by Elise Faber
“Jealousy will get you nowhere.”
“Here, still here, and I don’t want to know about your man parts. Ever. Especially you.” She glanced to her brother. “You’re asexual as far as I’m concerned.” Ava held up her hands and then dusted them off, shivering slightly, apparently at the topic at hand.
“Whatever. Are you going to finish that?” Bryce walked over to where Ava sat, pointing to her last remaining fries.
“Touch it and die.”
“Do it,” I encouraged, earning a glare from both of them. “She’s too small to put up much of a fight—”
“Dude. I have scars on my hands from forks. Seriously. You’ve seen them. Do you want me to not be able to catch next week?” Bryce shook his head and took a step back.
Damn.
“I’m going to take a shower. If I leave you two alone, can you promise that you’ll both survive? Ava, I’m really just talking to you. Markus is really more of a lover than a fighter.” He jabbed his thumb toward me.
“Yeah, not scared of four-eyes over there.”
“Mature,” I said.
“If the glasses fit…” She shrugged.
“Wear them and look like a badass.” I shrugged and then high-fived Bryce as he walked by, leaving the kitchen.
“No comment.” Ava rolled her eyes, and as she started to collect the trash, I picked up the remote and turned on SportsCenter.
“Yes,” I muttered as I turned the volume up. They were just starting the evening highlights.
“Going deaf as well as blind?”
Ava’s comment had me glancing back to her.
“What was that?” I teased, grinning as she glared. “I can’t see. Are you smiling or pissed? I’m going with pissed, your usual.” I turned back to the TV and watched, smiling to myself as she growled.
The host started going through the main plays, and I watched carefully, keeping track of my guys; then he mentioned the Seahawks.
“Bryce Cummings was an animal tonight on the field, taking the Seattle defense up to a new level of intense. With two sacks, one resulting in a forced fumble, he was the cornerstone of the Hawks’ defense in this matchup.”
“Yes,” I whispered. This would do nothing but boost Bryce’s ability to market his brand. With any luck, he’d clench the Sprite deal we’d been working on. It was all about name recognition, and tonight’s game had given his a huge boost.
“I swear if you turn around, and I see dollar signs where your eyes should be, I’m not going to be held responsible for my actions.” Her tone was acidic, grating on my final nerve.
“What the hell is your problem?” I turned, wishing I could take the words back as soon as they filled the room. Because it wasn’t going to help anything — not her, not Bryce. Sure as hell not me.
“You!” She gave a sarcastic neck twist, eyes blazing.
“Really? Because I’ve never had a problem with you, Ava. Ever.”
Her gaze flickered to the ground then back to me, just enough hesitation in her expression to tempt me to push my luck. “And maybe… maybe if you’d stop focusing on your own assumptions, you might see that I’m not your enemy. But I get it. It’s easier to be pissed at me than Bryce. And I’m good with that. I’ll pretend with you because he did make the choice to play when you asked him to quit. I’ll take the heat for that every damn day.” I started to walk toward her, each step slow and measured as her caramel-colored eyes studied me, but she didn’t back away.
“Just don’t delude yourself into thinking that I have anything against you, Ava. I never have. Never will. So… deal with it.” I shrugged, stopping just before her, yet close enough for her floral perfume to assault me with lethal force.
“As if you see anything past his bank account.” She gave a cold glare.
“You really have no clue, do you?” I shook my head, intense frustration warring against the insane ideas that kept popping into my mind. “Everything — everything — that Bryce does is for you. And even if he didn’t take every step with you in mind, I would.” The words were soft, but the heavy nature filled the room, weighing it down. I was pushing my luck to the limit.
Ava tilted her chin lightly, her expression shifting. The light from the kitchen illuminated her lips as her pink tongue darted out to lick them. “What do you mean that you would?”
I shook my head, a slight smile teasing my lips. “And you say that I’m dense.” Without giving her a chance to respond, I gently nipped her lower lip, breathing in her small gasp at the contact before meeting her lips once more before pulling away. Part of me was tense, waiting for the slap that would inevitably come, but rather than a hard smack, her hand reached up and cupped my chin, pulling me in tighter. And my body reacted like a match to the flame.
Every inch of me was painfully aware of the distance between us, impatient even, as I slid my hands from her hips and up her back, drawing her close. As her tongue swept into my mouth, I groaned, experiencing her flavor for the first time. Honey and spice were my new addiction. Tilting my head, I worked a new angle, sliding my lips over her plump ones, nipping, tasting, sucking — every possible way — knowing it would never be enough.
Her hands traveled down my jawline, her fingers sweeping against my collared shirt as she rounded my shoulders, her nails just long enough to bite into my skin, the slight pain erotic as hell.
“Markus! Did SportsCenter cover the Hawks yet?”
Bryce’s voice sliced through the air, and immediately I felt the loss of Ava’s lips as she jerked away.
As I opened my eyes, I studied her expression — shock, confusion, worry and finally anger flashed through her caramel gaze before she slowly reached up, touching her lips, still wet and swollen from my kiss.
“Ava—” I started
“Dude. You alive? Ava, tell me there’s no blood!” Bryce’s voice boomed as his footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“He’s alive.” Ava called out, her gaze never even flickering away from mine. “For now,” she added, a slight smirk on her face.
The tension melted away, and I reached over, slowly lacing my hand through hers. “For now?” I asked with a grin.
“Tomorrow’s a brand-new day. I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty shot right now.” After a slight squeeze to my hand, she released me, reached up, and touched my lip, smiling this sexy-as-hell secretive grin, and walked to the stairway, just as Bryce took the last step.
“Did they mention me?” Bryce asked, his gaze giving a quick flicker to Ava and then back to me, curiosity evident in his expression, but whether it was about Ava or SportsCenter, I wasn’t sure.
“Yeah, you got some awesome PR, and we’re going to the table tomorrow with Sprite, so it couldn’t have been better timing.” I slapped him on the back, his Henley slightly damp.
“Sweet. Damn right. Whoo!” He chuckled then turned to Ava, who had paused on the stairs. “Going to bed? What? Weak.” He shook his head.
“Some of us have grown-up jobs. Ones that save lives,” she shot back, heading up the stairs.
“Fine! Be lame!” he shouted, giving her a wave. He watched as she disappeared down the long hall and then shoved me with his elbow. “Did it work?”
I frowned. “Did what work?”
“Ava, dude. I was totally your wingman tonight. Which is huge, since that’s my sister.”
“Ah, yes. Your little Dolce stunt. Seriously. You’re the worst wingman ever.” I avoided the question, turning my attention back to the TV, hoping he didn’t see my guilty expression.
“Dude.”
I ignored him.
“Mar-ku-s-s…” He drew out my name.
“What?” I clipped.
“Did. It. Work? I mean, man, you’ve had it bad for her for years. You can’t hide shit like this from me. I know you too well. Which is also why I’m okay with it. I think I’ve been pretty awesome — not killing you and all for kissing my sister. You do realize you have lipstick on the corner of your mouth, right? You’re not fooling me
, dumbass.”
“What?” I reached up and guiltily swiped my fingers across my lips.
“I KNEW it!” Bryce smacked me on the back, his laughter filling the room. “It is lipstick! Ha! It could have been steak sauce for all I knew. I was just guessing.”
“Damn it. You can’t say anything. I’m on seriously freaking fragile ice here. And I don’t need your help — it’s not actually help. It’s like you’re trying to drown me. So just back off. Let me… do my thing.”
“Because that’s worked so far.” Bryce gave me an exasperated glare then shook his head sadly. “Did she kiss you back?”
“Yeah.” I felt a grin widen across my face, thinking back over it.
“No more details. And so help me, if you screw her, I’ll shoot you. I’m big enough to deal with life in prison.”
“I thought you said you were fine with—”
“I am, but keep it in your pants. That’s still my sister. She damn well better have a ring on it before you even think about—”
“Chill.” I held up my hands in surrender, a stark contrast to the way my body tightened at just the thought of Ava in my bed… her bed… the counter…
“Shit, dude. That’s a weird expression, and you’re making me feel really uncomfortable—”
“Shut up. I get you. We’re good… end of discussion.” I made a slicing motion with my hand and turned back to ESPN. I damn-well needed a distraction.
“Just… take it easy too.”
“I told you I’m so done discussing this.”
He held up his hands. “Fine. But just be careful, okay? Go slow. You’re kinda like a chick in the aspect that, once your mind is made up, you’re done. You’re probably already naming your kids. But Ava might take longer to get there. Okay?”
I turned to my friend, hating how he knew me so well. I was a planner, a thinker, evaluating my options, studying every angle and then pouncing when I found that one-in-a-million opportunity. It worked for me; it worked for my clients. It was how I had made a name for myself at my firm and others. But I could see his point, much as I hated to admit it.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
The ESPN coverage continued as the game reels displayed different plays of the day, and I tried to focus, but my attention was elsewhere — upstairs, actually, on the third room to the right — wondering what the hell was going to happen tomorrow.
CHAPTER THREE
Ava
DON’T BE THAT girl.
Don’t be that girl.
Don’t be that girl!
I kept repeating the phrase over and over in my head, hoping my traitorous heart would get the message. Rather, I kept reliving the kiss, the heat from his hands, and the masculine spicy scent of his cologne. I was never one of those girls, the ones who dreamed, waited, and wanted the picket fence and pearl necklace. Rather, I wanted my degree, an office, and career. But with one kiss, everything had shifted, without my permission, and I didn’t know how to right it all once again.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a sweater and took the stairs to the kitchen. Bryce would already be gone. He was usually first on the practice field, even when he hurt like hell.
“Hey.”
Screaming, I spun around and grabbed the counter behind me, my heart pounding as I glared at my now-laughing brother.
“Ass! You’re never here! Don’t freak me out like that.”
“I forgot my phone.” He shrugged. “Chill. I’ll leave you alone now…” He backed away with his hands up.
“Did you leave me any coffee?” I grumbled, earning a grin as he pointed to the pot. We had a Keurig, but I preferred the old Mr. Coffee. The quality was bad, but the familiarity of the taste made it feel like home.
“Hey, I, uh, have a question.” Bryce’s tone had me pausing as I reached for a mug. His olive skin was tinged with pink, which was difficult since he was so tan, being half-Samoan. Of course I favored the Scottish side of the family, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that my big brother looked like he was giving me the college sex talk all over again. Hell no.
“Shit. I know that face. Stop. Don’t go there. This is far too early, and I don’t even have my coffee yet!” I stomped a foot, whining and reverting to my twelve-year-old self.
“I—” He nodded and lifted his hands. “Never mind. Just… No. Okay. I’m leaving. Love you, sis.” He backed away then turned and all but ran out the door.
“Weird.” But a much better alternative than the talk. Did he think that Markus and I…? No. I dismissed the thought and took a long sip of coffee, closing my eyes at the flavor that reminded me of my dad’s office, the well-used coffeemaker in the corner with the bitter scent permeating the air.
I finished my cup and poured the last of the pot into a travel mug and set out in the Seattle traffic. My residency was at University Hospital, one of the main trauma centers on this side of the United States. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to deal with the things that came through those ER doors. Thankfully, I was upstairs in the therapy department. So, twenty-five minutes later, the smell of sterile cleanser and Band-Aids assaulted me as the hospital doors slid open.
I took the elevator to the therapy wing and signed in.
“Estelle, who am I working with today?” I asked the short and lively Asian woman who was accountable for the students.
“Barlow. He’s waiting for you in Room Six.” She handed me a folder and with a quick smile, moved on.
Dr. Barlow was one of the senior staff members of the therapy department, a pioneer in his field back in the day, but he was exacting in his standards. I’d have to be on my A-game today, no distractions.
I reached into my purse and lifted my phone then pushed the home screen out of habit as I move to silence the ringer. But as the screen lit up, I saw a missed text.
It was just a number, but I recognize it immediately. No name was attached because I’d deleted him after the accident, after Bryce had chosen him over me. But that didn’t change the fact that my heart started to pound harder as I read through the short message. One word. How did so much fit into six letters? Yet I felt like he was asking a million questions, demanding a million things.
And I wanted to answer them all… except I had no idea what the hell to say.
Dinner?
It would continue the shift that had happened last night. One kiss. Yet it had changed everything. Did I want that shift to continue? Yes. No. I didn’t know.
“Miss Holloway? Are you ready?” Dr. Barlow’s voice interrupted my staring at the screen, and I shoved the phone back in my purse.
“Just turning off my phone. Thanks.” I offered a smile, ignoring the way my purse felt heavier with the phone inside, as if it were carrying the thousands of questions that came along with the message.
But I had a job to do, and the client in that room needed my full attention. I could separate myself, detach from everything but my job. With a deep breath, I walked in, forcing myself to forget about anything outside the door.
At least for now.
AT FIRST IT had been hard to focus on my patients, but as the day progressed and I met with different people, the anxiety had slowly abated.
Until my shift ended.
Then it was as if all the anxiety and stress that had been avoided — rather, that I had ignored — came back in full force to assault me. Purposefully, I didn’t glance at my phone till I got in the car, and even then I bit my lip as I pushed the home button.
Nothing.
No missed calls; no other texts.
Oddly, it was both disappointing and freeing at once. It didn’t make sense, but when did emotions ever follow logic? I unlocked the screen and went back to my texts. My finger hovered over his number then pressed to open the message again, re-read it, then glanced to the clock. Five-thirty. Maybe it was late enough notice that he couldn’t meet me anyway, totally giving me an out. Slowly I tapped a yes then bit my lip as I pushed send.
&n
bsp; I was about to check my emails when the little text bubble popped up, and my eyes widened as I waited. What seemed like forever could have only taken a second since the message was short.
“Ten minutes, MOD Pizza. Sound ok?”
Yes. No. Maybe? I took an unsteady breath while my traitorous stomach growled. MOD Pizza was my favorite. Ever. He knew that and was using it against me.
But I was a little too hungry to care.
And apparently, hunger could affect good judgment as well, since I again typed a quick yes and then promptly tossed my phone into the passenger seat.
Ugh. I was playing with fire and was totally aware… yet still putting the car in drive and making the quick trip down a few blocks to pizza heaven.
I knew I’d arrive first, being closer than Markus’ office in downtown Seattle. I had at least five minutes before he got there, which gave me an idea.
If I ordered and paid for my own pizza, then nothing about this could be construed as a date.
Nothing. Right?
Wrenching the door open, I basked in the glory of the scent of fire-baked pizza dough, a hint of smoke and cheese making me pause. The cashier bit back a grin but didn’t comment as I approached her and started to order.
The best part of MOD Pizza was that the customer picked everything. All they did was set out the dough and wait for sauce, meats, cheeses, veggies, and other random choices to make a custom-made pizza tailored to personal preference. My favorite part? They never judged me when I asked for extra gorgonzola or olives. Or when I added more meat than veggies, or when the pizza looked like a pyramid of toppings. In just a few minutes, the pizza was cooking in the oven, and I slid a bottled water up to the cashier and paid — but not a moment too soon.
The door opened, and Markus walked in, looking like a walking ad for J Crew, but way hotter. In one smooth motion, he swiped his sunglasses off his face and glanced around the restaurant, his cobalt-blue eyes landing on me and then crinkling with a soft grin.
