectious grin, obviously realizing I was completely flustered.

  “Oh, yeah. I mean, yes. I would love to have dinner with you. I mean, like to have dinner with you. I don't know you well enough to love it.” Oh, Tara, just shut up.

  “Great. Is eight o'clock alright? I can pick you up.”

  “Eight is fine. I just need to tell my roommate not to cook for me.”

  “It's a date then.”

  It's a date. Holy hell, it had been so long since I'd had one of those. I'd been avoiding them purposely. But for some reason, I could not deny this man. He was too handsome, too assertive, too perfect.

  When I got home from work, I jumped around in excitement. Lawrence Quinones was so incredible. Never in a million years had I thought when I saw him at the hospital that I'd actually have a chance with him. Then again, I wasn't really looking for love, so why would I have thought that.

  I spent the rest of my afternoon obsessively getting ready. I must have changed at least five times before I settled on a black fifty's retro rockabilly sundress with white polka-dots. It was a cute little number that I never wore, even though it really brought out my green eyes. I accented the outfit with red pumps and a red Hawaiian flower clip in my hair. The ensemble would work nice whether he wanted to take me somewhere casual or a fine-dining restaurant.

  “Wow,” Lawrence said when I opened the door to him at precisely eight o'clock. That was exactly the response I was going for. I tried to look humbled by his compliment, but inside, I knew I looked like dynamite. After two hours in front of the mirror lightly curling my black hair and doing my makeup to perfection, how could I not.

  “I wasn't sure where we were going, so I wanted to look versatile,” I told him as I stepped outside and locked up.

  The night was like a dream. Lawrence took me to eat at Outback Steakhouse. Conversation at the restaurant flowed smoother than I had anticipated. He was surprisingly easy to talk to once the butterflies in my stomach settled, and I was able to stop being an idiot around him. I found out that he'd been divorced for a few years and was just getting back into the dating scene. I told him that I hadn't really been dating since high school because I was busy getting my life on track. We bonded over our fear of relationships and how they change lives. It was an odd thing to talk about on a date, but it was nice to know we were both coming from the same place, apprehensive about the future but willing to take a chance if we found the right person.

  After dinner, we headed to the movies. There was nothing in the theaters I really wanted to see, so I let him pick the movie, which ended up being the latest action flick. He bought us a large popcorn to share and two sodas, and we headed up to the top row of seats. The movie didn't interest me much, but Lawrence's body language was a whole other story. Shortly after the movie started, he boldly put his arm on the back of my seat. It was obvious what he was trying to do, and I played right into it, moving closer to him in my own seat.

  By the end of the movie, I felt like we had made a pretty good connection. Things had gone far better than I could ever imagine. We sat is his BMW, trying to figure out where to go next.

  “Do you dance?” he asked me.

  “Only when I'm alone.”

  “Me too,” he replied, and we both laughed. “It's such a lovely night. I'd hate for it to end already.”

  I looked at the clock in his car's dashboard. “It's almost midnight.”

  “So it is. Do you turn into a pumpkin after midnight?”

  “No.” I smirked.

  “Well, we established during dinner that neither one of us has to work tomorrow. It would seem like a waste to take you home now.”

  “I'd say we could go back to my place, but I'm not sure how much privacy my roommate would give us.”

  I knew it was a dangerous thing to suggest, but in that moment, I didn't care. The night had been so perfect. The only thing that could make it better was spending the rest of it in Lawrence's arms. There was a desperate part of me that missed being held by a man. And I hadn't had sex since Darren.

  “We could go to my place,” he said apprehensively, falling right into my trap.

  “I think I would like that.” I smiled warmly at him.

  “I'll warn you beforehand, it's not much. My ex-wife got the house in the divorce, so I ended up moving into a townhouse. It's easier for me to manage on my own.”

  “I'm sure it's fine.” I smirked at his insecurity.

  “Good. Because it will have to be.” And with that, he started the engine, and we drove towards his house.

  Not surprisingly, the townhouse was in a nice gated community. There was no reason for him to act embarrassed about it. It was small, but I could understand his reasoning behind wanting it. After losing so much and having to start again on his own, a big house probably didn't seem too appealing.

  He led me inside, and I smiled at the fairly plain decorating. Everything was simple, neat, and inexpensive. In fact, the most pretentious thing he owned was his car, and I couldn't fault him for that.

  “I told you it's not much,” he said as he took his blazer off and draped it over the chair in the living room.

  “I think it's wonderful,” I replied honestly.

  “When most women find out I'm a doctor, they expect me to live in some monstrous house with all the best furnishings. I see no point spending money on stuff like that when I could put it towards saving for an early retirement.”

  “Smart man.”

  He grinned, stepping up to me and lightly placing his hands on my hips, which instantly sent the butterflies in my stomach fluttering around in nervous happiness.

  “So, Miss Edwards, is there anything in particular you'd like to do?”

  I fought back the blush threatening to claim my cheeks again. We were so past that point. My face had been like a stoplight for most of the night, but I was finally settling into the feeling of being around such a strong attractive man.

  Still, I couldn't stand to look him in the eyes when I boldly whispered, “I think you know what I want to do.”

  That was all it took to seal the deal. His lips claimed mine with surprising gentleness. My own sexual hunger made it hard not to reciprocate with a sense of urgency. I wanted to tear into him like an animal driven by mating instincts, but I didn't want to seem too eager, so I allowed him to lead.

  We undressed each other as we worked our way to his bedroom. The closer we got, the more insistent his kisses became, which I liked. This experience was so different from what I had felt with Darren. While Darren had been shy, Lawrence was confident in everything he did. He never paused to give any indication of uncertainty, and not once did he ask me if I was alright, even when he was pounding away inside of me with such a ferocity that I thought we were going to break the bed beneath us.

  And the feelings. The feelings were completely different as well. With Darren, there had been mostly nervousness. With Lawrence, it was all lust.

  I felt like a virgin beneath him, firing off after only a few minutes of having him inside of me. He kept on going, worshiping me with his body and driving me up the sexual slope of bliss again and again. By the time he finally stilled and laid on top of me, I was reeling in complete disbelief at how satiated I was. This was how sex was supposed to be, and I greatly hoped that this wasn't a one-time fling to him.

  When the sex
was over, Lawrence pulled me into his arms and held me against his chest. I grinned lecherously as I traced circles into his dark smattering of chest hair with my index finger. Was I dreaming? Would he ruin my perfect night by kicking me out of his bed? When I heard him snoring beneath me, I had my answer. With a content sigh, I nuzzled my head against his chest and waited for what morning would bring.

  Four Years Later

  The sun shone brightly through the window, and I yawned and stretched, looking at the empty side of Lawrence's bed. What we had together wasn't a conventional relationship, but it worked for us. We were both afraid of being committed for the same reason, that it would change life as we knew it. Still, it was hard to deny that what we had was pretty much a relationship. Most of the time, when we had days off from work, we'd spend them with each other. We'd go out on dates, sleep together, and we both had keys to each other's place. To keep things less relationship-like though, we refused to introduce each other to family, and we didn't use labels. He wasn't my boyfriend or my lover, he was just my friend—my friend with benefits.

  Alice was content with our relationship. She jokingly threatened to cut Lawrence's balls off if he tried to take me from her, but we both knew that if I did end up in a committed relationship with him, it wouldn't be the worst thing. Even she couldn't deny that he was practically perfect in every way. Handsome, kind, generous, fun, outgoing. What woman wouldn't want to wed Lawrence Quinones?

  He bought me gifts, wined and dined me, took me out on vacations, and paid for everything. When Alice lost her job at the lingerie store, he even chipped in some money to help with bills until she got back up on her feet. Not that we needed the money. I was doing well enough on my own to support both of us by then, but he insisted that he didn't want us to want for anything, and we didn't. Both of our lives were better with him in it.

  I hugged his pillow, smelling the scent of cologne and sweat that lingered on it. It had been another night of earth shattering sex. Sex with Lawrence was always good. He made sure of it. If he thought that he was too tired or not in the right frame of mind, which wasn't often, we just wouldn't do it. He told me that he always wanted me to have the best of him, and that made my heart flutter.