Because Beards
Page 28
I look around me. “There’s no one with me silly,” I tease.
“I meant the fur ball in the cage,” Allen corrects, pointing to Mr. Darcy.
“Oh,” I giggle. “This is Mr. Darcy. My roommate’s cat.”
“Hello, Mr. Darcy,” Allen greets, placing his finger against the gate.
Mr. Darcy wraps his paw around Allen’s finger.
“Looks like he likes me,” Allen chuckles.
“Yeah,” I encourage. “He’s pretty friendly.”
“Where you two headed?” Allen asks.
“Mr. Darcy has a checkup,” I inform. “After that, we’ll be having lunch.”
“Wonderful,” Allen praises.
“Do you want your usual?” I check.
“You’re too good to me,” Allen states.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I return with a smile. “We should be back in about an hour or two. Can you wait that long?”
“I’ll wait for you as long as I need to, cutie,” Allen professes.
“Don’t tease me,” I challenge.
“Me? Never,” Allen returns with a wicked smile.
“I’m still job hunting for you,” I inform. “I wish I was more successful to be able to hire you.”
“You buying me lunch most days is more than enough,” Allen says.
“Behave,” I tease.
“Never,” he laughs as I walk away to get onto the train.
Mr. Darcy and I get to the vet’s office about ten minutes early. As we wait, I see that there is a sign looking for someone who can help with the night shift watch for the animals and I instantly think of Allen. I inquire to the woman at the desk and she happily gives me some information and answers my questions about the position. Looks like today is going to be an even better day.
Reese
“Dr. Langford,” one of the nurses calls as I inspect a chart outside of a room.
“Yes,” I reply, keeping my eyes down on the iPad I’m using to call up patient files.
“Fifi is in room three,” she informs me.
“Great,” I return.
“Her owner has been here for about twenty minutes already,” the nurse states. “Might want to get to her first since she’s a little concerned with the pregnancy.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
I finish making notes, hit save, and then call up Fifi’s information after clicking the schedule listed on the calendar. I review the files and the recent notes that were typed in from the call Mrs. Donahue made this morning for her appointment. The office, where I’ve been working for the past six months, has always been busy. There’s never a dull moment. We do leave slots open for emergencies, but our time is usually limited with them since we’re always so busy. The practice actually needs to hire at least another doctor to handle the constant flux of patients coming in and out on a daily basis aside from a few other staff members. They are interviewing, but from the looks of it, no one is promising yet.
After checking Fifi’s vitals and noticing that her eyes lack moisture and her mouth, gums, and nose feel a bit dry, I give her water, a lot of water, and wait to run a quick urine test. From what Mrs. Donahue has told me, and from the looks of Fifi’s symptoms, Fifi appears to be a little dehydrated. Waiting for the test results, I direct one of the nurses to let me know as soon as the test is complete. I use the restroom really quick before heading to the next patient.
“So, Ms. Reagan,” I greet, keeping my eyes fixed on the iPad I’m holding as I open and close the door. “How’s Mr. Darcy doing today?”
The only sound I hear is a cat meow followed by a faint purr after a few seconds of silence.
When I don’t get a reply, I look up. “Ms. Reag….” I pause, awestruck by the sight in front of me.
I’m not sure what happens next, but the sound of the door opening paired with the nurse calling my name snaps me back to the present.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Langford,” she apologizes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you….”
I turn to look at nurse Hannigan. “It’s okay. What is it?”
“Fifi’s results are negative,” she informs me.
“That was quick,” I reply. “Great. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” nurse Hannigan says. After a short pause, she adds, “Would you like me to tell Fifi’s owner that you’ll be a minute?”
“Yes. Please let Mrs. Donahue know that I’ll be right in.”
“Sure thing, doctor,” nurse Hannigan confirms and then leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
I turn sharply to find my Cinderella staring at me. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is still hanging open. “I’ll be right back. Please, stay right here?” I instruct rather than request.
She nods slightly.
I rush out the door, quickly closing it behind me. Before I move away, I ask nurse Hannigan to make sure that no one leaves room five. She offers a small, but odd smile and nods her understanding. There’s no way in hell I’m going to allow this woman to walk out of my life again.
Time seems to tick by exhaustingly slow as I inform Mrs. Donahue that Fifi is just a little dehydrated and needs to drink a little extra water. I recommend having her eat some celery or watermelon to help and which will have additional nutrients that will be beneficial to her and the puppies. It feels like it takes forever to get Mrs. Donahue to stop talking or asking me questions. She continues to speak as I escort her out of the room and down the hall to the waiting room. I appreciate the praise she’s giving me in front of the other patients’ owners who are waiting to be called, but this woman is tiresome and I need her to let me get back to the beauty in room five.
Standing in front of the door, I take a few deep breaths before opening it. A reassuring smile finds my face when I hear Cinderella chatting away on the other side, obviously talking to Mr. Darcy from some of the words I catch. I check my breath, run my fingers through my hair, and scratch my beard to make sure there’s nothing on it from Fifi, then knock, which is quickly followed by me opening the door.
Cinderella bolts to a standing position and then adjusts her clothing and hair. The two of us stand still, not saying a single word as we hold each other’s gaze.
I glance back down at the chart to catch her name so I don’t sound stupid when I go to speak. I take three large steps toward her, surround her soft cheeks with my large hands and lower my lips to hers, imitating the beginning of our kiss from New Year’s. She quickly returns the embrace, matching my tongue movements as her fingers return to the hair on my head once again. Her free hand cups my chin and her fingers gently rub back and forth over my beard, almost like she’s petting it. I’m not sure how long we kiss, but it’s long enough that both of us are panting and I’m not willing to let her go anytime soon.
“Ayris….”
“That’s not my name,” she interrupts.
“But, the chart says….”
“My roommate, the one who kissed your friend, is Ayris Reagan,” she informs.
“Oh,” I reply, clearing my throat. I suddenly feel nervous keeping her in my arms, but I’m afraid that if I let her go she’ll disappear.
She offers a reassuring smile as if she just read my thoughts.
“I’m not letting you leave here until you tell me your name,” I inform.
A sexy blush pops onto her cheeks, she bites her bottom lip momentarily before saying, “Harper.”
“Reese,” I reply. “Dr. Reese Langford.”
“Nice to meet you,” she replies.
“Again,” I add.
Just a few seconds later and my lips are back on hers. I’ve got a raging hard on that she can probably feel on her belly. We kiss for what feels like only seconds, but I know it’s longer than that thanks to all of the images of things I’d like to do to her that flash through my head.
“Are…are you going to check on Mr. Darcy?” she asks after I let her mouth go for a few seconds.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath.
Ha
rper giggles.
“Once you tell me your full name,” I state.
“What? Why?” she laughs nervously.
“So after today, it’s that much easier to find you,” I confess.
Her brows lift, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since New Year’s,” I admit. “And, I haven’t stopped trying to find you since seeing you in the subway.”
She looks down timidly for a second before her eyes return to mine. “Harper. Harper Collins.”
“That’s a cute name,” I praise, kissing her again.
“Thanks,” Harper replies in-between breaths.
“Why does that sound familiar?” I question.
A look of dread creeps onto her face.
My head tilts to the side. “As in…?”
Harper doesn’t answer or ask to what I’m referring.
“As in the publishing company?” I check.
“Yes,” she huffs. “My mom thought it was cute.”
“I think it is,” I comment, pulling her closer.
“You think that it’s cute?” she asks with a shocked tone and expression.
“Yes,” I confirm with a smile.
Harper shakes her head. “I don’t.”
“Well, I do,” I return confidently, kissing her nose.
“Not,” she denounces with a smirk. “It was worse when my mom actually worked for them.”
“How long did she work for them?” I inquire.
Harper lets out a long sigh. “Ten years, when I was little.”
“Where did she go after that?”
“Penguin gave her a better deal,” she shares.
“Deal? As in she was…is an author?”
“No,” Harper replies. “As in an executive editor.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Um…Mr. Darcy?” she reminds.
“Oh, right,” I chuckle, forgetting for the second time where I am.
We gradually move apart, fixing our shirts as I grab some of the equipment needed to check the patient.
“So…how long have you been a vet?” Harper asks.
“Five years,” I reply. “Who named him Mr. Darcy?”
“Ayris,” she confirms.
“A fan of Pride and Prejudice, I see,” I comment.
“How do you know about that?” she asks speculatively.
“I’ve got two older sisters,” I return. “Them and my mom watch it every year in November.”
Harper smiles and all I want to do is kiss her again. Strike that, I want to do more than just kiss her. Oddly, it’s taking longer than usual for the blood in my dick to subside.
We’re both quiet as I continue to inspect Mr. Darcy. We catch each other’s gaze off and on, causing us to just smile and Harper to blush occasionally.
“Well,” I say. “He’s healthy.”
“Good,” Harper replies.
“However,” I begin.
“However?” Harper asks nervously.
“However,” I repeat with a smile. “I can’t give him a clean bill of health until you agree to have lunch with me.”
“Lunch?” she repeats.
“Yes. Lunch,” I confirm. “Along with your phone number.”
“Getting a little daring aren’t you, doctor?” she returns with a grin.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m known to be many things.”
“Really,” she giggles.
“Really,” I affirm.
“On one condition,” Harper states.
“Name it,” I encourage.
“We go to my favorite place that’s nearby,” she informs.
“Done,” I say quickly.
“And…” she begins, “…you seriously consider hiring my friend for the night position.”
“Done,” I agree. “Wait. Which friend?” I look down at the iPad. “Ayris?”
“No,” Harper giggles.
“Then, who?”
“You’ll meet him,” she mentions.
“Him?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“Him…as in a boyfriend?” I ask nervously.
“No,” she replies with a giggle.
“Then, consider it done,” I agree. “I’ve got one more patient before I’m clear to go.”
“Okay.”
“Will you wait for me, or am I going to have to hunt you down?” I check.
“Well…” she returns with a sexy smile. “Seeing that you know my name…even if you don’t believe it is my name…you do have access to where Mr. Darcy lives, which is also where I live.”
“You could be lying about living with him,” I challenge playfully.
“True,” she replies. “But, you do have access to my friend’s home address and phone number.” Her head nods slightly toward my iPad. “So, if I did run, it wouldn’t be too hard to find me.”
I take a few steps toward her and yank on the edge of her jacket after placing Mr. Darcy into his cage. “Just give me fifteen minutes.”
“Done,” she replies, sealing it with a kiss.
About Martha Sweeney
Martha Sweeney is an Amazon Best-Selling author and plans on writing in a variety of genres other than just romance, some of which will overlap into mystery, suspense, and science fiction. She has already released a book themed coloring book entitled “Bookish,” for book lovers who are thirteen years of age and older.
Martha has been creative since she was little, always drawing, coloring or making crafts. When her adult life kicked in, her creative outlet disappeared until she discover Adobe Creative Suite products. Now, Martha is a self-taught graphic and website designer, works with her husband on their business, and writes into the wee hours of the night.
She lives in sunny California and has recently begun to enjoy reading in the past few years, unlike in high school or college which has sparked her new creative avenue of writing.
Website: www.marthasweeney.com
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A local folk band has taken the stage, performing a heart-stopping version of “Blowin’ in the Wind.” I take a sip of cheap but cold sauvignon blanc from my plastic wine cup, then lean back on my hands, legs outstretched on the grass.
Everyone in the park is quiet, even though we’re outdoors, raptly listening to the perfectly harmonized voices of the performers on stage. I glance at my best friend Jessica, who’s sitting on the picnic blanket next to me, and smile. Thanks, my grin says. I needed this. She smiles back before returning her attention to the band.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, finally relaxing after a busy week at a brand new job.
“Asshole calling!”
Startled out of relaxation, I sit up, confused. Then I hear it again.
“Asshole calling! There’s an asshole on the other end of the line! Asshole calling!” It’s a recorded male voice, and I’m fairly sure it’s a ring-tone, set to the highest volume possible. And it’s right behind me.
I turn my head to see who the jerk is that forgot to turn his ring tone off during the concert, even though the band expressly asked everyone to before the music began.
Holy crap.
Directly behind me on a park bench is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in person. Despite his beard—my ex had one, and I’m looking for somebody who is nothing like that jerk—I feel like time stands still while I take him in. He’s sitting on top of the back-rest of the bench with his black leather boots resting on the seat. And although he’s totally man-spreading, it’s all right because nobody’s next to him, and besides, look at him.
Curly dark brown hair, slightly too long. Chiseled nose and masculine jaw covered in a dark brown beard. Worn jeans that not only give him this totally cool casual look but also cling just enough so I can see the outline of his quads, which are totally yummy.
He’s wearing an open leather jacket over a white
T-shirt, and though I can’t see his arms, I know (or imagine, at least) that they’re a) lean and muscular and b) sporting at least one tattoo. There’s something about him that screams bad boy. And even though I know better, I stare hard for a few seconds.
Until I realize what he’s doing. He’s holding his phone, which is blasting the ridiculous “asshole calling” ring over and over, and he’s laughing instead of shutting it off.
“Jerk,” I whisper to Jessica.
She nods. “Rude.”
“You should say something,” she whispers.
“No way,” I respond, shaking my head.
“You have to. It’s your next assignment. Tessa’s Time, remember?”
The ringing is still going on. The glorious jerk behind me must have his phone set to ring like a thousand freaking times before it goes to voice mail. I need to say something, especially because Jessica’s been helping me be more assertive. She calls it Tessa’s Time, and says it’s my time to stop letting people walk all over me and stand up for myself. Ex asshole boyfriend. New amazing job. She says I shouldn’t settle, and she’s absolutely right.
“Fine,” I agree. “I’ll say something.”
“Yay!” Jessica gives me a quick round of silent applause as I get up.
My heart is pounding as I stand and turn around so I’m facing the guy on the bench. He doesn’t notice me because he’s just staring at his stupid phone like he’s in a trance, a grin on his face.
I take the few steps separating us and sit down on the bench next to his right leg. And of course at that exact second his ringer shuts off.
He glances down at me, and his smile almost stops my heart. It’s so genuine, with a hint of trouble-maker in it, like he’s the kind of guy who’d go skinny dipping or dress up in a tux with the express purpose of crashing a wedding. Of course, it’s hard to imagine him in a suit and tie when he’s all leather and jeans and scruffy beard.
He slides off the back rest and sits next to me, so close I can feel his leg against mine. He raises an eyebrow at me in question, and I shift, suddenly unsure. The reason I came here is moot, and I feel stupid.
“Your, uh, phone was ringing. It was really loud and rude,” I finally whisper, trying to be quiet so I don’t annoy the people around us.