by Anna Cruise
ALL HE WANTS
ANNA CRUISE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALL HE WANTS
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2014
Mission Bay Publishing
cover design by Indie-Spired Designs
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
ONE
“Hold my hand.”
Sheridan, my sorority sister, shot me a disgusted look. “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn't I be?” I asked her. “Have you seen where I'm sitting?”
We were in a small, sterile doctor's office in the middle of a single-story stucco office building just off Balboa Avenue. It was the last place in the world I wanted to be. I hated going to the doctor for anything but if I wanted to visit Stuart in Brazil—the hot man who had stormed into my life and turned it completely upside down in the span of a single week—well, it was a necessary evil. I hadn't wanted to spend time with him when he'd arrived in San Diego, had begged not to be saddled with him during his speaking engagement trip at my school, but now? I couldn't wait to see him again.
Sheridan sat primly in a vinyl burgundy chair and I was perched on an examination table. The white tissue paper that lined the table stuck to my ass and I wiggled, trying to dislodge it from the backs of my thighs.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Using the table as a vibrator?”
I glared at her. “The paper from this goddamn table is going up my ass.”
Sheridan smiled. “Pretty sure that wouldn't be the first time something has found its way up there...”
I flipped her off. “Wrong,” I told her. “I may be a sexual deviant but I am not into that.”
“Yet,” Sheridan clarified, her smile widening.
“You're the one who deviates from the norm,” I reminded her.
“I'm a lesbian in a monogamous relationship,” she said. Her blond hair was twisted into a loose braid and she played with the tail. “You sleep with anything that has a penis. Pretty sure I'm actually the normal one.”
“Not anything.” I shifted again and the paper crackled loudly. “I do have some standards.”
The door to the exam room opened and a nurse marched in. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, her round body partially hidden by the loose-fitting pink scrubs she wore. Her dark hair was clipped back with a wide barrette and cat earrings dangled from her earlobes. I was pretty sure she was the nurse assigned to kids at the practice. And I didn't know if I should be offended by that or not.
She held a white plastic tray with two small vials of medicine. I stiffened and looked at Sheridan. She still wore a satisfied smile on her face.
I motioned to her.
“What?” she mouthed.
“Come. Here.”
The nurse set the tray on the counter and turned to look at me. She was older than me, probably in her thirties, and feathery wrinkles crinkled around her eyes when she smiled. She had lipstick on her front tooth, bright pink, and I wanted to tell her that her choice of color was all wrong for her complexion. But I didn't.
“All ready?” she asked.
I looked at Sheridan again. She let out an exaggerated sigh but set her purse on the floor and stood up. She positioned herself next to me and folded her arms across her chest.
“Are you two traveling together?” the nurse asked. She pulled a handful of sealed syringes from a drawer and began ripping off the plastic coverings.
“No,” I said.
She shoved a needle in one of the vials and tilted it upside down. “Just here for moral support, then?” she asked Sheridan.
I rolled my eyes. “Something like that.”
She tapped the first syringe, settling the liquid, then set it down on the tray and picked up the next one. “You're a good friend,” she told Sheridan.
“I know,” Sheridan said. She raised her eyebrows and waited for me to confirm this. Instead, I reached out and yanked her arm down, sliding my hand into hers.
“Oh, Annika,” she breathed, batting her lashes at me. “I've been waiting for this moment...”
I dug my nail into her palm and she squeaked. “Ouch!”
If the nurse heard any of our conversation, she didn't let on, just concentrated on filling the remaining syringe.
“Doctor Volk told you what immunizations you're receiving, correct?” she asked.
I nodded.
She picked up an electronic table and pen and tapped at the screen. “The typhoid immunization is given as either a pill or a shot. Because you're leaving later this week, we're recommending the oral vaccine.”
“The pill ones?” I asked.
“Yes.” She looked up from her screen. “It still won't provide optimal protection but it works faster than the shot.”
“Any chance the others come in pill form, too?” I asked hopefully.
She chuckled. “Nope.” She held the tablet out to me and indicated where I should sign. I scrawled my name with the stylus and handed it back to her.
My fingers tightened on Sheridan's hand and she made a face. “She hasn't even poked you yet,” she said. “Chill.”
I glared at my friend and did my best to do as she'd instructed.
“So,” the nurse said, turning to me and lifting up my free arm. She reached back into the drawer and pulled out a small, wrapped package. “What has you traveling to Brazil?”
Stuart Woodcock. The hottest guy I've ever slept with, I thought. The guy I haven't seen in almost three weeks and the guy I can't stop thinking about.
“Books,” I told her instead.
Her brow furrowed. “Books?”
“She's going on a humanitarian mission,” Sheridan said. “To help deliver books to poor kids.”
The nurse's expression changed. “What a wonderful thing to do,” she said. “Is this your first time?”
“I went to Mexico a few weeks ago,” I said. “Just an overnight trip.”
I thought back to the time I'd spent with Stuart and simpering Brynn, a girl who'd attended his talk at SDSU. We'd spent two days handing out books to kids at a school in Cabo and in one of the neighboring villages. I'd gone for all the wrong reasons—because I was jealous of Brynn, because I wanted to prove to my parents and my sister that I could care about something other than myself, and because, more than anything, I wanted to spend more time with Stuart. Naked, of course.
But I'd gotten more than I'd bargained for on the trip. Somehow, I'd sort of developed a conscience. A tiny one that didn't always make itself known, but it was there, poking and prodding me when I least expected it. It wasn't the only reason I was headed to Brazil—I still wanted to spent more time naked with Stuart—but it was there.
The nurse tore open the package, pulled out an antiseptic wipe and swabbed my arm.“That's great. It's good to see young people doing things for others.”
Sheridan rolled her eyes and opened her mouth but I dug my nails harder into her skin. She frowned at me but kept her mouth shut. The nurse picked up both syringes and, before I could even brace myself, she inserted the first needle into my bicep. I winced and tightened my grip on Sheridan's hand. The nurse tossed the used syringe on to the counter and pumped the next one into my arm. Five second later she pressed a piece of gauze against my skin and said, “There. Done.”
I cast a sideways glance at my arm. “Am I bleeding?”
She lifted the gauze and peeked at the injection site. �
��Just a little. Here,” she said, motioning to Sheridan. “Hold this while I grab a couple of bandages.”
Sheridan applied her fingers to the gauze, pressing down harder than necessary.
“Ouch!”
“I just want to make sure the bleeding stops,” she said, smirking.
“Bitch,” I muttered.
She laughed. “Always the drama queen.”
The nurse stepped back toward the table, two bandages ready for me. She took the gauze from Sheridan, tossed it in the trash and positioned the Band-Aids into place. They were plain brown, not decorated with dinosaurs or kittens, and I thought maybe I'd been wrong about what kind of patients she was used to treating.
“Alright,” she said. “You're set. You'll need to stop at the pharmacy for the pills. You'll get four of them. Take them two days apart. So that means you need to take them the day you leave.”
I nodded.
She picked up the tablet and closed out the screen. She smiled as she turned to head out of the exam room. “And have a good trip.”
“She will,” Sheridan said.
The door closed and I hopped off the examination table. My arm hurt like hell and I held it gingerly in place, like I was sporting a heavy cast.
“Come on, Drama Queen,” Sheridan said. She picked up her purse. “I'm supposed to be at work in an hour.”
I wrinkled my nose and grabbed my own bag. “I still don't understand why you had to go and get a job.”
She fished her keys out of her purse. “Because I'd like to continue eating this summer.”
“I've met your parents. They're not going to let you starve,” I said.
“No, but they're also not going to make my new car payments, either.”
We strolled out of the exam room and into the lobby. There were half a dozen people in the waiting room; an elderly woman with her nose buried in a book, a mother with twin toddlers who both looked feverish, and two guys dressed in jeans and work boots. They looked like they were there for drug tests, like they'd stopped in on their way to some construction job site. Their eyes lasered in on me and Sheridan and they both straightened in their chairs. One was blond, the other dark, both of them built like body-builders. Sheridan didn't even glance their way. I tugged at the hem of my tank top and pushed my tits forward and smiled at them. The dark-haired guy did a double-take and almost fell off his chair.
“Stuart know you're doing that?” Sheridan asked as we pushed through the lobby door and out into the parking lot.
“Doing what?”
“Showing off your tits to every guy who looks your way.” She stopped for a minute, digging in her bag for her sunglasses. “Although I guess that's not anything new.”
I elbowed her. “I was not showing off my tits. I was...” I faltered. “Okay, so maybe I was. But it wasn't like I was going to do anything.” I glanced down at my chest. “And I have really nice tits.”
“You really do.”
“Hey,” I said. “You're not supposed to say that kind of shit.”
“Please. I like women. I notice these things.” She chuckled. “Even on my roommate.”
“It's a good thing you have a girlfriend,” I told her. “I might not feel comfortable sleeping in the same room with you otherwise.”
Her chuckle turned into a laugh. “Ha ha,” she said. “I said you had nice tits. Not like I want to touch them. I was just admiring them. Like you admire pictures of women in swimsuits.”
“I do not admire those kinds of pictures,” I said emphatically. “I loathe them.”
“Because you think you look better?”
“Pretty much.”
Sheridan shook her head but there was a smile plastered to her face. She held out her keys and clicked the unlock button on her brand new Toyota Prius. I climbed into the passenger seat, shifting so my arm wouldn't hit the seat belt dangling next to me.
“I honestly don't get why you bought this thing,” I told her. “I feel like a sardine in here.”
“It's called saving the environment.” She stuck the key in the ignition and adjusted the air conditioning, turning it down while she waited for it to cool. “You know, reducing my carbon footprint and all that.”
“Your Camry was a year old. Shouldn't you be more concerned with reducing your debt than your carbon footprint?”
“It was a year old,” she informed me. “And I got a good deal on this. A good deal and I get to help save the world.”
“And impress your girlfriend.” Kelly was one of those people who wore hemp clothes and didn't wear deodorant and spent her free time protesting war and discrimination and global warming. All worthy causes but not worth foregoing deodorant.
“I didn't do it for her,” Sheridan said stubbornly. “I did it because I care about the future of us. The future of our world.”
I shook my head and tried not to vomit at her mini-speech. “Who cares? Everyone says it's too little, too late, anyway.”
She backed out of the parking space and navigated the car through the lot. “So we just give up? Just stop trying?”
I shrugged. “Just seems pointless. And certainly not worth spending thirty thousand dollars.”
“Twenty six,” she corrected. “And I got a good trade-in for the Camry. Besides, how is it any different than what your humanitarian does? He's off delivering books to poor kids all over the world. He's never going to reach them all. And what the hell is one book going to do for a kid?”
I glared at her. “That's different.”
She waited for a lull in traffic, then pulled back out on to Balboa. “No, it's really not.”
I thought about Mexico and the looks on the kids' faces as they each received their own book. I barely lifted an eyebrow over an expensive dinner out or an impromptu shopping spree with my mom and these kids' faces had lit up over one measly book. And I thought about the end of our visit in the village and the brother and sister who'd arrived too late, after we'd emptied the boxes we'd brought with us. We'd all been upset about turning them away empty-handed but I knew it had hit me the hardest. It had nearly wrecked me.
“A book might not seem like it changes anything but it gives those kids hope,” I said.
“Well, driving a Prius gives me hope,” Sheridan said stubbornly.
“Driving a Prius also gave you a hostess job at Red Lobster.”
She punched my arm.
“Hey! You're lucky that's not the injured one,” I said, rubbing the spot where she'd hit me.
She shifted her attention back to the road, hooked a left and, within minutes, we were on Interstate 5, heading toward downtown. It was a gorgeous summer day in San Diego, the sun like a sparkling crown jewel in a cloudless blue sky. It was the perfect day to head to the beach and I intended to do just that. Sheridan could drop me off back at the sorority house and I'd change into my suit and drive straight to Mission.
“Back to our conversation,” she said.
“What? About the car? I thought we were done.”
“No,” she said. “About Stuart. And other guys.”
I settled my elbow on the arm rest. “What about him?”
“You really haven't slept with anyone since he left?”
I didn't answer right away, just stared out the window as we merged on to Interstate 8, heading inland toward campus and the sorority house, leaving the ocean and the San Diego skyline behind.
“What? Afraid I'm gonna say something to him?” she asked.
“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You didn't make promises about being exclusive, did you?” She glanced at me and I shook my head. “So it's no big deal, right? And he probably won't even ask, anyway. I mean, it's not like you're going to ask him who he's slept with over the last three weeks.”
My stomach tightened. I didn't want to think about Stuart sleeping with anyone else. I didn't want to think about him looking at anyone else.
“You're awfully quiet,” she commented. “Worried Lover Boy is gonna be pissed
at you?”
“No.”
She shot me a quick look, her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. “How many guys have there been?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it before the words could come out.
It had been almost three weeks since I'd said goodbye to Stuart at the airport. Almost three weeks since he'd handed me the envelope with the ticket to Brazil, asking me to join him there. Since then, we'd Skyped when we could and texted when he had cell service. It was spotty communication but we'd made it happen. I'd sent him texts of all the things I wanted to do to him and once, when our connection on Skype had been really good, I'd shown him just how badly I needed to be with him. He'd settled on to the bed and reciprocated, adjusting the camera on his laptop so the entire screen focused in on how eager he was to see me, to be with me.
I was more than ready to see him. More than ready to sleep with him.
Because, for the first time in forever, I'd shunned guys' advances. I'd stopped pursuing.
I wasn't going to tell Sheridan the number of guys I'd slept with since Stuart left.
Because there hadn't been any.
TWO
Someone was rubbing my leg. Hands gliding up my calves, fingers dancing up my thigh. My body responded instantly. Fingernails dug into my skin and I sighed.
But something was wrong. The nails digging into my flesh weren't being driven by passion, but an itch. An itch on my body.
My eyelids fluttered and I forced my eyes open. My sheet was tangled around my mid-section, my legs exposed. A hand—my hand—was on my thigh, scratching at a small red welt. I yawned and shifted and rubbed at the spot, wondering if it was some kind of spider bite.
I tugged the sheet up higher and burrowed back under the covers. My calf itched and I rubbed it against the soft sheets. It only made it worse. I sighed and sat up, propping the pillows so my head wouldn't knock against the headboard. I lifted the sheet and extended my leg. There was another spot on my calf.
Two.
No, three.
What the hell?
I straightened and pulled my legs in, sitting cross-legged on the bed. In my half-awake state, I was convinced we were infested with some kind of insect. Fleas, maybe? But we didn't have a pet at the sorority house.
