“Wow,” I say, and she says, “What?” with a cute, awkward little laugh.
“You look so different than you normally do.”
“Um, thanks?” she says, with another laugh.
“I mean. Wow. You look great.”
“Thanks.”
She looks into my eyes briefly and then heads for my truck. I can tell she’s not quite sure to approach this, and neither am I. It’s probably not exactly kosher to be hitting on my physical therapist. But, I think, as I pass her to open the passenger door for her and look down at her ass on my way, who could blame me?
I take her to Apothecary Lounge, the rooftop bar on top of Hotel Parq Central. It’s not usually my kind of scene, but I want to impress her. The weather’s nice and the view of the city is beautiful.
“Wow, gorgeous,” she says, as she walks to the edge and looks down. “I’ve been wanting to come here since it opened, but…”
She trails off, and I imagine it has something to do with it not being her ex’s type of place.
“Do you know this used to be a mental institution?” she asks, changing the subject and gesturing towards the hotel as a whole.
“I’ve heard that,” I tell her, with a wink. “So I figured it was only fitting for two crazy people to come have drinks here.”
She laughs and I take her arm, leading her to lounge- type chairs and a fancy- looking coffee table in a private alcove of the bar. I like that she doesn’t back away and instead she holds on quite steadily.
The waiter approaches with an expensive drink menu and Whitney orders a fancy martini I’ve never heard of.
“I’ll have the same,” I tell him. “And we’ll look over the tapas menu.”
“Very nice,” she says.
“I don’t think they serve my standard drink,” I tell her. “Jack and Coke.”
“I meant your taste in food. Tapas? Really?”
“I’m a world traveler!” I protest, although I’ve only been to combat zones that most people would prefer to avoid rather than travel to. I leave that part out. I begin to realize that we’ve lived very different lives, and have little in common.
But who cares? I remind myself. It’s not like we’re on The Bachelor. I don’t want to marry her, or marry anyone at all for that matter. I just want to fuck her, and maybe relax and have some fun for once.
“So, what made you want to join the Air Force?” she asks, as we look over the menu.
“I wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge,” I answer. “I mean, Duke City.”
She laughs, but I’m surprised at myself because it’s the most honest answer I’ve ever given.
I usually try to impress women with tales of valor and heroism, but Whitney already knows me. She’s seen me at my lowest— hell, she saw the video where I couldn’t even write my name, and the photos of me with half of my face burnt off— and she also knows how strong and invincible I can be when I set my mind to it. There’s just really not much left to try to convince her of.
“You don’t like Albuquerque?” she asks, looking a bit disappointed.
“Oh, I like it a lot, now. And I don’t think it was ever Albuquerque I was running from. More like, my folks, my environment… even myself, really.”
“It was that bad, huh?”
I take a deep breath. I usually make it a policy not to get into heavy conversations about my past with my dates. But this “date” feels different.
“Yeah. I don’t know where it all went wrong. With my mom, I guess.”
She looks at me intently, waiting for me to continue.
“My dad was a respectable guy, a local politician who got along with everyone. We were, like, the picture perfect family. Then my mom ran off with some guy that was fun to drink with.”
I shrug.
“My dad didn’t really help matters. He always clung to this fantasy that we’d be a family again. Every time some loser guy ditched my mom, he’d take her back, and support her financially and emotionally. She never really hit rock bottom. She just used him when she needed him and then ran off to the next guy. Over and over. And finally he just couldn’t handle it any more. He died, suddenly and far too young, of undiagnosed pulmonary hypertension. Basically the stress of it got to his heart. Love literally killed him.”
“That’s so sad. I’m sorry.”
Whitney looks shocked, and I worry that I opened up about too much too soon. It’s certainly a sad story, although I’ve had to live with it and accept it as best as I can.
“It’s okay. I just had to get out of there. I’ve always been close with my brothers, but they were older and able to leave before I was. Jensen actually stuck around longer than he had to, to look out for me. But both of us knew we wanted to join the Air Force, just like Ramsey. I just took some detours along the way.”
I pause, realize I’m getting into some heavy shit. But what the hell. It feels good to get it out there, to tell someone.
“I was pretty bad in high school,” I continue. “Everyone including me was pretty surprised that I graduated. But I had to, to get into the Special Forces. To escape. I used to think I needed to get away from my mom, from this town, from my dad’s memory. But really I was just trying to get away from myself. It wasn’t until I realized what I have in the Air Force— and what I came very close to losing— that I was able to put it all together.”
The waiter comes back with our drinks and I order some over- priced small appetizer I probably won’t even like, and Whitney orders one too.
“I can understand,” Whitney says. “I couldn’t handle the pressure of pre- med, so I made a new plan, to get out from under that. And I was only with Tony because I wanted to escape loneliness. But of course I had to come to realize that being lonely is better than being mistreated.”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
The sun starts to set, turning the sky various shades of purple and red.
“To wanting to escape ourselves,” she says, and clinks her glass against mine.
But I know that for the first time in a long time, I’m not trying to escape from— or to— anything. Sure, Whitney seems able to help me get what I want long-term— back into active duty— but right now all I want is this. To be sitting across from a beautiful woman, watching a lovely Southwestern sunset together, and enjoying way too expensive drinks and food.
What in the actual fuck has gotten into me?
Chapter 29
I’m not one to usually propose toasts, or even one to drink to them. But there is just something about this guy that has me doing everything differently than I normally do.
I have to admit I’m impressed with the location he chose. This has got to be a date, right? And is that a good thing or a bad thing?
I’d waited an hour to text him my address, unsure whether I should actually go through with it. I don’t want to jeopardize my career before it’s even gotten started. But it was just too tempting.
So then I’d spent an hour trying to figure out the perfect thing to wear. I’d finally decided that there is no such thing, and I’d thrown on something cute enough to be date- like but hopefully casual enough to be… whatever the opposite of date- like is. Just in case I was not actually going on a date with the guy who had pretty much asked me out on a date… I think?
I’m pleased that he clearly liked the clothes I’d chosen. But I’m still trying to maintain the difficult balance between date- like and professional- like, if there even is such a thing.
I think that as long as we talk about neutral things like our careers, we should be fine. But I wasn’t expecting things to delve into the serious so soon.
“And what about you?” Harlow asks, leaning over to brush a stray hair that had fallen over one of my eyes. The wind is picking up a bit while the sun is going down. I have to admit that it’s quite… romantic. “How did you decide to become a physical therapist?”
“Process of elimination, I guess.” I shrug. “Within the medical field, at least.”
“Yes?”
He obviously wants me to go on, but I suddenly feel vulnerable. I don’t usually talk to people about things like this. My idea of being social is joining a book club or asking my cat what his day was like.
“I set out to be a doctor. Pre- med and all of that.”
I look up at him to see if he’ll think this is funny. Most people do. But he looks as serious and as nonplussed as if I had just told him I brush my teeth every day.
“But…?” he asks.
The waiter brings our food, and I bite into a delicious calamari ring before continuing.
“Mmmm, this is so good,” I say, sincerely. “Good choice!”
He shrugs. “I try.”
After a pause, he asks, “So what happened to the pre- med plans?”
“It’s just… difficult. I didn’t think I could do it. Physical therapy made more sense. It’s easier, yet still fulfilling.”
“I see.”
He bites into his cheese and crackers but doesn’t say anything for a minute. And then he says, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a great physical therapist.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying hard to surprise my laughter. “But you haven’t really gotten to see me in action. You’re too easy of a case.”
“Not enough of a challenge for you, huh?” he asks. “Well, you just wait.”
Chapter 30
I pull up to Whitney’s apartment and walk her to the door. She turns around to face me.
“I had a lovely time. Thank you.”
“I did too,” I tell her, and even though it’s the kind of bullshit thing that people usually say after any date, I really mean it this time. “Thanks for celebrating with me.”
“Any time.”
It sounds like an invitation, so I draw in closer to her.
I smell the lingering scent of calamari and cheese but I also smell her. An enticing mix of lotion and subtle yet sweet natural body odor.
“I want to kiss you,” I tell her, my mouth already against her soft lips.
She opens her lips a bit wider and I slip my tongue into her wet mouth. I grab hold of her hips and draw them closer to mine.
Time stands still as we kiss, until I’m pulling at her hair and rubbing up against her in nearly an animal- like state. She has me so fuckin’ hard, and wanting her so badly.
“I want to fuck you,” I tell her.
She pulls away, slowly.
“Not… yet. Not now.”
She smooths down her hair but the way she is breathing tells me she’s into it. So what the hell?
I’m not used to chicks turning me down. Denying me the one thing I want. And I haven’t wanted anyone this bad for a long, long time. Maybe ever.
“Soon, then,” I tell her, lightly slapping her ass as she reaches for her keys.
“Yes,” she says, and stands on her tip- toes to kiss me on the chin before retreating into her house.
Damn. That fucking girl.
As soon as I’m in the car, I call Jensen.
“So you called it an early night?” he asks, as soon as he picks up. “Guess it didn’t go as well as you’d hoped?”
“No, it went fine,” I tell him, feeling strangely elated for some reason. “It was great. Except, she didn’t give it up.”
“Aww man,” says Jensen, as if he can feel my physical pain. “I remember those days. Oh well, on to the next, right?”
“She said, ‘soon.’”
I know I sound like a schoolboy full of unabated hope, but I can’t help it.
“Uh oh. You know what that sounds like?”
“I know.”
“She’s dragging you along. She’s holding out. For a commitment. Or some other crazy reason these chicks have.”
I sigh. I don’t even care. I just want to see her again.
Sure, I’ll see her again at my sessions but I want to her look at me like that, and talk to me like that, and kiss me like that. And let me do what I want to her, over and over and over again.
“Harlow,” says Jensen, snapping me back to reality. “Tell me you aren’t falling for your physical therapist.”
“I’m not. I mean, I don’t know. I mean…”
“Harlow! Get a grip.”
“Oh look who’s talking. You fell for your fucking lawyer.”
“She wasn’t my lawyer at the time,” Jensen says quickly and defensively.
But I don’t buy any of his flimsy excuses. Jensen met his now- girlfriend when she was assigned to represent him in a bogus criminal charge. For a while she might not have been his attorney, but that’s just mincing words. I know their history, and he can’t deny it now.
“Yeah yeah. You’re the pot and I’m the kettle.”
“Harlow, seriously,” Jensen says, and I can hear it in his voice. “I’m happy for you. And if you manage to bang your physical therapist I’m all for it. But just don’t get too close, emotionally. To a woman who has the power to make you or break you. It really is different than with Riley?”
“How?”
“Because this girl knows she has control over the one thing you want the most in the world.”
“Oh, you mean like Riley did over your freedom? Whether or not you went to jail?” I can’t help but laugh.
“Harlow. I get it. I see your point. But there were a hundred different lawyers I could have turned to if things hadn’t worked out. She is the physical therapist they assigned you, and don’t you think Dr. Davis had something to do with that? What do you think he would say? Why don’t you go ask your mentor what he thinks about you being not only sexually but romantically involved with your physical therapist? Not only a one- night- fling or a friendly flirtation to keep things interesting in between your push- ups, but a real deal relationship?”
He has me there. I have no idea what’s been up with Dr. Davis lately but I’m relatively certain he wouldn’t approve.
“And anyway Harlow, what are you even doing? You don’t even do relationships.”
“I know someone else who used to have that same mantra. Now he’s practically living with some chick he wanted to bang and move on from, just like all the rest.”
He’s silent. I’ve won.
“I guess they’re just like all the rest… until, for whatever reason, they’re not,” he concedes.
“Yeah. For whatever reason.”
“Well good luck little brother. But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”
Chapter 31
This morning when I get into work I call Dr. Davis first thing, before I can forget. I receive his voicemail and I leave a message, informing him of Harlow’s positive progress and asking if he would like to talk further about perhaps changing his treatment plan to be more suitable.
I start out on some paperwork but my mind is still on Harlow. That kiss was electrifying and unlike anything I’d ever experienced with Tony or anyone else.
I’m already wondering when it can happen again. I’m wondering what will happen if I don’t stop him next time. If I let him do all the things to me that he wants to do, and that I want him to do…
Luckily, I have a patient coming in and I know that working with him will keep me focused. I’ve never liked the paperwork aspect of this job nearly as much as I enjoy being with the clients hands- on. My grades are good but my clinic evaluations are always top notch.
As I work with the patient my mind continues to flutter back and forth to Harlow. Much like my heart. I’m sad that I don’t get to see him today. But I am going to play it cool and not call or text him. I watch enough romantic comedy movies to know that’s not a good idea.
When I’m finished with the patient, I check my office voicemail only to find that I still haven’t heard back from Dr. Davis. So I walk down the hall to discuss notes and treatment plans with Lance. Secretly I also want to tell him about my “date” with Harlow, and how well everything is going.
But after I knock on his door, he doesn’t look as happy to see me as he usually does.
It’s such a formal greeting from him, one that I’m definitely not used to.
“Hello Lance.”
I try to mimic his robot- like voice.
“Thanks for dropping in on my session with Harlow yesterday,” I continue. “I’m glad you were able to see that—”
“Yeah, about that.” He frowns. “About this whole Harlow thing. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and I really don’t want to know, but I just think you should be careful.”
“I am. I haven’t…”
“I’m not talking about sleeping with him. I’m talking about whatever you’re doing during his treatment that is contrary to Dr. Davis’ wishes.”
“What?”
“Look. If I knew more of what was going on, I would say more. All I know is that Dr. Davis has contacted the facility…”
“He has? Today? Well good. I’ve been trying to reach him.”
“That’s probably not a good idea, Whitney. Let the higher- ups deal with him. I have no idea what’s going on with him and maybe you’re right that he’s less than up front about things.”
He takes a cautious look around, as if someone could have possibly come into his office to eavesdrop on us without us knowing. I guess he really is worried about something.
“But apparently,” he continues, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper, “he’s not happy with Harlow’s treatment. There’s going to be some meeting about it and we’ll all know more soon. I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this much. But what I do know is that I’m to take over his treatment until this is all ironed out.”
“You’re to… but why?”
Despite my best efforts, my eyes well up with tears. I had thought everything was going so well in every way possible, only to find out that the exact opposite is true. I should have known not to get my hopes up.
“I’ve done everything by the book. Harlow is excelling. I don’t understand…”
“It’s probably better this way anyway,” Lance says. “It’s never a good idea to be so emotionally invested in a client. And this way I can protect you from any allegations of incompetence.”
Sold as a Fake Fiancee: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance Page 74
