“I’ve already bought all the tickets to the booth, so everyone else can fuck off,” Doc says, a wolfish grin on his face.
Goddammit, that is so hot. Sonofabitch.
Jonah’s wife, Rae, walks in carrying a massive gift basket. From this angle it looks bigger than her. “Who’s fucking off? What’s your problem, Wellesley?” she asks, teasing. “Oh,” she amends when she sees me. She sets the basket down next to the door. “Not a problem. Or is it? You need me to tear him up, Nora?” She starts throwing fake gang signs, causing all of us to laugh.
Fuck if I don’t love it when this girl goes street. For a hippy-dippy, kumbaya yogi-in-training, she can get brutal when she wants to. Though she did grow up in East LA and nearly ended up joining a gang before her parents moved them to Bodhi when she was in high school. We sort of bonded when we finally met several years ago, because we’re both mixed race. Her dad is Puerto Rican, her mom is black, and I am supremely jealous of her amazing curls, which at the moment, are out in an amazing loose ’fro style. My hair will curl given the right conditions, but then it just goes frizz. It’s very sad.
“Yo, girl, I got this,” I say, sounding ridiculous, but I go with it and grab his ass. He starts grinding on me, so I push him off, laughing. “Jesus Christ, Doc, not in front of people.”
I hear Jonah and Rae’s whooping dissolve into amusement and chuckles.
“Beauty, you love the possibility of getting caught,” he says in a low whisper, moving forward and leaning toward my ear. Every erogenous zone on my body pulses with heat, especially the main one. I feel my inner muscles contracting as if to say, “I’ll have his penis, please.”
I giggle and push at his chest. Not very hard, though. “The possibility is exciting, but you’re talking exhibitionism. Entirely different story.” I grin and playfully smack his face. He kisses me quick before I can walk away to finally go get the coolers.
I feel Doc’s eyes on me several times throughout the evening. Every time I catch him, he just grins, completely unashamed of staring. I roll my eyes, fight a smile—and lose. Despite my agreement, I’m still scared to open up too much.
Later, a bunch of us sit out on the deck. I’m slumped in a padded deck chair with a beer in hand. Zeke offers me what will be my third taco, and even though it’s no longer warm, I don’t care. His girlfriend, Ashley—who I do like, but am wary of—chatters on about her latest job. She does makeup on film and TV sets as a freelancer, though it sounds like she’s trying to push for a contract. These days, not many people are on staff, unless it’s a very involved, very successful TV show. Even then, you’re barely guaranteed the life of the project.
“So when Anna gushed over what a great job I did,” Ashley says, “I told her she should tell her producer to hire me full time.”
“Good luck with that,” I say sarcastically, but she nods, missing the joke.
Doc sits down in the chair near me. He leans down and picks up my right foot, already bare, and starts rubbing before I can protest.
“Ohhh, fuck me,” I say with a groan, not even thinking about the words until Ashley and Zeke chuckle.
Doc, however, says, “Not right now, what with people watching.”
I’m not even going to look at his face because I know how he’s looking at me: triumphant, cocky, teasing. I roll my eyes instead, hear him chuckling at my expense.
Only when I’ve just gotten my other foot into his crazy-good hands does Sophie interrupt. “Nor, could I borrow you for a second?”
I know just by the tone of her voice that she does not need my help in any way. I’m about to be grilled like a steak.
“Sure, mama,” I say.
Doc relinquishes my foot, but first makes sure I look him in the eyes with his hand on my knee. “Okay?”
Irritation bubbles under my skin, wondering how he’s picking up on Sophie’s true intention. It feels like privacy invasion, but then I think about how few men pick up on shit like this and feel guilty for my own reaction.
I nod as I stand, leaning down to peck his lips in a secret penance. “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t move. My left foot needs more attention.”
Zeke pipes up. “I don’t know. Didn’t Daniel Day-Lewis win an Oscar for that movie? I’d say that’s plenty of attention.”
I give him a look like he’s a right imbecile. “Feck off, Morgan.” I raise a joking eyebrow at him before following Sophie inside.
She beckons me toward the spare bedroom and shuts us inside.
“What the fuck?” she asks.
I don’t have to wonder if she’s talking about me and Doc. I’m too busy wondering what to say as it is.
“Hey,” I say defensively, and then sputter for a moment. My posture is kind of “come at me, bro,” which might be fine if I had a follow-up better than “What?”
“What?” Her voice somehow goes shrill at an astoundingly low volume. “You and Doc eye-fucking the shit out of each other, like, constantly, and you’re asking me what?”
I have the sense of self to look mildly ashamed—not of the eye-fucking, which honestly, I didn’t even realize. I caught his gaze every now and then, but I wasn’t aware I was returning the “fuck me, please” look. Not to mention, she clearly missed the kiss before I followed her inside.
“Um, right, well—”
“Rae told me they walked in on you two checking each other’s tonsils and dry-humping like it was ninth grade,” she interrupts. “And you told me you hooked up with someone last night.”
“I did,” I say. “It wasn’t great. I keep forgetting his name, too.”
“I don’t care. How about you explain to me how you and Doc are acting all ‘we’ll be fucking as soon as we leave this party’ tonight? You barely spoke at the baptism.”
I sigh. “So I told you about the night after work last month, yeah? Well, along with what you and Paulie gossiped about behind my back, of course.”
She rubs the corner of her eye with a middle finger. “Yeah, but you said Doc walked away all pissed off and whatever. Did something else happen?”
I fidget, scratching at my ear and then picking at my nails. “No, not really.”
“No-raaaah.”
Okay, she’s reached her breaking point. “Relax, mama, I’m trying to explain,” I say, a little exasperated. Maybe embarrassed.
I’ve been swearing my everlasting hatred of Declan Wellesley for the better part of two years, only to pull a one-eighty in the course of a day—if you don’t count the slip after work. Of course, that requires that you believed I really hated him in the first place. Which I totally did. Maybe.
I step forward and encourage her to sit on the bed, where I pull up a spot next to her. “I texted a couple days later to apologize for jumping down his throat.”
“Literally? As in, with your tongue?”
“Rutty twat,” I hiss, smiling. “No, for the whole ‘why do you care now?’ inquisition that turned the situation into a shouting match.”
“You’re lucky that house isn’t occupied right now.”
“What? What house?”
“The house whose driveway you ducked into to get your fuck on.” Her face stretches into a “duh.”
“How do you know which house, let alone if it’s occupied?” I ask, shocked.
“I’ve passed that driveway several times during the day, and it’s the only one so close and hidden that y’all would risk getting freaky there,” she says. “Plus I know you were too busy reacquainting yourself with his hobby horse, but there’s a huge FOR SALE sign on the road past the hidden driveway. A SOLD marker went up a few weeks ago.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s empty,” I argue.
“Off topic.”
“You started it.” For that, I get a very hairy eyeball, like gorilla eyeball. Or yeti. “Okay fine, whatever. Point is that he never texted back, so I brushed it off.”
“Or tried to.”
“You want me to explain the goddamn situation or not?”
Sh
e bites her lips between her teeth and nods, contrite.
“Thank you. Anyway, when I saw him with a date, I decided to be all super mature and say hello, since we’re co-godparents and all that. It was fine—I liked her a lot, actually, but there was nothing spoken between Doc and me. Not really. Well, a little something, but I didn’t think too much of it. Then he was the first to arrive here when I was setting up and… Well, we kind of got back together.”
Sophie inhales like she will never take another breath in her life.
Before she can completely flip out (in a good way), I put my hand over her mouth and continue. “It’s casual. Nothing serious, but we’re—I don’t know, kind of seeing each other?”
She smacks at my wrist, but I leave my hand over her mouth. Because I can. So she licks my palm.
“God, you’re gross. Your fiancé has influenced you in the most horrible of ways.” I make a disgusted face while wiping her spit off my hand.
“Pfft,” she says. “So you and Doc again, huh? He’s no longer a massive prick?”
Two sets of eyebrows in the room rise—one after another—and then we crack up, because like her man, we are both eternally twelve-year-old boys.
“Seriously, though, Nor,” she says and grabs my hand. “You were so against the idea of him even existing, and then… I don’t know. You wouldn’t even tell me what happened that made you hate him so much—other than a pregnancy scare and him seeing other people even though you were never exclusive but you were in love and he wasn’t though you probably never broached any such subject blah blah bullshit bullshit bullshit.”
My wide eyes eventually stem her run-on sentence that seemed like it would never end. “I wasn’t in love with him.”
Well, I wasn’t. Was I? No. Not really. Right? Shit. It was the frenzy, the lust, the addicting sex. Then my mind spins a little, conjuring up tender moments just to prove me wrong. A soft caress, his finger absentmindedly trailing down the back of my arm. His embarrassed smile when I prove him wrong in an argument over Trivial Pursuit. His safe embrace. A protective arm in front of me before crossing a street. For the short time we were “together,” there seems to be a lot of evidence against me.
“Whatever—more invested, sorry.”
I snap my eyes back to her. “I got scared.” The words slip out before I can stop them. It’s not as though I want to hide anything from Sophie. She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister, and I trust her implicitly. It’s the risk of coming clean that scares me enough to keep the whole story under wraps. Opening up that Pandora’s box might be a complete shitshow, and I have a life to get back on track.
“Why?”
“The last time I got that close, it was a disaster.”
“That guy was off the rails—never wanted you to hang out with me,” she says. “Clearly a freak and not worth it.”
I laugh, but it’s humorless. She only knows the minimal. “Everything happened too fast with him, too.”
“Was there something else? He seemed kind of possessive.”
I am so damn uncomfortable right now, my chest hurts. Maybe I’m having a heart attack?
“You know if there’s something you need to talk about, I’m here, right?” She scoots close enough that I’m pretty sure she’s going to sit in my lap. Thankfully, this is not a strange occurrence, so I’m okay with it.
“Of course.” I wrap my arms around her and hug her. She does, in fact, lift herself onto my lap. “For real?” I tease.
“You love it.”
“I do. So can we go back to the party?”
“As long as there’s nothing else I should know? I feel like you want to tell me something else.”
I do, but I don’t think I can handle it right now. Just then, Henry’s cries come from the other side of the wall in their bedroom.
I owe you one, kid.
“Looks like I gotta nurse,” she says with a sigh and stands. She leads us out of one room and into the other. “Little man shouldn’t take long to knock out again. I’ll see you out there.”
I watch her gather her son, sit in the glider, and prep herself for the feeding. I smile, thinking how different life is for her these days, but also feel a pang in my gut. I’m happy to see her so happy. Do I want this, too? While I know I don’t need a relationship to have a child, the entire subject is swaddled in the comfort and draw of intimacy a partner can provide. The image of Doc holding Henry at the church pops into my head, and I get a nervous chill.
“Okay.”
“Don’t get arrested having sex on your car again, okay?”
“Bitch,” I say as I walk out.
7
THE TANK-WAGON
NORA
A FEW HOURS later, I hit the wall. I need to leave before I’m too tired to drive the fifteen minutes to Cam’s apartment. I would leave my car and tag along with Cam herself, but she left hours ago. As I debate calling a cab or something, Doc is predictably in my ear.
“Leaving me already, Beauty?”
“You never finished rubbing my feet, so I think that’s grounds, don’t you?” I twist to give him a playful look over my shoulder. His fingertips dig into my hips.
“Allow me to do it now,” he says.
“I’m so tired right now, it doesn’t matter,” I say. “I just want to go home and fall face-first into my bed.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“I only had a few beers, and I switched to water two hours ago. I’m good. Just tired.” I lean into his palm when his hand cups my face. It legitimately comforts me. “Stop or I’ll fall asleep right here.”
“How ’bout I give you a lift, okay? I’d feel better.”
“Oh really? What kind of lift are you offering?” I’m far too tired for sex right now, but minds can be changed.
I watch his beard morph around his grin. “Just the kind that gets you home,” he says, leaning in closer.
“Still a little unclear,” I joke, pressing myself against him and lifting my chin. “Some say ‘home’ is a feeling.”
“I think you’re talking about a ride,” he says, playing the part. “That’s on the table, too, if you like.”
I giggle, dropping my face into his chest. I feel his arms close around me. “Ohh, my God. I’m loopy. Okay, yes. Yes, please. Would you take me home?”
“I would.” The dual application of the question and the answer are not lost on me, but thankfully I’m not given the time to ponder this too deeply.
He slaps my ass, and I stand at attention.
“Let’s hit it,” he says. His wink is implied.
***
Once we’re driving, Doc inquires as to whether I want to come home with him, or go back to my place with Cameron. He doesn’t seem offended when I decline to stay with him tonight. It’s too early. Right? I mean, isn’t it?
“We can just sleep, love,” he says when my no sounds unsure. “I just thought I could drive you back to your car in the morning.”
That’s when I realize—or really, remember—how sweet and accommodating he can be. How considerate. But a voice in my head turns the idea away. Again.
“Thank you, it’s fine. Cam can take me, I’m sure.”
He shrugs and leaves his hand between us, thumb rubbing over the back of my hand. “It’s all right. I know you’re still on the fence about us.”
I’m a little taken aback. “What the hell? I can’t just want to ugly sleep in my own bed? I need to crave cuddling against that bearskin rug on your chest?”
He barks a laugh. “Bearskin rug? I think that’s a little harsh, don’t you think? It’s not that bad.” Doc pulls the neck of his shirt out to glance down. “Is it?”
I purse my lips to hide a smile. His insecurity is adorable. Goddammit.
“No,” I concede softly. “It’s not. I like your furs.”
His head shakes back and forth, but he’s smiling. “You can absolutely do whatever you want, whenever you want. I think you established that long a
go. I just… I’m happy to have you near me again,” he says as we pull up in front of the small four-unit house Cam’s apartment is in. “That’s all.”
Right in the gut. I mean, did someone just kick me? Or did all the air get sucked out of the car? I’m frozen with my mouth agape, staring at this man. I’ve fought so hard against everything with him. Yet, here he is. Still willing. Still open. Still wanting me. I don’t know where this is going, and I will not agree to any sort of real commitment, but right now? I have never needed anyone more.
The yelp he emits when I attack him is not really a surprise, considering I’m a five-foot-ten woman who has launched herself into his lap. The great thing about his car is it’s a monster. I’m not even sure what the hell kind of car it is, but I don’t care, because what I do know is that I have to get closer. I need to feel him. His skin, his beard tickling my face, my chest… all of him. I’m inundated with a desperation to be consumed, so despite the fact that the door to my bed is something like a hundred feet away, it’s happening now. In his car.
“Damn, woman,” he grumbles, not annoyed in the least. “Let me push the seat back first.”
We are attached at the lips before we catapult into the backseat without ever leaving the front—the bench seatback goes all the way flat, nary a gap between it and the back. I jerk forward, my boobs pretty much right in his face.
“Don’t worry, I’m not complaining.”
I make some sort of happy grunt noise of amusement. “I never worry about you and my boobs. You have always been fast friends.”
“With benefits.”
“Ha ha!”
I start tearing—and swearing—at my buttons. Why the fuck did I pick a blouse today? God love him, Doc takes over, and he’s somehow more collected and gentle. His soft touches brushing my chest spur me to beg, as though I can’t feel enough of him.
“Please,” I whisper.
“I got you, Beauty,” he replies before pushing up to kiss me.
My head bumps the ceiling, but I barely notice thanks to the combination of his mouth and hands. He does have me. Something in my chest eases, as if pleasure—or even the promise of it—will calm the most painful of nerves.
Doc (Bodhi Beach Book 2) Page 6
