The Neighborhood Series (The Neighborhoood)

by Tarrah Anders

  “Now about the other thing?”

  “Other thing?” he asks with concern. “I thought you said everything else was all right?”

  “What you said before Mary-Lou did my EKG.”

  “Oh, well yeah. I don’t think that I’ve hidden any of my thoughts on you very well. I know that I’ve actually said some unprofessional things, and for that I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” I say, hoping that he understand what I’m saying.

  “Rhiannon, you’re my patient,” he says.

  “Not if you sign off that everything is all right. That I have no more follow-ups.”

  “Shit. Do you know how unethical this conversation is?” he asks with a heavy sigh.

  I put myself in his position and then with sadness I nod.

  “I’m sorry. I would never want to jeopardize your career. If we’re all done here, then I can be on my way. I have a shift tonight anyway.” I jump down off the examination table feeling embarrassed that I even broached the subject.

  I should have just let it lie and pretended that he never said he was attracted to me. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the only one ever in his career.

  Surely, not.

  I check out at the reception area and make my way through the parking lot. Behind me, I hear my name being called, and I look over my shoulder to see Dr. McHottie weaving between the parked cars on his way toward me.

  I turn fully just as he pulls me into his arms. With one hand cradling my jaw and the other around my waist, he pulls me into him. His lips touch mine tentatively at first and then with fury as I open up to him. His tongue enters my mouth as my hands clutch to the back of his arms. His kiss consumes me; I can feel him everywhere and not in enough places at the same time.

  He pulls back and takes a deep breath.

  “Wait, what’s happening here?” I manage to say, even though my mind is telling me to shut the hell up and stop questioning what is happening.

  “Fuck what the rules say. Sometimes, rules are meant to be broken.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “So, when are you going to see him again?” Valerie asks leaning against the bar top.

  “He mentioned something about having a few days off and coming to visit.” I shrug as I key my customers order into the point of sale system.

  “A few days off…is he going to stay with you?” she asks.

  “We haven’t really discussed the details. It was more like we made out in the parking lot, then he said he would come and visit me.”

  “No other talking happened, only the locking of lips?” she asks, and it’s a valid question.

  “Well, he asked if he can come and see me. I said that he could and then he said, ‘Great, I have a few days off,’ to which I replied, ‘Awesome’. Then we kissed again.”

  “So, this hot doctor could ultimately be a serial killer, coming to visit you here in town, and you guys basically just kissed then agreed to see one another again?”

  “When you put it like that, I guess I missed some steps.” I shrug.

  “You got his number, right?” she asks.

  “Of course, I did. I’m not new at meeting people.” I roll my eyes.

  “Well, sometimes I beg to differ. Since I’ve known you, I haven’t known of you to actually date any guys. “

  “Well, that’s because there are no guys in Mercy that are worth dating.” I flip my receipt book closed and turn to her with my hands on her hips.

  “I beg to differ.” She smiles.

  “Present company’s boyfriend excluded, although, I will say that before you tamed him, he was still not worth me dating.”

  “Wait, did you guys?” Valerie let’s her question hang in the air.

  “No. Ew and gross. Absolutely not. That would be like dating my brother, and I’m not down with incest.” I scrunch my nose at the thought.

  “So back to your hot doctor serial killer.”

  “Dude! He’s totally not a serial killer,” I defend.

  “How do you know?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, waiting for my answer.

  “He’s nice. He’s a doctor, and all the nurses had good things to say about him.”

  “That’s his public persona. Did you social media stalk him?”

  “Wouldn’t that be his public persona too?” I ask.

  “Well, kinda. You can tell a lot by the friends that they have, the posts on their page, and their photos,” Valerie says.

  “Do you remember that show, Dexter? He seemed like a totally normal dude. Had a job in law enforcement, a wife and kids, and a totally normal life.” I point out to her.

  “So, you agree with me?” She asks.

  “Oh, fuck you. Don’t you have a job?”

  “It’s Sunday. I don’t work on Sundays.”

  “Don’t you have a boyfriend to harass?” I return.

  “He’s out buying man things.”

  “Man things?” I ask.

  “You know, like tools and shit. His drill broke and we just bought this new light fixture, and I would rather have it up on the ceiling versus taking up space in a box on the floor.”

  “You’re such a demanding girlfriend,” I say while laughing.

  “Learn from me. Demand information from him. Get to know your Dr. McHottie before he comes out to Mercy.”

  “Yes, mom.”

  I did as Valerie mentioned. I looked up Luke on social media. Nothing was reflecting as a warning sign for something to be off about him. He had a mostly private profile, but what was viewable was normal.

  Puppies, memes, and photos of him in scrubs. He sounds perfect to me.

  I texted him after Valerie left the bar and still didn’t have any replies by the time I got off work.

  I pull my phone out of my purse once I pulled into my driveway and groan.

  I had my phone on silent, and he totally did text me an hour ago.

  I throw the phone back in my purse, get out of the car, and walk up my driveway. I curse my personal self-doubt and unlock my front door.

  I live in a small cottage with a granny flat in the back yard. The granny flat in the back, I rent to my mom, even though it’s included with my rent. It helps me pay for her needs too. Or, rather, helps me to make sure that in her drunken stupor, she does not die. I change out of my work clothes and slip on my flip-flops to check on her. It’s become ridiculous that I’m her caretaker when she’s the parent, but it’s a routine that I have lived my entire life, or, at least, ever since I can remember.

  My dad has never been around. In fact, my mom refers to him as a passing sperm donor, and he doesn’t even know that I exist. My mother injured herself at some job she used to have and now has life-long disability that comes in monthly. When she’s coherent, which isn’t often, she will tell you that she drinks to numb the pain, and I’m not sure what her disability really is because she hasn’t really had many days where she’s sober enough to talk about it. She keeps her medical records locked up, and I’ve never been privy to any personal information about her.

  So you can say that I’m her caregiver, as I just know the surface shit about her, and I take care of her as much as I can. I make sure she has food in her fridge and I make sure she gets in the shower regularly, even if I have to do it myself. I also make sure that she doesn’t choke on her own vomit, which is, embarrassingly too often, something that I do.

  I don’t bother knocking on her door; I walk into her space and almost recoil at the putrid smell. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t there yesterday. I go in search of her- the space isn’t very big- and find her immediately on the other side of her couch on the floor, asleep. A few feet away from her, I see the cause of the nasty smell and grab the carpet cleaner from under the sink.

  I rush to my mom’s side and feel for her pulse. She’s fine and steady, and I don’t see any issue with her at the moment. I turn to clean up the vomit trail and push up my sleeves.

  I’m not a large woman,
I’m only five foot five and about a buck fifty. My mother is maybe two inches taller than me and at least two hundred pounds. When she’s passed out, she weighs a ton, but the good thing is that she’s impossible to wake in this state, so I drag her, quite literally, to where her bed is in the other room. With enough elbow grease and a lot of swearing, twenty minutes later, she’s safely in her bed with a waste basket beside the bed in case she’s coordinated enough to lean in that direction if she has to vomit again.

  This is my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I was asked if you are a serial killer, so I just want to make sure that we’re all good here, and you’re not here to chop me into pieces.” I smile at Luke from across the diner table.

  “If I was a serial killer, do you think I would answer you honestly?” He tilts his head and grins at me.

  “Shouldn’t it be like if you ask a cop if they’re a cop, they have to answer you honestly?”

  “I don’t really think that applies. However, to answer your question honestly, no. I’m not here to chop you up into pieces.”

  “Can I get that in writing? My friend is really adamant.”

  Luke pushes his hand in his jacket pocket and pulls out his wallet. He digs in and finds a receipt. He asks the passing waiter to use his pen and after scribbling something on the paper, he hands it back to me with a smile.

  “Happy?” he asks.

  “Hold on.” I get up from my seat and walk over to the booth a few feet away with Missy and Valerie sitting patiently. I hand them the receipt and then return to Luke who is watching my every movement.

  “Good friends. I like that,” he notes with a smile.

  “You like that they’re suspicious of you?”

  “No, I like that they have your back. Those are good friends to have,” he says as he looks over his shoulder at them, smiles, and waves. “Should we invite them to join us?” he asks, returning his gaze to me.

  “No. They just came here to make sure that all is clear. They got what they came for.” I cover and cup my hands over my mouth. “And they will be leaving now,” I yell at them.

  Luke laughs into his hand.

  “I know we briefly talked over the past few days, but I was serious when I said that I want to get to know you,” he says, folding his hands in front of him on the top of the table.

  “Well, what more do you want to know? I think we covered all the basics on the phone.”

  “True, but there’s so much more to getting to know someone.”

  “You mean, physically?” I ask, hoping for a little more making out with my eyebrows wiggling.

  “I guess in time that plays a role too. But now I know that you have good friends, you work at the bar as a server slash waitress, and you grew up here in Mercy.”

  “I also have a thing for buying office supplies and workout clothes even though I have no need for so many pens and Post-Its, and I don’t work out. What are your quirks?”

  “I work a lot, and when I’m not working, I’m trying to think of ways to work.” He shrugs.

  “Work-a-holic then. So how did you manage to get away and come here?”

  “When I want something, I make the time.”

  “Oh yeah, what do you want?” I ask with a sly smile.

  “You. Ever since I looked up from my chart, you have been the only thing that’s on my mind. I know it’s not proper for a doctor to be interested in a patient as much as I’m interested in you, but I can’t help myself.” He reaches his hand across the table and lays it on top of mine.

  “That’s a good answer,” I return his smile.

  We discuss more details about one another, and by the time we’re finished with eating, I want to crawl into Dr. McHottie’s lap and make out with him. We haven’t had much physical contact since he’s arrived aside from a chaste kiss on the cheek and a little on-top-of-the-table handholding.

  We’re walking along the sidewalk after leaving the diner, holding hands in a comfortable silence, when I stop and turn to him.

  “Are you going back to Hollybrooke tonight?” I ask.

  “I wasn’t sure about what would happen yet. I originally came out here with the intention of getting to know you. I like what I’ve gotten to know, and I want to keep getting to know you. I didn’t make any plans; I didn’t want to sound too eager.”

  “What if I want you to be eager?” I smile.

  “I am going to be as eager as you let me.” He puts his arms on my hips and pulls me against him. He leans his head down as I tilt my head up to him. Our lips brush tentatively against one another for a taste and he pulls back.

  “Stay the night with me?” I ask boldly.

  “Are you sure?” he checks.

  “As sure as a heart attack.” I smile at him.

  We walk into my house and Luke looks around as we go deeper into my cottage. He drops a small bag from his car by the kitchen table and walks into the living room.

  “Nice place,” he observes.

  “Thanks, don’t mind the mess - I should have cleaned, but I got distracted over what to wear.” I shrug.

  “I like your honesty.” He turns his head and smiles.

  “I’d rather tell it like it is than live a lie.”

  “I’m sure there’s a story there,” he probes, looking at me quizzically.

  After a small moment, I take a deep breath, and tell him a little more about my life.

  “I know barely anything about my mom, aside from the fact that she’s a raging alcoholic, she lives a life that’s confusing, and I can’t get any answers from her on anything. We barely talk because the majority is gibberish and tears.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Enough with the heavy shit, how long should we wait to get naked?”

  “To the point, eh? Do you only want me for my body?” He playfully crosses his arms over his chest as if he is hiding himself from me.

  “I just want to play doctor with you,” I say coyly.

  “We have plenty of time for that, why rush things?” he says sincerely.

  Why am I rushing things?

  Even though it was assumed when we discussed Luke coming to visit, we decide that he is going to stay the night. He offers to sleep on the couch, and despite my attempts for more, he stays firm and doesn’t try to take our night too far. I was not kidding when I asked how long we should wait to remove our clothing, but Luke only allows a little more kissing and stops it when I move to sit on his lap.

  I’m growing more and more sexually frustrated, but I get it. We are practically strangers despite the fact that we’ve done a lot of talking in the plan to get to know one another better. I like that he’s being cautious, and he seems like whatever this is to him isn’t just a fleeting thing.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  He slept on the couch.

  He refused to give in.

  I begged him to come and sleep in my bed with me, but all the ploys that I tried only amused him.

  I put on sexy lingerie and purposely walked from my bedroom to the kitchen, bending over slowly to get something out of the fridge. We made out more; I pulled off my top and practically thrust my chest in his face, which he seemed to like a lot. And I even flat out asked him to fuck me.

  Luke must be wearing a chastity belt and is unwilling to break his vow of sainthood or something along those lines.

  I’m lying in bed, when a knock sounds on my door. Luke opens the door and sticks his head in.

  “You up?” he asks, his body filling my doorway as he opens it even more.

  “Slowly, but yes,” I tell him.

  He’s stands beside my bed and motions to the space. I scoot over to make room for him and open the blanket for him to slide in. He slides his arms underneath me and pulls me to his chest. I lay my head on his chest and breathe him in.

  “I’m generally an early riser. I’ve been up for a few hours,” he explains.

  “Shit, I’m a lousy host, what have you been doing?” I
look up at him.

  “I went for a run, showered and then snooped around your house,” he recounts.

  “I’m sorry, I should have at least been up to make sure you had fresh squeezed orange juice or something for when you came back,”

  “What?” he asks with a laugh.

  “Isn’t that something that one should drink after a run? I don’t know running. The most that I do is when I wait last minute to pee, and I’m running to the bathroom,” I explain.

  My head shakes from his silent laughter.

  My hand travels down his stomach, and his laughter stops. I look up to discern his reaction to where my hand was going. His breathing becomes ragged and his eyes are alight with fire. His lips part as my fingers breach the waistband of his sweats.

  He does nothing to stop me, so my ministrations continue south until I feet the coarse hairs that surround his erect cock. He takes in a deep breath as I brush my fingers along the length of him.

  I peer up at him through my eyelashes, and he licks his lips then brushes back the hair that has fallen in my face.

  “I’m trying really hard here to not defile you,” he says with a shaky breath.

  “Why? What’s holding you back?”

  “The fact that I want more than sex with you. I don’t want to make this about sex, despite the fact that all I can think about is what you taste like.”

  “Well right now, I can’t say that I would likely taste too good. I haven’t brushed my teeth.” My fingers continue to drag up and down his cock.

  “Not your mouth. I wasn’t talking about what you mouth tastes like. While I very much like that you generally taste like - cotton candy and mint - I’m talking about your pussy.”

  “Shit,” I say.

  “Yeah, shit. And I can’t really think with your hand on my dick right now,” he breathes out as my hand traces the veins on his shaft.

  “So, what you’re telling me is that I should continue doing this?” I squeeze him.

  He arches his back a little more and groans when my hand begins to pump him languidly.