“Come into my office,” he says, his smile charming me into speechlessness.
I follow him down a hallway into a big room with a desk, some bookshelves, and a sitting area with chairs and lots of books and toys, some scattered on the floor.
He gestures—with a strong and sexy forearm, I can’t help noticing—toward one of the chairs, and I sit down.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Oh. No. Thanks.”
“You sure? I’m getting one for me.” His voice is teasing and playful, and his eyes hold my gaze for a second.
“Yeah, sure,” I finally respond. “I’m kind of an addict,” I admit.
“Then why did you say no?” he asks, heading to the door.
“I didn’t want to make you go through any trouble.”
“Getting a cup of coffee from the other room is an awful lot of work,” he responds.
“You know what I meant!” I laugh.
“Don’t ever be afraid to say what you want,” he says. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I swear he’s talking about more than coffee.
He opens the door and there’s the secretary, hand up about to knock. “Oh!” she exclaims. “You startled me!”
“Just on my way to get some coffee,” says Ben.
“Oh, I’ll just get it for you,” she answers.
“You don’t have to, Mrs. Spelling. I’m an adult, fully capable of pouring hot liquid into two mugs and carrying it down the hall.”
“Benjamin Maxwell. I used to fix up your scraped knees when you were a boy. If I tell you I’ll bring the coffee, then I’ll bring it.” She scowls at him, but it’s evident there’s a long history between them, and her eyes are filled with love.
“Yes, ma’am,” drawls Ben.
And I swear she blushes! His gray haired grandmotherly secretary blushes! She recovers quickly, though. “Also, your mother called a little bit ago. She wanted to know… oh, I wrote it down, because she wanted me to use these exact words…” She reads from a paper. “She wanted to know if you look like a legitimate and respectable doctor today or like a member of a disreputable biker gang. Her words, not mine.”
Ben throws back his head and laughs.
“And she wants to remind you to come over for dinner tonight. I’ll be back with the coffee.”
“She’s known me since I was a kid.” Ben sits across from me, his smile relaxed and handsome, his eyes filled with laughter. “She worked in my dad’s office from the day he opened it till the day he retired. And now she works for me.”
“What kind of doctor are you?” I ask.
He tilts his head. “Well, let’s see. My patients say I’m fun. Their parents find me at the very least competent. I was written up in Down East Magazine for being one of the top new doctors in the area when I opened up my practice…”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “You know what I meant. What kind of doctor as in what kind of medicine do you practice?”
He smiles and rubs at his scruffy beard. “I’m a behavioral neurologist working primarily with children and adolescents. I do a fair bit of research in the area of neuropsychiatry as well.”
“Oh.” I’m a little bit astounded, and very impressed.
“And you?” he asks. “What do you do, Tessa?”
“Um, well, let’s see. In the mornings I drink coffee. You know, since I’m an addict. Sometimes I go jogging. I like to watch funny movies and documentaries…”
He chuckles and nods approvingly, a dimple showing in his right cheek. “Touché. I think you know what I meant.”
Grinning, I tell him I just got a new job as an associate professor of English at MUD.
We stare at each other for what feels like forever. I can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking, but his eyes are intense as they gaze into mine, and I feel my body fill up with heat. Something’s happening, even though we just met. Even though he’s some crazy, sexy, hot doctor who rides a motorcycle. Even though I’m going to be his partner in the Wife Carrying Competition, and we haven’t even talked about that yet.
Even though he was being an asshole in the park, I remind myself.
He clears his throat and shakes his head slightly. “Anyway,” he says, “about the competition. It’s less than a week away, which doesn’t give us much time. Have you watched any videos about it?”
“Um, yes. I have.”
“So there are a few different carries that the men use, including the Estonian Carry and the Fireman’s Carry, though some people do the old fashioned Piggyback…” He breaks off with an embarrassed-not-embarrassed smile. “Sorry. I should probably wait till tonight when we practice to give you a run-down on all the carries and moves. I get carried away…”
“No pun intended,” I interrupt.
“Ha! Right. I get carried away with this stuff because I grew up watching my mom and dad participate in the contest.”
“What was it like when you were a kid, watching your parents compete?”
Ben laughs. “Crazy. Cool. I went through a brief period of being embarrassed by it, but I’d probably have been embarrassed by anything they did at that age. Later, I realized how cool it is, though. My dad wrote the book on different carries and strategies.”
“Yeah, I read he’s sort of a local hero because of the competition.”
“I mean he literally wrote a book on wife carrying.”
I laugh. “Seriously? That’s so random and cool! Your family sounds amazing.” My parents don’t live far away, and I love them and visit regularly, but we were never the loud and boisterous families who laughed a lot that I always watched with envy.
The door opens, and I expect it to be Mrs. Spelling with the coffee, but instead a drop-dead gorgeous woman comes in. She has blonde hair cut into a chic pixie cut. Her silk blouse tucked into a slim pencil skirt shows off her slim yet curvy figure.
Perfect, in other words. Her shiny pink lips grin, revealing pearly white teeth, and she sashays into the room with her arms out.
“Benji!” she squeals.
Benji?
“Gemma!” Ben gets up and she rushes into his arms for a hug that, in my opinion, is a few seconds too long.
Not that I care. Of course I don’t care! I seriously just met the guy, so how long he hugs random women isn’t my concern. But my stomach clenches all the same. I like Ben. Not just the way his muscles flex or the way he idly scratches his strong jaw. But also the part that laughs easily and smiles often, and the part that chose to dedicate his life to helping children.
He gently pushes her away so he can hold her shoulders and look into her eyes. “How you doing?” he asks, tenderness in his voice. It’s girlfriend-level tenderness, and I sigh in resignation. “How’s your knee?”
She shrugs. “I’m getting x-rays today. It hurts.” She makes a fake pouting face, which I think is stupid but apparently Ben likes because he laughs.
“Let me know when you hear something. Oh hey! You want to meet your replacement?” He turns to me with a smile, and I awkwardly stand and walk toward them. “This is Tessa. She’s friends with the wife of a big organizer of this year’s event, and she got roped into competing with me.”
“Hi.” I manage a weak upturn of my lips. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too!” Instead of taking my hand, she gives me a quick hug, and I smell her floral perfume, delicate and unique and pretty, just like her.
“You didn’t hurt yourself practicing for the competition, did you?” I ask her. “I need to know what I’m getting into!”
“Oh, no. Ben’s really careful.” She winks at him before turning back to me. “I was doing a trail run last weekend and I twisted my leg. My knee’s been kind of swollen and really painful ever since.”
“Yet you’ve waited this long to get x-rays,” says Ben under his breath.
“Oh you! You know doctors make the worst patients,” she says.
Great. So she’s a doctor too. I suddenly feel so stupid, like my Master’s degree in English holds absolutel
y no weight compared to these two.
“What kind of doctor are you?” I ask.
“I’m a neurologist,” she says. “Ben and I met during our fellowships.” She gives him a side hug that, I notice with jealousy, he reciprocates.
“It was great to meet you, but I need to get going,” I say just as Mrs. Spelling returns with two mugs of coffee.
“You’re leaving, dear?” she asks. “What about your coffee?”
“I’m sorry, I need to get…” I stammer.
“Oh, no worries. I’ll have hers.” Gemma takes the mug from Mrs. Spelling with a broad smile. “Pleasure meeting you,” she says to me, then she grasps Ben’s arm and leads him over to the chairs where we were just sitting.
“Meet me at the gym tonight? I’ll email you the address,” says Ben over his shoulder.
“Right. Tonight.” I force a smile on my face and leave before I can embarrass myself any more. I haven’t done anything overtly cringe-worthy, but I feel humiliated, as though I just ran down the hallway at school naked. Except all that happened was some sexy doctor came in to take over my time with Ben. Or maybe I was taking over her time with him.
Because I’m only the understudy. The replacement. And this is all just temporary.
He’s an asshole anyway, I remind myself. He might be handsome, and an amazing doctor who changes children’s lives, but he was still being a jerk in the park letting his stupid phone ring. So he’s not perfect after all.
But my heart feels sick all the way back to work.
Oh my god.
Ben in jeans is hot. Ben in sweat shorts and a ragged T-shirt? Even hotter.
It’s obvious he’s no stranger to the gym. His thighs could be used to teach med students about leg muscles, because every single one is perfectly defined. He’s got the calves of a soccer player and the grace of somebody completely comfortable with his body. And I can’t keep my eyes off him.
We’re meeting at his buddy’s Brazilian Jiu Jitsu studio, which is closed right now so nobody else is here. The room we’re in is large, one wall all mirrors like a ballet studio and the floor covered in mats.
“Floor’s padded. In case I drop you,” he says with a wink, running a hand through his slightly-too-long brown curly hair.
That dimple. It makes me wish I could kiss him until he was no longer smiling.
“I hope you’ve got a third partner lined up,” I joke.
“I only dropped my last partner a few times. And if you want, you can wear a helmet in case you land on your head.”
“Land on my head?”
He shrugs and grins. “Trust me,” he says.
“I guess I should trust you when it comes to matters of brain damage. You know, since you’re a neurologist and all,” I mutter.
“The biggest issue is if you fall during the contest, we suffer a five second penalty. So don’t fall.”
“Don’t drop me,” I counter.
He chuckles. “So there are a bunch of different carries we can use, but the best, and the one I’ve been practicing with Gemma, is the Estonian Carry.”
I nod, adjusting my running shorts and trying to block out the mention of her.
“Take off your shoes and socks.”
“What? OK.” I sit down on the mat and untie my shoes.
For some reason, taking my shoes and socks off in front of Ben makes me feel like I’m stripping naked. I try to fight down the blush that threatens because it’s silly to feel this way.
Finally in bare feet, I stand. “Ready.”
“Forgot something,” he says, digging into his gym bag and pulling out a worn leather belt.
What the hell is he going to do with that?
He fastens it around his waist, on top of his work-out outfit.
“That’s a good look you’ve got going on there,” I say with a laugh.
“Right?” he responds. “I’m surprised more guys aren’t walking around sporting the sweats and belt look. OK,” he says, kneeing down on the mat. “Come here. This is going to seem weird at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
Right. My brain immediately imagines he’s talking about something sexy. A new move he wants to try. Something we just watched together in a dirty movie. I need to stop that. I need to focus.
Except the way he’s grinning lets me know he might be thinking the same thing.
I stand in front of him, and he puts his hands on the outsides of my thighs, pulling me closer to him so his face is right in front of my, well, shorts. This isn’t awkward at all.
He holds my thighs instead of letting go while he tells me more about the move we’re going to do. “So you’re going to be hanging upside down behind me, facing my back, with your legs around my shoulders, holding onto my waist. The belt is there to give you something to grab on to at first till you get comfortable in this position.”
“I’m not really athletic or anything,” I say, suddenly really unsure about this. He’s hot, and it was fun to imagine, well, riding him, but the actual carrying part makes me nervous.
“You don’t have to be. All you’re going to do is hold on tight with your legs so I don’t have to support you much. The course itself is relatively short—253 meters, I think. And the challenge is mostly in the carrying. You just get to enjoy the ride.” His voice is easy, comforting.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
“I knew you’d come around,” he says, his voice low, and all I hear is “I knew you’d come.” His brown eyes flash with something—desire?—and he pulls me even closer, which is a little weird since he’s kneeling and I’m standing right in front of him. I mean, right freaking there.
“Spread your legs,” he says, tapping my right thigh with a finger.
“What? Right.” I widen my stance, my stomach fluttery.
“Perfect,” he says. “Now I’m going to put my head between your legs, and you’re going to lean your body down my back. Got it?”
“Yup,” I murmur.
And he does it. His head goes between my legs, the back of his neck right there. I bend my body down along his back.
“Good,” he says. “Now as I stand, cross your ankles to grip on better with your legs, and grab the belt if you need stability. Ready?”
“Ready,” I say, though I’m not at all sure I am.
He stands smoothly, lifting me up into the air. I squeal as I hang upside down, my face practically against his butt, which, I should add, is nice and firm, and grab his belt.
“You’re a natural,” he says, not even the hint of a grunt or struggle in his voice.
“There’s nothing natural about this position,” I laugh.
“Eh, you’ll get used to it. Are you comfortable?”
I laugh again. “Really? I’m hanging upside down with my legs around your neck and you’re asking if I’m comfortable?”
“You know. Relatively comfortable. I’m just trying to be a gentleman.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
The blood has all run to my face, and I’m feeling lightheaded, but I take a deep breath and focus on not passing out as Ben starts to walk around the studio. After a few minutes, I feel more comfortable in the position, confident I’m not going to crash down to the ground at any second.
Instead, though, I become aware of the way his beard tickles the insides of my thighs, rough and prickly on my tender skin. The back of my legs face upward, and every once in a while, when he brings his hands around to grip the hollows of my knees, I can’t help wondering what those hands would feel like touching my skin in a different scenario.
“Today we’ll just work on getting you used to this,” he says after a while. “Tomorrow I’ll start going faster and we’ll practice obstacles.”
“Obstacles?”
“Yeah. The course has two logs to climb over.”
“Anything else?”
“Just, uh, the widow maker,” he mutters. Or at least that’s what I think he says.
“Wait. The what? Put me down!” I slap
at his ass.
“Geez!” he laughs, but kneels down until my feet touch the mat, and I stand, awkwardly untangling my legs from around his head and shaking the dizziness away.
He grins up at me. “That was fun, right?”
“Sure. If you define fun as having all the blood rush to your face that’s hanging against some random dude’s ass. And what’s the widow maker?” I demand.
He laughs. “Is that what I am? Just some random guy?” His tone is light, but his eyes are searing as he gazes at me. Though it’s pitch black outside now, the studio’s lights are bright, and flecks of gold glint in his eyes.
My mind goes blank. What were we even talking about?
“What’s the widow maker?” I repeat.
“You know.” He shrugs. “I need to carry you through water.”
“Water? How deep?” I imagine myself hanging off his back, my face dragging through liquid so I can’t breathe. I watched those videos, saw the women lifting their heads up to avoid a mouthful of muddy muck.
“Almost up to my waist.” He smiles. “I can see if snorkels are allowed.” His strong hands reach down to unbuckle the belt he’s still wearing, and my breath stops for a second.
Watching him, with his insane body and messy hair and scruffy jaw undo his belt buckle almost undoes something inside me. God. It’s an innocent move, a necessary gesture, but I can’t help my mind from wandering.
I sit down on the mat and pull my socks on, then my shoes, which I tie while he puts away his belt. When I’m finished, he reaches out his hand to help me up.
His grip is solid. His hand feels so big around mine. I let him pull me, allow myself to feel his strength as he swiftly but gently brings me to a standing position. Right in front of him.
“Look. Um, thanks. For doing this.” His hand rakes through his hair as he looks down at me. “It means a lot to my dad. And with Gemma getting hurt…”
Ugh. Gemma. “No problem.”
He nods, still looking at me. For a few seconds we stand there, neither of us moving. It passes the point at which it’s normal to stay staring at someone, but I can’t back away.
