Doc

by S. A. Chakraborty

  She sighs and touches a palm to my face. “I’m paying for lunch.”

  “Jesus Christ.” I sit back into my chair and shake my head. “Fine. You can buy the sushi, but if you try to pay for anything else, I will spank you.”

  Her responding grin grows lopsided and her cheeks pink.

  “Really?”

  “Eat up, tiger. We should get going,” she says, an angelic lilt to her voice as she rises, drops her robe, and damn-near skips to the bathroom.

  “We’re going to be late,” I call.

  “I know.”

  I’m in so deep.

  ***

  Matt spends the first forty-five minutes chatting Nora up like she’s going to dump me for him. I’d be worried if I didn’t know what a good guy he is, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to give him shit.

  “Oi! Hands off,” I snap. “Sexual harassment is not cool, mate.”

  Nora laughs. “It’s only harassment if it’s uninvited,” she says.

  “That’s it, I’m leaving,” I say and turn to walk away.

  “Get back,” she groans as she grabs my arm. “I was just about to lower the boom on this poor, unsuspecting love puppy over here.”

  Matt’s expression sours and prunes. “Love puppy? I take it back. I’m not flying you to my estate in Tuscany.”

  “Like you had one,” I say. “So I was just going to show her around; is that all right?”

  “No problem, man,” he says. “Dooley’s on the hillside set doing a principal scene. They’re still setting up, but if you want to go watch, it’ll be a fun one. It’s the ‘experiment’ scene.”

  “Kinky.” Nora grabs my ass.

  I turn slowly to side-eye her. “Steady, killer. There are plenty of hiding spots around here, you know.”

  One eyebrow raises. “How do you know?”

  “I caught one of my guys trying to use ’em.”

  She rolls her eyes and pushes at my chest. “Not the best hiding spots then, eh?”

  I shrug and laugh. “I just know what I’m looking for.”

  Nora drops my gaze. “You sure do,” she says under her breath.

  I want to comment, to add to it. Maybe even confess how strongly I feel about her, but I don’t. She’s not ready. Is she?

  ***

  Nora’s still buzzing from watching the filming, so she’s bouncing all over the car on the quick ride to the sushi place.

  “I mean, I’ve been on sets before—I even filmed a walk-on role in a doomed TV show once upon a time—but that was electric. You must have such fun,” she says leaning out the window, hair whipping wildly around her face.

  I smile, just watching her.

  “I do,” I confirm once she brings herself back into the vehicle. “Sometimes stunts don’t work, or we have to do them four hundred times—literally. Then it’s not the party you saw today, as this was well-planned with a reasonable expectation of outcome. Some things take a bit of trial and a shit-ton of error.”

  “Which is why it’s such a dangerous profession.” Her raised eyebrow tells me more than her teasing tone.

  “Less than American football,” I note. “And true stunt work is all about figuring out how to make something potentially or seriously dangerous look real, but also do it safely.”

  “You’re so hot when you talk precautions.”

  I smirk at her. “Cheeky.”

  Somewhere in the middle of sushi and a random discussion about going fishing with her father back in Ireland as a girl, my phone buzzes. A jolt of anger shoots through me at the interruption. It’s taken so much patience to get Nora in a place where opening up is a possibility, let alone a reality, and it’s the second time it’s gone off in the last five minutes. I ignored the first, but a second in a row from Matt piques my concern.

  “Sorry, love,” I say. “Let me just see what the fuck is up his arse. Matt, this better be good, son. What’s on?”

  “I hate to bother, man,” he says, “but I just found out some of the footage you shot a few weeks ago was corrupted and lost. We need to reshoot.”

  Nora reacts to my expression. “What happened?” She looks worried, so I grab her hand and shake my head.

  “Damn, mate,” I say to Matt. “How many people got fired for that? Aren’t there backups?”

  “I lost count of the fallen, and no. Apparently there are no backups. The producers are pissed, but we are ahead of schedule, miraculously, so we have a little wiggle to get this reshot and in the can so it can be ready for the editing team on time.”

  “You’re not asking me to cut my weekend short, are you?” I ask, but my eyes are on Nora’s. I see wheels turning, and it freaks me out a little. “Because I am not available.”

  “We won’t be ready for your crew until Saturday.”

  “I suppose I’m flying home by myself?” My Beauty asks once I wrap up the call. Her eyes are dark and unreadable. I can’t tell if she’s angry or amused.

  “Unless you want to stick around. Watch me work.” I wouldn’t be opposed to it, though I’m sure she’d get bored fast.

  Her nose scrunches up as she shakes her head. “I have to work Friday night. You know the weekends are big for me. Until I get a solid savings reserve built up, I need to work my ass off.”

  “Please don’t. Your ass is delectable.”

  “Get your lips off it,” she counters, making a kissy face.

  “What about PR?”

  “It’s certainly lucrative, and if I had the right opportunity, I might grab it, but for now, I like bartending.” Her fingers skim the top of the sake bottle delicately, almost erotically. Probably not, but my mind is going there. “It lets me leave work at work, and that’s kind of a blessing.”

  “But it sucks up your weekends like an overeager Hoover.”

  Her responding laugh is loud and sudden, and she slaps a hand over her mouth. Beneath her fingers, I see the tint of heat bloom. “For now. Like I said, it’s temporary.”

  Are we? But I don’t say it. The thought was errant, popped out of nowhere.

  “We find our time together,” she says, faux-innocently batting her lashes.

  I grin. “Speaking of, shall we?”

  “Please.”

  23

  THE TIME I LIED A LOT

  NORA

  THE OJAI GETAWAY is still fresh on my mind when I show up at Doc’s door well over a week later. I worked the last two weekends, raking in a chart-topping two grand in tips, and I might have to credit all the Ojai sex. It seems to have made me so cheerful that my customers’ money just fell out of their wallets.

  Or, if I’m honest with myself, I threw myself into the job in order to distract from thinking about what death-defying excuse for work Doc’s engaging in.

  It took me days to get over here this morning. One thing after another, starting with Cameron moaning over her new and utterly painful boobs. The incisions have become infected, so she’s going to be laid up longer than she planned. Mama Margaret went to visit her mother in San Diego, so baby girl is home with me. I made Cam breakfast and got her set up on the couch to relax for the day. Hopefully the meds kick in and wipe out the infection soon. Then, I needed gas in my car, and there was traffic coming out of the canyon and then on PCH because of a three-car pileup. No fatalities, but a crazy-delayed response from LAPD and the fire department. I nearly dropped my transmission from shifting so hastily and forgetting to step on the clutch. I’ve driven a stick for years, so I don’t know why I’m flaking on it now.

  When he opens the door, Doc beams. He wastes no time, pulling me inside to greet me with the most starving of kisses. No words, just a chest-heaving, ass-groping, almost-fucking-in-the-doorway kiss. What could be hours later—but in reality is under a minute—we separate far enough only to speak. Our bodies still pressed firmly together, our lips brush as words tumble out.

  “Hi.” He’s so romantic.

  “Hi.” My voice is close to a whisper. “I missed you.”

  He presses
a kiss and a confession to my lips. “I missed you.”

  “I can feel that,” I say, squeezing a hand between us. My grip on his hardening dick forces him to close his eyes momentarily. When they open again, they’re hooded and dark. He begins to shake his head and clarify, but it’s been too many nights without him in my bed, so I shut him up with my tongue.

  Many people may not feel such an urgency after an arguably quick week, but every one of those nights found me in bed with my hand down my pants, working myself toward a meager version of where he takes me with a kiss. I came just enough to relax and go to sleep after a long shift of watching drunk fools hook up. What I get from him is far more than sex. It’s a peace I didn’t expect. It’s a comfort I didn’t realize I needed.

  “Now, please.” I hate to beg, but I have no problem asking for what I want.

  For once, Doc doesn’t argue. Instead, he lifts me to so I can wrap myself around his waist, fastening my ankles behind him. I hear the door slam from my position of face-attachment. My body registers the impact of each of his rushed steps to the bedroom as it shocks through my muscles and bones.

  “Too far,” I whine in his mouth.

  He doesn’t listen. He’s determined to make it to the bed.

  I grind on him like it’s my job. “Doc.” I mumble between our lips, never halting my movements.

  My back hits the bed before I realize he’s thrown me down. I smile—full teeth, lips parted—up at him. My shirt is over my head in a flash. His shirt is gone by the time I can blink.

  “Call me Declan,” he demands softly, with a lopsided grin. “No one else calls me Declan but you.”

  “Christ, stop talking and fuck me,” I beg, wiggling out of my skirt and panties. He doesn’t move. I groan. Does he not understand how much I need him right now? “Declan, please.”

  Typical Doc, he starts at my ankles and works his way slowly to the swollen hot spot that is aching to be filled. It’s okay. When he gets there, I’ll forget everything I know.

  And I do. As soon as his mouth is on me, I reach for the headboard, but it’s too far. I’m grasping at the covers, but even the pillows escape my fingertips. The last time I held his head and nearly ripped his ears off. Okay, not really, but the nail marks were still visible into the next day.

  He pulls me by my hips, farther down to the end of the bed. His grip on them is so secure, I settle for weaving my hair through my fists. Luckily, I don’t pull any out, but it’s something to hold on to while he conducts the sexiest conversation in the tricky language of cunnilingus as though it is his native tongue.

  Suddenly he stops, dropping my legs to either side of his shoulders. I lift my head, ready to begin an oral inquisition. His face is already too close to mine, and I drop my head back as he covers me. His shirt is gone, but I feel his jeans against my nakedness.

  “You can’t fuck me with jeans on,” I mumble, his lips having found mine.

  He smiles against my mouth. “I don’t just want to fuck you, lady,” he says, his voice low and promising. “But I don’t have the patience to tease you right now.”

  I won’t beg him again, but I don’t have to. I unbutton and open his jeans, wrapping my hand around him. He does the rest to rid us of his pants. He thankfully manages the condom quickly, and then smoothly and slowly presses inside. We groan in a discordant unison and still. The pause is momentary; we are far too hungry to wait more than a beat.

  I wrap my arms around his torso and pull myself up, my breasts rubbing along his chest furs. We’re grinning, kissing, sucking, pulsing everywhere. My knees ride up his sides until he balances on one hand to scoop a leg up and over his shoulder. With a repeat on the other side, I am damn near folded in half. I drop away from my fuck-hug and let my hands stay limp over my head.

  “Oh my God, Declan,” I say, sounding drunk and breathy.

  His pace increases, and in this moment, I do not want him to stop, ever. I want to experience his rhythmic pounding until my hips break, my skin tears, and I simply split in half. I have no memory of this explosive feeling with anyone before. It consumes me.

  The cadence of each meeting of our hips builds a song in my mind, a percussive, warm sound that fills my ears and sucks the breath from my lungs. My skin is instantaneously covered in beads of perspiration—every inch sweating with desperation to reach the blind pleasure only he gives me. I feel his body heavy against me, sliding on the slick fire of belly and thighs. His hand slips behind my neck, lifting and tilting my head to better suit his angle.

  “Nora,” he whispers in my ear, his teeth tugging on my lobe and my orgasm. The sound is hot and demanding in its low, calm timbre. “Please come. Come home.”

  From my mouth comes nothing but a soft, drawn-out ohh riding the line between breathing and singing. The not-singing note climbs higher, higher, until my throat tickles, trying to find the edge of my vocal capabilities. I pull my arms down, sliding my hands to bring his face back to mine.

  Staring in the warmth of his eyes, I let go.

  The sound in my throat finally cracks as my body bends backward, trying to channel the ecstasy. It’s very possibly the strongest orgasm I’ve ever had, and I can’t control it. I do my best to ride it as it pulls me forward again, curling against Doc’s moving heat and sweat and soft and hard. His fingers curve over the top of my shoulders from behind and attempt to still me before he does the same. I try to hold him to me as he comes, trembling as his muscles lock. A final spasm marks his aftershock before he collapses on top of me. I like it.

  I don’t let him move just yet. His weight makes my breathing shallow, but I don’t care. It makes me feel safe.

  “Wow,” I say.

  He doesn’t respond but to turn his head and kiss the curve of my chin at my ear.

  It’s several minutes before I decide I need a full breath and push to turn us to our sides. Doc is completely prone and flops to his back with a laugh.

  “Shower?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure I can move,” he replies. “I think I’m paralyzed.”

  I chuckle. “All right then.” I roll toward the edge of the bed. It takes all my effort. “Sweet Jesus, do you have a shower chair? I don’t know if I can stand long enough.”

  But I don’t let a little thing like laughter at my expense stop me from actually getting up and getting in said shower—lack of place to sit be damned.

  Once the hot water hits me, I am like a phoenix, reborn. “Ohhh,” I moan, my tired muscles soaking in the heat like an instant massage.

  I stand there for I couldn’t even tell you how long, but before I know it, Doc is at my back, breaking my reverie-without-time bubble. His wet hands slip over my skin to hold me. I grab the bottle of soap and pour it over us, the suds appearing between our fingers and limbs. I never cared for having a lover wash me, but I welcome his hands like this. He’s gentle and soft now, reverent. I turn and kiss him, rubbing my soapy body all over his.

  Soon enough, we are tucked in his bed—clean sheets and all—and a heartbeat from a good solid nap. My eyes fall closed, but I’m tugged violently from sleep when I hear, “I love you, Nora.”

  My eyes fly open and everything goes dark. Not visually, but my thoughts. My skin quakes in a chill I couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t Doc’s voice I heard. It was replaced with someone else’s, someone I tried to block out, to forget.

  “What? What did you say?” The higher pitch in my voice is obvious, a strange, unwelcome discomfort slowly building to a panic. I try to rehear what he said, even though I know what he said. My body feels it. My body remembers.

  “I love you, Nora Diane. I know it’s only been a handful of weeks, but you are everything.”

  “I said I love you,” Doc repeats, but I can tell he caught the change. His voice still warps in my ears—it’s not entirely his. His words have triggered a poison defense I can’t for the life of me control. All I can do is react.

  “That’s dumb,” I hear myself say. Then I emit a painful laugh. “You b
arely know anything about me. There’s no way you can say you love someone so soon.”

  Another face slips over Doc’s expression of concern, and a whimper escapes me, pulling my stomach into a knot. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach, and I gasp, the air stolen from me—this time in the worst way. I can’t lie here anymore, so I scoot off the bed, keeping him in front of me.

  “What? What are you doing, love?” he asks, panic in his tone.

  “Don’t use that word!” I snap. I can’t stop it. “Don’t. Just—you can’t.”

  “I’m not asking you to say it back,” he swears. “I just had to tell you that I’m in love with you, and I—”

  “No, no, no, no… it’s impossible. How do you expect me to believe you, Stephen?” Oh, God. I can’t stop.

  “Who?”

  “We’ve been together, what? A month now?” I keep ranting, blocking him out. Blocking them both out, but something inside just won’t let me stop.

  “Almost three, but—”

  “Impossible.” I’m jittery and awkward as I try to find my clothes. Anger erupts from deep inside. I can feel my cheeks and arms blotching with redness. “I mean, how can you be so fucking glib as to say that you love me? I’m not one of your Board Birds or whatever the fuck they call your goddamn surfer groupies.”

  He scoffs, and for a moment, I hear Doc and Doc alone.

  “What are you talking about? We’ve known each other for almost two and a half years now. We sort of dated for six months at the beginning of that. And who the fuck is Stephen?” He growls the question, and I freeze.

  Hearing that name out loud, from someone else, makes it all true again. It’s no longer forgotten or lost. It’s my life. It was. I rush to finish dressing, but my shirt gets stuck over my head. I freak like I’m claustrophobic, sounding like a pathetic brass band being run over by steamrollers.

  “Nora, will you stop? Stop getting dressed and talk to me!” Doc demands from somewhere in the room. He’s furious now. His words burn my skin.

  My shoulders crunch up next to my ears, and I take three quick steps back to get away from him, though I keep him in front of me. I finally wrestle my shirt into submission, and when my fog breaks, he reaches for me. Only I don’t see Doc, I see Stephen. I see the first time he hit me. How he grabbed my arm with one hand and slapped me with the other. How stunned I was. How all I could do was blink. How he froze, too, until he reanimated, apologized, and held me close, murmuring his love and all the excuses that apparently sound okay to someone in shock.