by J. P. Hansen
Dixie-dawg was dressed in a typical dukie uniform—baggy khaki’s, over starched button-down with white T-shirt, finished with nerdy glasses and a buzz cut, circa 1950s.
“Boa, you gonna introduce me to your pretty girlfriend or just stand there with your mouth open?”
Brooke thought, I hope this clod’s not the doctor. Chase considered strangling his buddy, but struggled to say, “I…left you a message…”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t receive anything—but, I was in surgery. But, when they said you were here, I came running out. Excuse me, I’m not used to seeing you in that monkey suit—doesn’t look like you’re here for another golf lesson.”
“Very funny,” Chase frowned, then said, “Dr. Dixon Carter, this is Brooke Hart. She works for Pharmical and she took a bad fall. I was hoping you could examine her. She’s in pain and all those forms are making me sick.”
“Pleasure to meet you…Brooke,” Dixon said while holding her hand like a princess, then kissing it. He glanced back at Chase—who was wincing—and said, “Anything for you Boa, or should I say Mr. CEO?” As Dixon spun and bee-lined to the reception area, Brooke marveled at how differently men sound when they’re around high school or college buddies. They enter a time machine, and revert back into childish frat boys. None of her girlfriends ever had juvenile nicknames—she was always just Brooke—the serious student and athlete. Brooke wondered what Chase was like in college and what stories were behind silly names like Boa and Dixie-dawg.
“I can wheel you into an X-ray room right now and then finish the paperwork later.” Dixon gaped at Brooke as if Chase was invisible.
As Dixon whisked Brooke away, Chase said, “Thanks a lot.” Brooke made him feel like a schoolboy—and in a completely different way than his college buddy.
Chase’s ring tone startled him—Ruth. “Don’t forget your conference call. Marvin made me promise I’d remind you.” He frowned.
There’s a fine line between forgetfulness and avoidance. In this case, both applied. Chase wished his personal administrative assistant protected him more often, but he was so smitten that his left brain shut down. Over the years, he had developed effective time management skills. Today, he wondered what time zone he was in. He dispensed a feeble, “I was just about to dial when you called.” He had dreaded this call; consultants made him queasy—especially Marvin. He plodded outside, away from the crowded waiting area, and dialed.
The half hour with Marvin Wixfeldt passed like an eternal torture chamber for Chase. Marvin had a dictatorial edginess about him. He treated Chase like a pawn. Unfortunately, the high-powered consultant had the attention of key board members, and knew it.
Chase spotted Brooke through the doors—finally, he had an out. Dixon wheeled her with a grin like the Joker. Chase ended the call abruptly, then rushed inside. He noticed the cast on Brooke’s leg, and said, “That doesn’t look good.”
“The X-rays are negative, but I’m ordering an MRI just to be safe.”
“Then why the cast?”
“When I heard she was a tar heel, I wanted to amputate,” Dixon said with lips curled in a devilish grin.
“Hey, stop it.” Brooke almost called him Dixie-dawg, but didn’t want to push her luck.
Dixon continued, “Relax, it’s just an air cast to stabilize her leg until the swelling dissipates. You should’ve iced it for her.”
Chase ignored the scolding and said, “If it’s not broken, why the MRI?” Brooke’s eyebrow rose toward Dixon. Chase figured his college buddy just wanted to see Brooke again. And again, he was right.
“She has a bad sprain but given her previous injuries, I want to make sure there’s no scar tissue.”
Chase and Brooke thanked Dr. Dixon Carter as Chase literally pulled the chair handles out of Dixon’s hands. He shot Dixie-dawg a scowl, thinking, you’re done—go hump someone else’s leg, then wheeled Brooke out the door. He had parked his BMW just outside the entrance, illegal to anyone but a friend of the good doctor.
The air cast made the injury appear swollen and painful, but it helped stabilize the ankle. The ice pack had numbed the throbbing. Before Chase could walk in front of the wheelchair, Brooke stood up, opened the door, and climbed inside—without incident. She looked pleased to avoid panty peek-a-boo.
Starting the car, Brooke pulled on the Harbour Town hat and Chase slipped on his trusty Blue Devils cap with a smirk. There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask, but didn’t dare. Instead, he asked, “How’s the ankle feel?”
“Much better.”
“Dixon’s an interesting character.” Chase accelerated, matching Brooke’s heartbeat.
“You mean Dixie-dawg?” Brooke’s eyes sparkled and almost caused Chase to veer off the road. She wanted to delve into how Chase earned the nickname Boa but thought against it. She wondered what was worse—being a dawg or a snake.
“He’ll always be Dixie-dawg to me. Around him, I still feel like I’m in college again. Is that weird?”
Chase suddenly had a sweet, vulnerable look—like a cocker spaniel approaching for approval, with tail wagging. Brooke loved the way his lips came to life when he smiled. She wondered if he kissed as good as his lips looked right now.
“That’s not weird. Actually, it’s funny, Brooke opted to let Chase off the hook, “Don’t worry, I won’t call you Boa at a meeting.”
“How are you finding the transition from GenSense to us?” Chase changed the subject back to his comfort zone and Brooke’s eyes narrowed.
“Fine,” Brooke lied.
“Well, I’m sure you’re impressed with the greater resources at Pharmical?”
Greater resources? More like a corporate death ritual, each and every day, Brooke thought, then said, “I’m starting to get acclimated to the new culture.” She rubbed her nose.
“That’s good. Well, if there’s anything I can ever help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Yeah, provided I can sneak past Ruth the pit bull. “Thanks. I will.”
The return drive passed quickly even though the talk remained work related. Pulling into the garage, Brooke directed Chase to her parking spot—quite a distance from the CEO’s. Brooke said, “Thank you so much for taking me in—and getting me such quick medical help.”
“My pleasure. It’s the least I could do after causing your injury.”
“You didn’t cause it—I tripped like a klutz.”
“You’re no klutz. It could have happened to anyone. I guess I can’t go running with you for a while now.” He flashed that killer smile.
Was he going to ask me to go running? Brooke wanted to say, what about your wife? “Not unless you let me go in a powered wheel chair.”
Chase chuckled. “Which one’s yours?”
“The silver car on the left.”
“Not the Lexus hybrid?” He sounded like a dukie and she didn’t like the mocking way he said hybrid. Against her inner prodding, Brooke didn’t take the bait. The last thing she wanted was to argue with the CEO, let alone a dukie who drove a beemer—especially after he so graciously helped her.
Stopping behind Brooke’s car, Chase asked, “Can you drive?”
“I think so—I’m right footed.”
“Let me help you to your car…” Brooke had already opened the BMW’s door and started to spring herself out of the low car seat, looking like a seasoned pro. As she hobbled over to her car door, Chase gripped her arm. His sturdy hands provided instant comfort—and heat—something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Brooke maneuvered into her familiar Lexus seat. Chase said, “Maybe we can grab a coffee sometime?”
“I’m not a coffee drinker.” The moment Brooke said this—causing Chase’s shoulders to slump—she regretted it.
Chapter 3
He’s married. He’s married. He’s married. No matter how hard Brooke tried, she couldn’t expunge her feelings. Chase had it all—good looks, intelligence, plenty of money, incredible body—and a wife! Plus, he was the boss. Two huge st
rikes against her libido that raged like never before. But, she couldn’t get her mind off him.
Replaying their day together, Brooke’s injury didn’t bother her. Driving was a breeze, and even the short walk to her place seemed pain free. Normally, re-injuring her ankle would have ruined her day and zapped all her energy, but not today. He had such a way about him. Carefree, charming, witty…and married. Her inner see-saw was leading her toward a nervous break-down.
Brooke swayed in her favorite chair—the same one her grandmother had told her stories from as a little girl. She inhaled, then released a deep sigh. Brooke pondered, I haven’t felt this way in a while. Most people flipped on TV or music when they arrived home, but Brooke turned to her chair. The rhythmic rocking motion always brought solace, her place of tranquility. Even if it was for a short while, it worked wonders for stress reduction.
While gently rocking, Brooke strained to reach her iced tea—and missed. With her good foot, she slowed to a halt and fixed her gaze on the nearby picture frame. As she gripped the chilled slippery tumbler, Tanner’s face drew her out of her trance. A chill shot down her spine.
I’m sorry Tanner. Guilt swirled inside as she stared into the picture. Her stomach twinged and her throat dried. In an instant, her inner harmony shattered as if she had dropped her iced tea on her solid hickory floor. She sipped, yet could barely swallow. Brooke felt as if she had cheated on him.
Jake “Tanner” Hart was her soul mate, the man of her dreams, the love of her life. “I miss you.” Tears stung, blurring his face—his handsome face. Brooke blinked hard, causing even more tears to rain off her crimson cheeks. He had been her everything, but nothing she could do would ever bring him back. She cursed the rare blood disease that destroyed him, destroyed their baby, and threatened to destroy her. When he finally gave up the fight, her heart ached as if it went along with him.
Inspecting her ankle, she sighed, realizing she would miss the Run for the Cure this weekend. Brooke felt her neck tighten as her entire leg flared up. The timer beeped for her Lean Cuisine, but she didn’t flinch. Her appetite was shot once again.
***
The ringtone startled her. It was Todd. That’s bizarre.
“Hi Todd. How did you know I was just thinking about you?”
“Because I’ve been thinking about you too.” He laughed.
Brooke missed their talks. Todd Hollis represented more than a former boss and mentor, he was a close friend—someone she always felt comfortable around. She said, “Tell me you’ve changed your mind?”
“Nope. In fact, I have good news.”
“Good, I could use some today.”
Todd paused, thinking Brooke didn’t sound right. “We finally landed an offer on the house. Suzette and I have to be outta here in six weeks.”
“I’m happy for you,” Brooke half-heartedly replied.
“What’s wrong?”
“I miss the old days. This new job isn’t doing it for me.”
“I tried to warn you. Pharmical isn’t for most people. Are they boring you to death or strangling you with rules and regulations?”
“Both. I just don’t have the passion for it anymore. I think I need a change. A big one.”
“Now you sound like me.”
“Not that kinda change. I’m not ready to retire—but I’m happy for you and Suzette.” Todd bit his upper lip. Brooke sounded off, just like last time. He considered asking about Tanner, but knew her well enough to hold off.
Instead, Todd said, “Mark Twain wrote ‘the secret of success is to make your vocation your vacation.’”
“Easy for him to say. He wrote books about drifting down a river.”
Todd chuckled. “Hang in there at Pharmical. You gotta give it at least six months.”
“I know, but time there should count in dog years.”
“You still have that sense of humor…Hey, Suze is yelling for me. I better see what she wants,” he huffed, then, “talk to you soon.”
When she missed Tanner in the not-so-distant past, Brooke always dove straight into her work. Todd had been a great friend, a shoulder to cry on, and a support beam for her. He had the ability to bring the best out of her, personally and professionally. She would have done anything for him. Suzette was one lucky woman. Now, as he prepared to move into his next chapter, Brooke realized she was losing an ally.
Brooke feared she was descending into the same dark hole as three years ago. She just didn’t have the passion anymore. Not at Pharmical. Not for life. Staring at Tanner’s picture, she pleaded, “Help me, Tanner. I need you.” The tears streamed along their familiar path. She desperately needed a vacation. A permanent one.
***
I’m not a coffee drinker. The words still stung.
Chase Allman wasn’t accustomed to rejection and thought his new vice president sure had brass ovaries. After all he did for her, especially obtaining the head of Orthopedic Surgery at Duke, she shucked him like a bad clam. She has some nerve.
Chase rubbed his chin, considering the possibility that he came on too strong. He wanted to ask her to dinner, but his corporate inner guide flashed a bright red stop sign. Getting a coffee was harmless and politically correct. Even if his intentions were cloudy.
His ringtone jolted him. Who’s calling this late? Fearing it was Heather, he reached for his cell. The caller ID made him chuckle. He jumped up to close his bedroom door, and answered, “What’s up dawg?”
“You are, Boa.” Chase heard music in the background.
“Are you out carousing again?”
“I’m on my way home from another night of pure debauchery. Ladies’ night. You should try it sometime.” Dixon slurred the last words.
“Hey, thanks for seeing Brooke on such short notice.”
“That’s why I’m calling…”
“Oh.” Chase bit his upper lip.
“You’re not tappin’ her, are you?”
“What?” Chase’s eyes squinted into a glare that could scare Clint Eastwood.
“You’re not tappin’…” Before Dixon could finish, Chase cut in, “No! She works for me. Are you nuts?”
“Good, then you won’t care if I do…”
“Dawg, you’re drunk so I won’t kick your ass this time. Let me be clear: stay away from Brooke Hart. Don’t embarrass me. Act like a doctor for Chrissake.”
“But, she’s smokin’ hot.”
“I’m warning you. Don’t even think about it. Besides, aren’t you engaged? What will wife number three-to-be say?”
“Engaged means I still have time Boa. That’s why the woman wears the ring and the guy doesn’t.”
Ordinarily, Chase would laugh at his buddy’s twisted perspective—even revel in it—but, he felt a burst of jealousy. He pursed his lips so tight that he could barely speak, but managed, “If you embarrass me and cross the line with Brooke, I swear I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll need a team of doctors to surgically remove my foot.”
“Relax, relax…I’m just playin’ with ya. Sheesh, where’s your sense of humor?”
Chase understood Dixon well enough to know he was serious as a heart attack. His intentions for Brooke were out-of-bounds. Since college, Dixon consistently earned his dawg nickname. Though funny in the past, now it struck too close to home.
“Behave. Next time I kick your ass.” Chase clicked the off button and silenced his ringer. He noticed tension in his neck and shoulders, hands shaking. He heard a rustling and snapped back to reality. He sat quietly for a moment, hoping he hadn’t awakened his three-year-old son Parker. The only sound he heard was his own heart thumping like a bass drum.
Chase laid down on his tempurpedic mattress. The foam caressed his back muscles and he focused on his breathing. Thoughts of Brooke swirled in his head, replacing his angst for Dixie-dawg.
Chapter 4
The elevator door slid open. Brooke whisked in—gracefully this time. He marveled at how her leg had healed in record time. He flipped the lock just as the doo
r closed. Without uttering a sound, their eyes locked and their inhibitions melted. As their lips met, passion exploded. With tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, they alternated moans of pure delight.
He had wanted her the moment he saw her. Now, she looked even more amazing.
She pressed against him, drawing a primal moan. A rush of warmth enveloped her. As if reading her mind, he slid her straps off her shoulders, releasing her dress to the floor. The room blurred like a steam room. They kissed again with even greater passion. She caressed his slacks, causing his knees to buckle. He throbbed and had to have her.
He carefully lowered his slacks and boxer briefs and the belt buckle clanked against the floor. Her slender fingers gripped him, then began gliding up and down. His knees buckled again but he managed to steady himself enough to unsnap her bra with the flick of his fingers. Their lips met, this time with slippery warm urgency. He was ready to explode as she melted into his arms.
He lowered his hands down her back, driving a tingling throughout. His thumbs slid beneath her thong and eased it off her hips, landing on top of her dress. He glided his strong hands across her firm derriere and gently massaged her. The titillating sensation caused her to coo in his ear.
Their eyes met; he stopped and gripped her. He swooshed her off the ground, as her eyes widened. After an instant where she felt weightless, her legs naturally settled on his hips. He plunged inside her…
Chase felt a strange sensation. He couldn’t escape it. Something kept slapping his cheek and then his nose…
Chase shot upright. He rubbed his eyes, and then Duke came into focus. His tail wagged as his tongue bounced up and down on his lower teeth. Usually, this happy face brought a smile. “Aw Duke, not now.”
Damnitall.
***
Jogging next to man’s best friend, Chase lowered his eyes and yelled, “You ruined a perfect dream. Thanks buddy. I’m not sure who’s worse—you or Dixie-dawg?” Duke’s ears rose and twitched but neither one slowed from their aggressive pace. Chase shook his head.
