by J. Saman
Craig leads me through the door, his hand on the small of my back. “You do realize that this is the first step,” he says as he slides into his side, shutting the car door behind him with a click.
“First step to what?”
“You agreeing to go out with me.”
“Is it the challenge? The thrill of continuously being shot down? What is it? I just don’t get your persistence.”
“Maybe I actually like you, Ivy. Maybe I have no other reason for asking you out other than that.”
I have nothing to say to that, and we fall silent, both lost in our own thoughts.
I saw Luke Walker tonight, and he didn’t remember me.
Worse yet, I’m going to see him again tomorrow and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to it.
3
Ivy
* * *
I hadn’t gotten much sleep before my shift, and it had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol I consumed, or the fact that Craig insisted on walking me to my door before kissing my cheek goodnight. It had nothing to do with the fact that I lost a patient yesterday or that I met a new set of friends a month before I’m scheduled to leave Seattle.
The only thing—or should I say only person—that was occupying my thoughts last night was Luke.
It’s been ten years since I’ve seen him, but I knew him instantly.
His face is forever burned into my memory, along with every other detail of that night.
He’s someone I never thought I’d see again, and the fact that he didn’t even recognize me—even after hearing my name and seeing my face—hurts.
It hurts because I knew him without having to be introduced. It hurts because that night clearly meant so much more to me than it ever did to him. It hurts because no one likes to be forgotten, especially by a man who was inside your body and looks like Luke. There, I said it.
I know, I know, it was a decade and a lifetime ago in a different state, but still.
Which is why I’m anxious as I ring Kate’s doorbell. He’s going to be here, and I’ll have to face him again, and that really shouldn’t be something I want. But it is. Christ, that man had my knickers twisted around his finger within five seconds last night.
The door swings open with a flourish, and Ryan Grant is standing on the other side with a big smile and a tilt of his head. “I hope you like Italian,” he says by way of a greeting.
“I do.”
“Excellent, then you may enter.”
He steps back, waving me in, and as I cross the threshold into the house, my eyes are quietly searching around, but all the noise is coming from the kitchen in the back of the house, so I can’t see who’s here.
“What if I didn’t fancy Italian?” I ask as he takes my coat and hangs it up in the closet next to the door.
“Then I’m sorry to say that I would have had to send you packing. Katie worked all day and there was no way I was going to let her cook for everyone so I ordered in. That,” he grins, “is my specialty.”
“We all need to have one, Ryan, and the fact that you were caring for your fiancée while performing said specialty makes it all the more impressive.”
“Then my work here is done.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Follow me, Doctor. I’m glad you could make it. Claire hasn’t shut up about you. If we were in high school, it would almost be endearing.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Am I the last to arrive? Sorry if I’m late.”
“Nah, you’re fine. Luke just got here.” I get a smirk for that, and I’m not quite sure what it means. It’s the sort of smirk that says, I’m in on the joke, but all that does is make me feel like I’m on the outside of it.
Everyone is crowded around the large center island, and as Ryan and I enter, three sets of eyes glance up at once. “Ivy Pivy,” Claire says exuberantly, standing up and throwing her arms around me. “What’s shakin’ with your bacon?”
“I can’t believe you’re still standing. I would have thought for sure that you would be nursing the hangover of your life,” I say, grinning widely.
“Nope. Kate makes me drink a shit ton of water whenever I commence the consumption of the alcoholic beverages, so it wasn’t anything that Motrin and an egg sandwich couldn’t cure.”
“The consumption of the alcoholic beverages?” Ryan asks, looking at Claire as if her words don’t make any sense.
“Yup. That’s what I said, boss.”
All he can do is stare at her. “Maybe next time you won’t get plastered to the point where I have to practically carry you home,” Ryan says with absolutely no edge to his tone.
Claire rolls her eyes at him dramatically. “Whatever, Luke was just as roughed up as I was by the end of the night as he brooded in the corner in silence.”
My eyes reluctantly make the journey over to his, a place I’ve avoided since entering the kitchen. He shrugs a shoulder, not bothering to deny it. He didn’t seem drunk when he and I spoke, though maybe he’s good at hiding it. And the thought that he only approached me because he was drunk makes my chest clench in a horribly uncomfortable way.
“The food should be here soon. Thank you for coming Ivy,” Kate says. “Our little foursome needed an addition.”
I smile, not really knowing what to say to that. “Claire mentioned that you’re getting married in a couple of months?”
“Yup, and lucky for you, we covered most of the boring wedding details before you got here.”
“Nothing boring about wedding details,” I say, nodding my thanks to Ryan who hands me a glass of red wine.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Claire says. “Especially when I’ve been dying to find out what happened when Craig Stanton drove you home. That man is epically hot.”
It feels like all eyes are on me, which is a bit unnerving. “He drove me home.”
“That’s it?” Kate asks incredulously.
“That’s it.” I take a sip of my wine, trying to deflect the penetrating stares burning a hole into me.
Claire groans. “Boring, Ivy. At least tell me you agreed to a date with him. He’s way into you. After you ditched me in the kitchen with him last night, he told me that he’s had his eye on you since your first year of residency, but that you were really quiet and guarded, so he held off on asking you out.”
I blush furiously, looking down at the marble counter.
“He said that?” Kate asks. “Holy shit. I would never have pegged Craig Stanton as a romantic.”
“I can’t believe he said that,” I whisper, a bit bewildered myself. “That just doesn’t seem like him.”
“Right?” Kate agrees with a snort. “I wouldn’t fall for it, Ivy. That man goes through nurses faster than he does sterile gloves.”
“Oh, she’s not,” Claire says with authority. “She told him she doesn’t date coworkers. Is that true, or is that just a way of fighting him off?”
“It’s true.”
“Why not?” Kate questions like I’m crazy. “You work with so many attractive, eligible doctors.”
“Should I be worried about these attractive, eligible doctors?” Ryan asks Kate, kissing the top of her head.
“Obviously not.” She holds up her ringed finger at him. “But I don’t see why Ivy doesn’t go for it.”
This is not something I want to discuss with people I hardly know, but going by the overly curious expressions I’m surrounded with, it doesn’t seem like they’re about to let it go. “I had a bad experience once when I was in medical school.”
“What happened?” Luke asks. His voice startles me because it’s the first time I’ve heard him speak since I got here.
My finger traces a pattern in the marble, my eyes unfocused as I stare down. “I was dating a fellow student, and in our last year of school he was . . . getting too serious, and I ended it after a rather large fight we had. He didn’t take that well, and things turned a bit ugly, which affected our work at the hospital.”
Everyone is sile
nt for a moment, and then Kate gasps. “You’re that Ivy?”
My eyes fly up to hers, my brows furrowed. Kate is relatively new at our hospital and was not working there when everything with Jason occurred. That, and it was a long time ago, so I can’t imagine it’s still the stuff of idle gossip.
“Melinda Crane talked about it once,” she explains, and I freeze. Melinda is a nurse who was very much there and even witnessed one of the incidents. “I can’t believe that was you.”
“She told you about that?”
Kate nods, her expression full of sympathy. “She did. Most of the nurses know about it.” I’m bright red; I can’t feel it.
“I didn’t realize that.” I bring my glass up to my mouth, taking a long pull of the crimson liquid, wanting to drown in it.
“Okay, someone better clue me in because I’m dying here,” Claire says, exasperated, leaning against the counter, her eyes volleying back and forth between Kate and me.
Kate mouths the word sorry to me, and once again, it feels like everyone is watching me.
Shouldn’t the bloody food be here already?
“It’s not as scandalous as it sounds. He just had trouble letting go and made a show of it in the ED, as well as a few other places. Lots of screaming and baseless accusations.”
“That’s it?” Claire asks Kate who’s staring at me.
I shrug. “Things eventually progressed to the point where he stalked me nearly everywhere I went, then he ran me off the road in my car, so I got a restraining order. That seemed to wake him up, and things resolved after that.”
“Holy shit,” Ryan gasps. “Are you kidding me?”
I take another sip of my wine instead of answering him.
“Jesus,” Luke mutters, slamming his fist quietly against the marble. “Where is he now?”
I see Ryan and Luke exchange glances, having some sort of unspoken conversation the way only very close friends can do.
“I didn’t track him after he graduated, but he’s not in Seattle or Washington State, and that’s enough for me.” I take a large deep breath.
“Fuckity fuck,” Claire says. “That’s some looney tunes shit. And I thought Ryan was a crazy stalker for sending Kate those asinine texts every day after she left his sorry ass.”
“Such a brat, Claire,” Ryan teases while Kate reaches across him to smack her arm.
“I thought they were sweet,” Kate adds, reaching up on her toes to kiss his chin. She is so much shorter than him it’s almost comical.
“You work for him, right?” I ask pointing between Ryan and Claire.
“Yup,” Claire elbows him in the side. “That’s the boss.”
“And you speak to each other like that? Are you related?”
They both look at each other in horror. “Never,” Ryan says. “Claire is the insubordinate pain in the ass I’ve been stuck with all these years.”
“Shove it, Ryan, you’d be lost without me.”
The doorbell rings, putting paid to our conversation that still feels strained after my little confession. I don’t like talking about Jason, and it bothers me that it’s still gossiped about in the hospital. I thought it would have died away over the years, but apparently, a story is still a story.
We fill our plates in the kitchen and sit at the dining room table, our conversation straying away from me as they regale me with stories of how Kate and Ryan met, and a road trip they journeyed on across the country.
Luke has been on the quiet side all night, commenting here and there but not contributing all that much, though every time I look in his direction, his eyes are on me. And when I’m not looking at him, I feel him watching me.
When everyone is finished with their meal, I stand up, grabbing plates and shooing Kate and Claire away when they try to help me clean up. Setting the dishes down on the counter next to the sink, I feel a warm hand touch the small of my back.
“Are you working tomorrow?” Luke asks softly, standing next to me, leaning against the counter as I turn on the water to wash the dishes.
“I’ve got an early shift tomorrow,” I lie.
I’m not working for the next two days straight.
He nods slowly, his arm brushing mine as he helps me load up the dishwasher. We’re silent as we clean up, rinsing and washing, before I hand him each dish to be placed in the dishwasher. But he continues to touch me in small ways that I feel throughout my entire body. His hand grazing mine, his hip, his arm—anywhere he can touch, he does.
I’m so acutely aware of his proximity that I nearly drop a plate twice.
Any chemistry? Holy hell do we have that in spades.
I had hoped last night, and ten years ago for that matter, were alcohol-induced episodes, but I was one hundred percent wrong. Two glasses of wine cannot arouse this type of fire inside me. He’s everywhere, and I can’t help but buzz and hum with nervous energy when I’m in his far-too-sexy presence.
I hand him the final plate, and once he’s loaded it, he turns into me, nearly pinning me against the counter. My breath catches, and my heart begins to pound.
He takes my hand, his eyes focused on mine as his fingertips trace up my palm until they reach my wrist. It’s such a small action, but it’s so very intimate, and I feel that featherlight touch as if it’s a bolt of lightning.
His fingers track back and forth against the sensitive skin of my wrist, and I’m having a rough go of concentrating on anything else. Right, that’s sort of a lie, his face is pretty captivating as well. Those fingers continue their path up my inner arm, sliding the fabric of my sweater with them and leaving a trail of chills in their wake.
Luke leans in, his eyes holding mine. Just as I think he’s about to kiss me, his nose brushes my cheek and goes directly to the spot just beneath my ear where he inhales deeply.
Oh my god.
My knees weaken, and I have absolutely no idea how I’m managing to hold myself upright.
I also have no idea why I’m letting him touch me like this. I’m having some sort of out-of-body experience, or temporary insanity, that only this man is capable of conjuring.
Deep breaths now, Ivy. Deep breaths.
Yeah, that’s not helping since all I can smell is him.
“What kind of doctor are you, Ivy?” he whispers in my ear.
I love the way he says my name. Want to bathe in it before I cuddle it in bed.
“Pediatric emergency medicine,” I swallow, my voice oh so very affected.
He pulls back, smiling big, an alluring dimple denting his left cheek.
“Then I guess I can’t argue with you about working tomorrow.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Too bad, I was readying my case to get you to play hooky. I was hoping to convince you to have lunch with me.”
“I guess you’ll have to ask someone else.” The words taste like acid in my mouth. I have no idea why I’m reacting to him like this.
He shakes his head, his mouth hovering just a few inches from mine. “No, I think you’re the only woman I’ll be asking out anytime soon.”
Who says things like that to someone they’ve barely spoken to?
Luke Walker, that’s who.
It’s how he managed to get me into bed the first time a decade ago. His mouth is like my own personal form of kryptonite. If I don’t leave now, I will not only be in trouble, but I’ll regret it.
“I should go,” I whisper. Why am I whispering?
“How are you getting home, Ivy?”
Would it be weird if I asked him to stop saying my name? There really is only so much a woman can handle before she’s no longer responsible for her actions, and I’m clearly approaching my limit.
“I don’t live far. Just a few blocks away.”
“Are you walking?” God, he’s so close. So very close that if I closed my eyes and leaned up just the smallest amount, our lips would touch.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly so dry as his lips linger just above mine.
I’m surrounded. His smell, the warmth of his
breath, the magical fingers dancing on my forearm, his proximity, it’s all too much.
“Yes.” I take a small step back, but all that manages to do is cause my bottom to hit the counter behind me. I need fresh air that doesn’t taste like him to clear my muddled, alcohol-laden, sex-deprived brain.
He shakes his head, dismayed. “Ivy.” He rights himself, creating the space I’m desperate for, our intimate moment gone “You can’t walk alone in the dark. This is Seattle. It’s just not safe,” he chastises me like I haven’t lived here since university and am perfectly aware of the risks a young woman can encounter when walking alone.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No. I’ll walk you.”
I shake my head. “You really don’t have to. I live right close.”
“Then it really won’t be a hardship for me. Come on.” He takes my hand in a firm grip, leading me back out to the dining room where Kate, Ryan, and Claire are still chatting away, contentedly oblivious.
We say our goodbyes to everyone, and more than one look is thrown around when Luke announces that he’s walking me home. I try to refuse him again, but that gets me nowhere.
I need to get away from him.
Nothing good will come of us spending time together.
4
Ivy
* * *
I make it to the bottom step before I hear the door open and shut behind me, forcing a frustrated sigh to escape my lips.
I don’t know if I’m elated or irked that he’s walking me home. Attraction clearly isn’t our issue here. But I’m leaving in a month, and the things I feel when I’m around him are dangerous. They’re enticing and seductive, and I’m so unbelievably drawn to him, though we’ve hardly even spoken.
Like I said, dangerous.
So do I want him walking me home?
On the one hand, it’s chivalrous and kind, and I love the fact that he wants me to be safe on my short jaunt home. On the other hand, he turns my stomach into knots and swarming insects, and though it’s idiotic and petulant of me, I’m still hurt he doesn’t remember me.
