by S. E. Hall
"Bullshit. Don't deny it. Something's changed between us and I want it. So do you! I can see the pulse in your neck." He dips to my ear, releasing a deep, carnal growl. "I can smell it."
"Wh-what?" I gasp.
"Mm huh, you're thinking of all the bad in that head of yours, but your body's telling mine yes, loud and clear." He pulls me into his arms and places a kiss above my ear." Let's try, Moe."
My eyes close, heightening my other senses. I can smell him too—Brady on fire. I stand there in his arms and lazily stroke my hands up and down his back, absorbing the closeness. That is, until his growing erection digs against my stomach and his struggle to tame his breathing douses me with a cold gush of reality.
My hands still halfway down his spine and I step out of his hold. "Brady," I groan in regret, "you're one of the most important people in the world to me. I love you and couldn't live without you. And that's why…" I sigh, blinking back tears. "That's why I need you to walk away, right now."
After what feels like forever, a mixed current of temptation and hesitance buzzing between us, he turns with a hard set to his features and storms from the room, leaving me crushed and despondent. I hear him mumble "coward" on his way out, breaking another piece of my heart.
The next few days crawl by, no, scratch that, they drag like a dyslexic fucking slug. Obviously I haven't talked to Brady, my brother's once again buried in "Game On!"—I love the name—my parents flew themselves to Bermuda, and I'll be damned if I can think of a halfway viable excuse to go see Dr. Reynolds.
So at this point, I owe it to society to wear a t-shirt that says "Turn around, cross the street or call 9-1-1, you've been warned."
And in a cruel joke by the gods of irony, it's Thursday, Tiko night. Imagine that. Either I ditch, looking even more the coward, or I go, stupidly hoping the tension will be less than that of chewing glass.
Decisions, decisions.
I've got the quarter in my hand, ready to flip my destiny, when it dawns on me. The very reason I shunned Brady's advances was for the sake of our friendship, the very one I'm debating bailing on tonight.
Coward and a hypocrite? Not this girl! With new determination, I drag myself down the hall and prepare for Tiko night with an optimistic attitude and maybe a lil extra attention to my appearance.
I'm the first to arrive, visiting with Juan when Dylan comes busting in, looking frazzled.
"Well, hello, stranger." I lean forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"
"Wiped." He turns to Juan and slaps him on the shoulder. "Make 'em extra strong tonight, my man."
With a chuckle, Juan hurries away to get our pitcher of margaritas as Dylan takes a seat.
"Where's Brady?"
Tapering my expression, I answer as naturally as possible. "I'm not sure, apparently running l—"
Or running game! My voice catches as Brady and date walk in hand in hand.
"Don't screw with sanctity of our night, not cool," my ass!
"'Only care what you're feeling, Moe,'" my butt!
"Hey guys, sorry we're late. Ashley had to take an important work call outside," Brady greets us, pulling out the chair beside me for her. "Dylan, Addison, this is Ashley Chastain.
She's the Assistant Administrator at the hospital." He helps her into a chair with a gentle hand to her back, avoiding my glare, then takes the chair across from me.
"It's nice to meet you both," she says with a smile. "Brady told me a bit about you on the way over." Her smile is warm, genuine, and when combined with her huge brown eyes, olive complexion and long raven hair…it makes for one remarkable package.
I flag my hand in the air, desperate for a drink.
Unable to keep from peeking over at her, the rare "brains and beauty exotic princess," who has six inches on me—height and bust—I rape the pitcher from Juan's hands when he divinely appears at my side. Hand shaking as I pour, I'm hoping the penis-packers are too mesmerized by Ashley to notice.
The woman's breathtaking.
"Nice to meet you too," I finally manage to get in between Dylan's long winded introduction that includes way too much info about his day spent scouting employees.
"So you and Brady know each other from the hospital then, I assume?" Dylan asks, ceasing the recital of his recent new bio as I get a head start on my life-or-death buzz.
"Yes." She reaches across and lays her hand atop Brady's, caressing his knuckles with her pristinely manicured thumb. "We see each other there often. I couldn't believe he finally asked me out." She turns her head and gives him a sultry smile.
"When was that?" I ask a bit too enthusiastically, already knowing the answer and that Brady's sneer is pinned on me right this minute.
"Oh, well today's Thursday, so I guess it was…Tuesday? Is that right?" she asks him.
Huh, how very interesting! I slurp down another mouthful of margarita. Tuesday, the same day as our anything-but-amicable parting at the gym...you don't say.
"Sounds right, gorgeous." He lifts her hand to his mouth and places a kiss on the back of it. "The morning you gave the proposal on the new NICU unit you brilliantly assembled."
"That's cool," Dylan cuts in animatedly. "I'm leading a new project myself, a gaming software company that Brady here is backing. Thus the need for employees, which has kept me tied up all week. Brady's gonna help me look over resumes this weekend, right?" He nudges Brady in the shoulder with a grin.
"Appears so," Brady replies, always willing to help Dylan.
"That's wonderful," Ashley says with a kind smile then turns those sincere eyes on me. "And what do you do, Addison?"
Swallowing down my huge, unladylike sip, I hold up a finger, refusing to wince at the brain freeze. Gonna need a second. Once it's down I find my voice. "I work at a veterinary clinic."
"That's wonderful. I've always admired how much schooling veterinarians have to endure. Good for you!"
I'd slap the grin off her face if it wasn't...nice. She's not usual Brady Bimbo. She's glamorous, well-educated and versed, elegant and kind. Dammit, where's Juan with a new pitcher?
"Oh, Moe's not a veterinarian, she's a vet tech," Dylan, the flesh of my flesh, lovingly corrects her.
"Only because she chooses to be." For the first time all night Brady finds and holds my gaze. "Moe can be anything she wants. But only she knows what that is. The rest of us might think we understood what she wanted, but we'd be wrong. Isn't that right, Addison?"
He thinks he's so clever, that I don't see through his games, defending me because it's ingrained in him to do so, ruining it with the reminder dig at the end.
And the date? I can't decide if he brought her because she's her—an admittedly smart choice—or to make me jealous—also a smart choice. If the latter, it worked like a charm, although I have no right to be jealous. I refused him.
My mood was shitty before all this fun. I don't need extra help picking the bridge to plummet from.
I'm out.
I stand and grab my purse, squaring my shoulders and chin before speaking. "I don't have some big excuse concocted for leaving. I just am." I look down at the date that fits in better at the table than I do. "Nice to meet you, Ashley."
It'd be nice to pull off an exit half as graceful as her entrance, because I can feel all their eyes upon me, but I don't stand a chance. So instead, in an average pace, I escape through the door to my clunker car, all the way to my mediocre apartment.
Not bothering to get undressed, I kick off my shoes, wash my face, scrub my teeth then hole up under the covers. I don't dream of Brady or Dr. Reynolds, but rather a time when I felt nothing new for either of them.
Chapter 12
The minute I'm done with work on Friday, I drive straight to my parent's house, bags already in the car. With them gone on yet another vacation, I plan to enjoy the bigger house alone. Yes, I'm hiding from it all, even if just for a weekend.
I need to get back in touch with the old Addison, the version of myself who knew what she wanted
and went after it. The girl who always felt good enough in her own skin, didn't fight with her friends all the time, and was content even when by herself.
I park in the less noticeable car port on the side and head in with only my purse and duffle—no phone. Luckily, their alarm code is still mine and Dyl's birthdays, so I get past that easily and go straight to turn on the hot tub and heater on the pool—just in case.
Oh nice, they finally had the pool resurfaced, the bottom no longer sporting "Bad Bros 4 Life" with a poorly drawn skull and crossbones in black spray paint at the bottom. To this day, Dyl and Brady swear they weren't under the influence of any illegal substances and simply thought it seemed like a really cool idea at the time. My parents did not agree.
Snickering at the memory, I head to the kitchen, craving a glass of wine…and am assaulted with yet another memory. There, on the fridge, is a picture of the three of us—the little girl with the bowl haircut standing between her two older, much taller heroes—all smiling at the camera.
As I trace my fingertip over it, I notice that which I never have before; Brady's not looking at the camera, but rather, eyes angled down at me.
Even when I come here, searching an escape, it's not in the cards…Brady is so deeply rooted in my life, wherever I am, a part of him will be there as well.
And this is pretty much how I spend my entire weekend. Reminders lurk around every corner, triggering fond flashbacks that make our current, floundering friendship even more painful. No matter how many hot soaks I take, the two bottles of wine mysteriously becoming three, or the 400 page hot ménage m/f/m romance novel I use to fill the hours, most of the weekend is spent reminiscing about times when Brady and I knew exactly what "Brady and I" meant.
All too soon, it's time to pull up my big girl panties and head back to reality. Putting clean sheets on the bed and a "thank you for your unknown hospitality, love you both" note on the counter, I grumble all the way to my car.
I have to snicker at myself as I settle into the driver's seat. What the hell did we all do before cell phones? It's the first thing I check, ending my bout of abstinence.
There's three texts from Brady.
One on Friday night. Nothing happened w/ Ashley. Call me.
Another Saturday afternoon. Where the fuck are u?! Worried!
And the last one a few hours ago. You break my heart.
I refused a "go" with Brady to protect our friendship, and it appears it's had the opposite effect.
I kinda already know I look like the walking dead after not a wink of sleep last night, but when Mimi won't come near me when I open the clinic Monday morning, I really feel disgusting.
Making the rounds of morning feedings, I add an extra coo to my voice to hopefully offset my haggard appearance, but it only works on the animals under any sort of sedation, the rest not buying my act.
At lunch I sit and eat in my car, barely choking down a banana and Gatorade. I'm feeling so leprous that I actually squeal when my phone rings, amazed someone's calling me.
"Hello?"
"Miss Porter?"
"Yes."
"This is Dr. Reynolds' office. He'd like you to come in for a follow up from your last appointment. What day is good for you?"
Follow up? Last visit I came, hard, the end. But if he wants to follow that up…
"Whatever day you have, but afternoon. I'd like to try to miss as little work as possible."
"Understandable. Let me see…he has 4:30 today, 3:30 on Wednesday, or 4:30 on Friday."
Not quite as anxious this time, but equipped with almost no patience, I confirm for today's slot. Ending my lunch early, I go back inside to make sure Whitney or Jennifer are okay covering the last part of the afternoon for me, which they generously agree to with comforting hugs.
At 4:37, I find myself sitting on the exam table, nervously awaiting what's to be between the Dr. and I this time.
The door opens as he knocks, his face solemn but still gorgeous. "Addison," he acknowledges me stiffly. "How are you? Nice weekend?"
I shrug, squirming under his icy regard. "Not bad, relaxing. You?"
"Quite the opposite, actually." He doesn't sit on his stool, instead standing before me, his feet spread wide and arms crossed over his chest. Hope I'm the only one who noticed he didn't bring in my chart.
"Addison, I spent my entire weekend thinking about you, and the whole week before it as well." He inhales deeply. "I've never touched a patient unprofessionally, but when I'm touching you—" He puffs his cheeks and blows out in a loud bout of contemplation then lowers his voice an octave. "When I'm touching you, you're not a patient, only Addison Porter. I brought you in today to talk, to see where you're at with everything."
Quite honestly, I'm in the midst of déjà vu.
"I like you, Addison. My attraction is almost painful and I'm drawn to you in a million other ways I can't even describe. I was hoping you'd come to the same conclusions I have." He steps closer and takes my hand. "Have dinner with me?"
Men do the detached, "when it works for me" thing all the time! I start one scandalous, liberating rendezvous and I'm pinned from all sides like a butterfly to a board.
No, no, no. I've been brazen and mysteriously enthralled for less than a month and I'm not giving it up yet!
"I like things the way they are. In this room, so many possibilities, private sessions where we test the boundaries…our sexual sanctuary," I snicker, biting my bottom lip, tempting him.
It doesn't seem to work. His brows knit together and he shifts back, pained. "Addison, in this room, you're my patient. And I can't touch a patient the way I want to touch you…the way I did the last time." His head drops as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets with a frustrated sigh. The gesture stretches the fabric of his slacks, making it clear how hard he's fighting this.
I slink off the table and move up against his front, wrapping my arms around his waist and peering up at him from under my lashes. "Then I'll touch you," I murmur in a seductive purr, licking my lips. This may be crazy but my brazen lust can't be contained.
"Addi—"
"Shhh," I lay a finger to his lips, delicately quieting him, "let me take care of the doctor." I let both my hands slide gradually down his torso, savoring the feel of carved muscles until I reach his waist.
Our eyes hold each other's captive, my own yearning desire reflected back at me, each wanton craving matched. I undo his belt, grinning at him as I unbutton and tease open his zipper, stealing a quick glance down to gauge exactly what awaits me.
With one fingertip, I glide from the bottom all the way up his rock-hard length with provocative fluidity, ending at the weeping, engorged head peeking beyond the waistline of his black boxer briefs.
"Very nice," I praise. "I knew it would be."
One low, menacing growl and he grabs around the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his own. His kiss is ravenous, animalistic and demanding, shoving his tongue past my parted lips and flicking against mine. The domineering kiss is effortless to follow, so I reach between us and shove down his briefs, releasing his pulsating cock.
His moan is absorbed into our kiss when I wrap my hand around as much of his velvet girth as I can manage.
With a squeeze, I stroke down to the base. He grunts, releasing my mouth and resting his forehead to mine while one of his own hands reaches around and grips my ass, squeezing almost painfully.
My heart races, pounds as quickly as my hand does, jacking up and down his length. I can't wait another second. With some struggle, I break from his hold and drop gracefully to my knees on the cold, hard floor. I don't care though, too hungry to have the huge, pulsing dick in front of me in my mouth. Wetting my lips, slowly relishing the sight, I take as much of him in as I can in a single motion, inhaling the virile, exotic scent from the few, fine hairs tickling my nose.
He's all man; it seeps from his pores and overwhelms my senses.
"Fuck, Addison," he hisses, tangling his long, talented fingers in my hair. "So
good." His whole body shudders as I swirl my tongue along his length, then underneath the ridge of the head. I cup his balls with lustful aggression, squeezing and rolling, and I swear his knees start to rock, about to buckle.
Hell yes. I'm undoing him, showing him exactly the carnal heat I want in this room. Over and over, I coat him, sucking his whole length to the back of my throat then pleasing his hole with the tip of my tongue.
"Such a good girl," he moans, kneading the back of my head. "Goddamn, Addison, suck it, babe, suck my cock."
He's unraveling; deep pants, sighs, grunts and pulsing against my tongue spur me on, craving his surrender. I'm heady with power, wet from it myself.
"Gonna cum, baby, take it for me."
I peer up at him, his penetrating stare already upon me.
"You want it all, don't you?"
Without breaking stride or suction, I grip down harder on his tightening sac and press my tongue as hard as I can against the bulging vein running down his cock. I know I have him when he holds my head forcefully still and surges his hips forward, thrusting in maddening jerks.
"Fuck yes! Ah, Addison, love your fucking mouth, baby," he garbles, flooding my mouth with his warm, salty load.
I drag off him leisurely, sucking off every last drop, then sit back on my heels while he recovers. He fixes his pants and belt, his softened, relaxed expression focused on my face as he does so, then he bends and scoops me up to stand nuzzled against his chest.
"One date," he whispers against my forehead.
I shake my head and stretch back, offering a flirty twist of my swollen lips to soften the blow. "Only here." I press my lips to his once, stepping back before he can pull me in for more. "Your secretary knows where to find me."
Fully aware he's watching, I sashay with as much saucy sex appeal as I possess out the door.
Chapter 13
"Miss Porter?"
"Yes?" I try desperately to hide the snicker in my reply. Honestly, what must they be thinking? I go from never gracing their office in my life to racking up frequent fellatio miles in a blink. Since the appointment where I dropped to my knees, I've been back twice more in the last week.
