by Monica James
“Only thanks to you. Please, won’t you sit?” I say, gesturing to the booth.
“I better not. I’m here with someone.”
“Oh, you Casanova,” I say with a playful wink.
Dr. Wellington chuckles once again, and shakes his head, his thinning gray hair moving with the movement. “It’s not like that at all. I’m old enough to be her grandfather. She’s a student of mine.”
“I didn’t realize you were still teaching,” I say, and he nods.
“Yes, only part-time. Just basic psychology,” he replies. “This one student has shown great potential, and the facility asked I take her and another student with me, as they see the potential in both pupils. I think they just want me to show her off to all the bigwigs. You know how much Columbia likes to brag about their students when they become a big deal.”
I nod because he’s right. Colleges love to boast they schooled the next big thing, as it warrants them charging astronomical tuition fees.
“She actually reminds me of you in a way,” he says with a playful gleam in his eye.
“What? She’s a pain in the ass?” I counter, and Dr. Wellington grins.
“Yes, that too. Well, I best be off. Never leave a beautiful woman waiting.”
“So I’ve heard,” I reply, as he’s preaching to the choir. “It was lovely seeing you again, Dr. Wellington.”
“Please, it’s Max. Formalities are only for the classroom, and even then, they are totally unnecessary.”
I smirk, pleased his humility is still intact. “I look forward to hearing you speak at the ceremony.”
“Thank you, Dixon. If I’m boring you to tears, please feel free to throw a bread roll at me.”
“You never could, but yes, I promise.”
“Are you staying here for the week?”
“Yes, I am. I needed to get away from the big smoke,” I confess. “And I’m also working on a paper on the links between neurobiology and addiction, focusing on the nature versus nurture principle. I needed the downtime to get it finished.”
“Oh? How interesting. I would be intrigued to hear your findings,” Max says, the scientist in him coming through. “Would you be interested in catching up tomorrow morning? Around eight thirty for breakfast?”
“Sure, that sounds wonderful.”
I could really, really do with someone like Max’s opinion. Consulting with someone with his expertise and experience could really open up avenues I haven’t fully explored. The thought of possibly being a contender for next year’s ceremony doesn’t seem as farfetched as it once was.
“Splendid. I’ll ask Alex and Madison along also, if you don’t mind? I’m sure they’ll find your research fascinating.”
The moment her name passes his lips, I pray and plead that it’s another Madison and not my Madison, because if it is her, she no doubt saw me chatting up the waitress ten minutes ago.
“Is that okay?” he asks when I don’t speak.
“Yes, yes, of course, that’s fine,” I reply, subtly looking around the room.
“Brilliant. Well, tomorrow around eight thirty it is then,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Have a lovely evening.” He winks when my overly helpful waitress arrives with my food.
The moment he turns his back, I frantically scan the room and when my gaze locks with a familiar pair of stunning green eyes, I don’t know whether to cry in relief, or just damn cry.
This is bordering on becoming ridiculous. Some may call our coincidental meetings fate, serendipity bringing two people together. But I call it a curse, because every time I see her, it’s a constant reminder of what I’ve lost.
She looks just as I remember her, but a billion times better. She looks intoxicating in a low-cut, flowing dress, which accentuates her amazing body. I don’t care that I’m staring, because even if I wanted to look away, I couldn’t. I’m still mesmerized by her, even though her running and screaming for the hills was a sure sign she doesn’t feel the same.
“Doctor?” the waitress says, snapping me out of my stupor.
Madison cocks a daring brow, and I’m so busted. She so saw me flirting with the blonde, and I suddenly wish I’d stuck to my original thought of focusing on work instead of getting laid.
“Thank you,” I reply with a strained smile, and take a seat in the booth.
She places my meal on the table, and bends low, her loose-fitting tee revealing the tops of a pair of amazing breasts. But it’s not her breasts I want. The breasts I want are sitting feet away from me, eyeballing the shit out of me.
“So, I’m really looking forward to tonight,” she says, placing my bill on the tabletop.
Even though Madison can’t hear the exchange, I still squirm in my seat, feeling like a right royal bastard for encouraging this situation in the first place.
“Um, about that,” I say with a sigh. “It’s not going to happen.”
“What?” she replies, taken aback by my honesty.
I could lie, but what would be the point?
“Yes, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have accepted this in the first place,” and I reach into my pocket, pulling out the piece of paper with her number on it. “Here,” I say, offering it to her.
Thinking this is some kind of game, she says, “Keep it. You might change your mind.”
I shake my head. “I won’t.” And to prove my point, I rip the piece of paper in half and deposit the tattered pieces on the table.
I know my actions are harsh, but it’s best to be blunt, and by the waitress’s gaping mouth, my actions have been heard, loud and clear.
“Okay, well, your loss,” she defensively says, and walks off in a huff.
Sighing, I look down at my meal and push it away, as I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. The only thing I’m craving is sitting feet away from me, and I don’t know what to do. Raising my eyes, I see that Madison is no longer at her table. I’m not sure why I just refused free, easy sex, because God knows, I haven’t refused it this past month. But seeing Madison has just brought home the fact that I need to kick a habit—her.
26
A Stranger in his Clothing
MADISON
Seeing Dixon after so long was exactly how I predicted it to be—a damn disaster.
My heart sped up the moment I saw him enter the restaurant, looking totally at ease and owning the room with his confidence and poise. However, my heart began racing for an entirely different reason, and that reason was the blonde waitress who zeroed in on him the moment he entered the room. Jealousy like I’ve never experienced before hit me so hard I had to excuse myself and take a breather in the bathroom before I did something I regretted, like claw out her eyes.
When I returned, I saw him openly flirt with her and look like a pig in shit when she gave him her number. But why should I care? I was the one who ran out on him like an insane person, when he did nothing wrong. I was also the one who told him I could never see him again without giving him an explanation why I had such a sudden change of heart. And I was the one who told him he was a mistake, which was a total lie.
Honestly, I couldn’t tell him why I freaked. It’s not something I want to share with anyone, but a small part of me does with Dixon, and that’s what scares me the most. Feeling nothing but kindness and tenderness in his touch showed me that maybe, just maybe, I have a second chance at living a normal life.
But then I went and screwed it up.
When I left Dixon’s that night, I knew there was something I had to do; I had to tell David it was over. It was unfair to string him along, and I knew he would probably hate me, but I would prefer that than hurt him a second longer.
So for the past month, I have focused on school, and have purposely not focused on how I messed things up with Dixon. I know he would never give me another chance, but honestly, I really need to deal with my demons before I go and be intimate with anyone ever again.
However, after being worshipped by Dixon, I don’t want to experience that with anyone other than
him. The way he touched me was unlike anything I have ever felt. I found a new sense of freedom in my physical liberation with Dixon, but that all went to hell, thanks to my meltdown.
Plain and simple, I’m scared. And I’d rather be scared and push Dixon away, than get hurt, because with Dixon that hurt will almost certainly result in tears, heartache, and pain. So staying away is better for everyone.
My apprehension about opening up has me standing in front of my hotel mirror, trying to look enthused for my breakfast date with Dixon, but it’s going as expected—terrible. When Dr. Wellington proposed having breakfast with Dixon, I couldn’t say no. I was honored he even asked me to attend this event with him in the first place, as I know how prestigious it is.
I just have to suck it up and deal because this is for the best. I can act professional, and I sure as hell can pretend that Dixon never inflamed my body with his gentle mouth and needy hands. Thanks to his flirty encounter with the Barbie Doll, I now have the fuel to douse any nostalgia I may feel, because it’s obvious he’s moved on, and now it’s my turn to do the same.
* * *
“Everything okay?” Dr. Wellington asks while I nervously fidget with the napkin in my lap.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” I reply, guiltily meeting his concerned eyes. “I’m just feeling a little off-color.”
“Oh, dear, you should have mentioned something earlier. Would you like to go back upstairs?” he kindly suggests, but I shake my head, as I’m determined to make it through this one breakfast and prove to myself, and to Dixon, that I’ve moved on.
But that statement is quickly revoked when I smell the most delicious fragrance known to mankind float through the room. I know in a heartbeat who’s wearing that heady scent. It belongs to the owner of that deep, husky voice, which has my entire body spreading out in goose pimples the moment he opens his mouth.
“Good morning,” Dixon says, addressing the table, while I choke on…air.
Subtly coughing, I hope my asphyxiation passes before I have to face the hottest man on the planet. Thankfully it does, and I raise my eyes to meet his, but the moment I do, I almost choke once again.
“Good morning, Dixon,” Dr. Wellington says, oblivious to my sudden inability to breathe.
“Max,” he replies, giving him a small nod, but his eyes never leave mine.
“This is Madison and Alex.” Dr. Wellington introduces us, unaware I know Dr. Mathews in a personal way.
That thought has me thinking about someone else who probably also knows Dr. Mathews personally, and that would be the little tart from last night.
With that vision in mind, I straighten my spine and extend my hand. “Lovely to meet you, Dr. Mathews.”
Dixon happily accepts it, and I tell my body to stop somersaulting in excitement the moment our hands touch.
“Pleasure,” he replies with a grin, and I try not to stare at the way his checkered shirt highlights his rocky planes and hardened muscles.
He then turns his eyes to Alex, the Russian beauty to my right. “Why hello, Alex,” he says, accepting her hand, but delivering a light kiss on the back of her knuckles.
I have no doubt the entire table can hear my teeth grinding at the sight, but I calmly reach for my water and remind myself it’s only one breakfast, and then he’ll be gone.
When Dixon takes a seat next to me, I try not to stare at his long fingers as he reaches for the menu, but images of those fingers wrapping around my breasts and playing with my nipples suddenly assault my brain, and I clumsily drop my glass, spilling water down the front of my white sundress.
“Shit!” I quietly curse, reaching for my soiled napkin and uselessly wiping down my dress.
“Oh, Madison, are you okay?” Dr. Wellington asks, the concern clear in his voice. “Let me call a waiter.”
My cheeks are flushed, I’m beyond embarrassed, and I need to get away from Dixon’s eagle eyes because I can feel him staring at me. “It’s fine, Dr. Wellington. I’ll just clear it up.” Kicking out my chair, I drop to the floor to pick up my glass.
There is really no need for me to be down here, but it gives me a moment to catch my breath before I have to go back up there and face Dixon’s smugness.
“Are you going to stay down there all morning?” Dixon asks with a smirk, and I raise my eyes to see his baby blues peering down at me, as he’s leaned across my seat, watching my every move.
I refrain from using an expletive, as his smug expression pisses me off, so I quickly regain my composure and retake my seat without throwing my glass at his face. My cheeks are hot and I’m a little breathless, but apart from that I think I’m over my madness.
“Sorry about that,” I say, mainly addressing Dr. Wellington, who waves off the apology.
Thankfully, our waiter arrives and takes our orders, and without thinking, I order the waffles and a side order of French toast.
“In the mood for something sweet this morning, Madison?” Dixon asks, his voice dripping with innuendo.
Turning to meet his arrogant gaze, I boldly nod. “Yes, dinner left a bitter taste in my mouth, so I need something sweet to wash away the taste.”
Dixon blanches, knowing full well I’m referring to his rendezvous, and my confidence is lifted when he runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking mighty uncomfortable.
Dr. Wellington picks up on the hostility and tries to change the subject. “So, Dixon, please, enlighten us with your findings.”
Dixon takes in my appearance for a final moment before turning to look at Dr. Wellington, appearing unruffled and completely composed. “Well, as you know, addiction is a very complex thing.”
I suddenly feel my cheeks begin to heat once again.
“It most definitely is,” Dr. Wellington says with a nod. “People lose who they are and what they once were due to some powerful addictions. But the question here is: why do some people become addicts, and others, merely appreciators? I mean, I love cotton candy, but I’m not compulsed to seek it out on a daily basis, nor do I lose control in limiting my intake. So, what’s the trigger?”
“Desire,” Dixon coolly replies, while I shuffle in my seat.
“What about it?” Dr. Wellington asks, and I internally groan because I have a feeling I’m not going to like how this conversation ends.
“Well, most people become addicts because they crave, they desire that high, whether artificial or natural. Is this a classic case of nature versus nurture? Or is it something more? I think it’s a lot simpler in some basic circumstances. We all desire pleasure, we want to feel good, and that triggers a neurobiological response, alerting the brain that eating, smoking, taking drugs, or having sex with random strangers feels good,” Dixon explains, his voice lowering when he adds in the last point.
I find his thoughts absolutely fascinating, and for a moment, I forget I’m infatuated with the guy and listen to his ingenious beliefs.
“Therefore, we become addicted to that ‘high,’” he says, using quotation marks. “And the reward that high delivers.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Dr. Wellington affirms, his eyes twinkling in excitement.
“I want my findings to exhibit that, yes, I acknowledge substance abuse, for example, is a disorder, however, simpler ‘addictions’ are triggered by raw, basic human emotions. The reward itself is what we become addicted to.”
I’m lost in Dixon’s intelligence, watching the way he uses his hands as explanatory tools, when he turns in his seat to look at me with a sly look in his eye.
“So, Madison. You seem like a fairly uncomplicated girl,” he smugly says, tongue in cheek, while I narrow my eyes and glare at him, as this is obviously an intentional jab at me. I remain calm and wait for him to finish.“Is there one intrinsic thing you seem to be addicted to?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I don’t understand what he’s trying to achieve by putting me on the spot this way, but I’ll be damned if I show weakness.
When I merely shrug, my noncommittal gesture s
eems to tick Dixon off, and he presses. “C’mon, there’s got to be one thing you do that you know is bad for you, but the reward, the stimuli you receive from that one bad action, cancels out all repercussions, and you keep coming back for more.”
The table is silent, waiting for me to reply. But when Dixon arrogantly says, “Well, maybe you’re a lot more complicated than I originally thought,” I lose my cool, and let him know the one and only thing I’m addicted to.
“I obviously fall for the wrong men,” I spit out, springing out of my chair. “But you know what, Dr. Mathews? The reward is really not worth the pain.”
His face softens for a fraction of a second, but it’s then replaced with an unkind, callous mask of a man I no longer know.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, on the verge of tears. I quickly make a wild dash toward the exit, unable to face him a moment longer.
The second I charge into the empty elevator, a sob escapes me, and I cover my mouth to mute my tears. How could he have been so mean? Yes, we didn’t part on the best of terms, but his performance was downright cruel. I would never go out of my way to embarrass him in front of others, especially someone like Dr. Wellington, or flirt with my peer. His actions today have made it perfectly clear he doesn’t care. Maybe he never did.
Wiping my eyes, I dejectedly exit the elevator and mope all the way to my room. Slipping off my shoes and soiled dress, I placed the DND sign on the door and crawl into bed. Here’s hoping I don’t dream because this time around, my dreams of Dr. Mathews are no longer welcomed.
27
Payback
DIXON
I’m a bastard.
Yes, what I did at breakfast this morning was fairly unorthodox, but kicking the habit means kicking the habit. No half-assed attempts at getting Madison out of my life, because the way she looked at me, I know she felt it, too. That invisible, electrical current was once again passing between us, and to rid her from my life, she needs to be the one who walks away because I don’t think I can be the one who cuts ties.
