Love Untouched (Unexpected)

by Anne Leigh

  When he instructed me to stop in front of a silver Range Rover, I asked him, “Why did you wait for me tonight?”

  His eyes sparkled and the right side of his mouth turned up. “Because I had to make sure that the nurse who admitted me went home okay.” Technically, Jason was his admitting nurse but oh well, who was I to argue?

  Before stepping out of my car, he added, “And just so you know…that nurse? She makes my pulse race.”

  I gasped, as he smoothly exited my car.

  I followed his car as he led us through the small amount of traffic. We stopped by Cafe Ole, one of the small, but cozy, coffee shops in the city. Once inside, per my request, he ordered me a steaming cup of hot cocoa and I asked for powdered beignets to go along with it. He didn’t drink any coffee, tea, or cocoa. He just ordered a bottle of water and shared the beignets with me. We talked about the most random things, from his love of books to his friendship with Zander and Sedona. I told him about my best friend, and about how life was going as a newbie in nursing. He asked me why I gave food to the guy on the street. I told him that I just felt bad for the guy, whom I had dubbed as ‘Mr. X’. Mr. X was always huddled in a blanket and I couldn’t see his face but I’d heard him singing more than a few times. His songs made me feel melancholy, agonizing pain evident in his voice – it was piercing, longing, as if he was trying to find some peace but couldn’t. Kieran just listened, and during our conversation, when he asked me for my number, I didn’t hesitate.

  Kieran made me feel at ease. He unnerved me because he made my pulse pound each time his deep brown eyes stared at me, and when those twin dimples made their presence known, I was a goner but with him, I felt safe.

  At the end of the night, he tailed my car to my apartment and waited for me to get inside. He wanted to walk me in, but I told him there was no need, plus he had an early training. Once I was inside, he called my phone, and I answered on the first ring. “I had fun Brynn.”

  “I did, too, Kieran,” I replied.

  He was quiet for a minute. “Thanks for taking care of me tonight.”

  “I didn’t. Jason did.”

  “Well, you got to me before he did.” Humor lined his voice.

  “I guess I did.” A soft sigh escaped me. “Goodnight Kieran.”

  “Goodnight Brynn.” I hung up the phone before I said anything more. Kieran was off-limits. He knew it. I knew it. And my brother could, no, would never know about what happened tonight.

  “I’d like to see a dolphin.”

  ~N.B., age 7, acute myelogenous leukemia

  Over the next few weeks, I found myself repeatedly waiting for a particular nurse to come out of the emergency room unit. I had my spot now. I sat on the third row, kitty-cornered to the hospital entrance. The security guards had come to refer to me as “Swim Guy.” They had asked for my autograph the first few times. I told them I hadn’t won anything, like a World Championship or an Olympic gold medal. One of them just shrugged, and said, “It’s only a matter of time.”

  I was not one to boast of my achievements. What I did in the pool was left in the pool. As far as I was concerned, I was still a novice at swimming. Without a World Championship gold medal, or an Olympic gold medal, it didn’t matter if I swam more miles than from here to Hong Kong every week, or if I was the number one swimmer in the country. I was nothing without a gold medal. I was settling for nothing less.

  I was sifting through the app on my phone, analyzing my lap times. It was a very useful app. It allowed me to see how bad or how good I was performing. My coach had tried to delete it from my phone because he thought I was overly involved in it and I needed to chill. I didn’t heed his advice. I chilled while I was scrolling through my lap times, and in the morning, I’d let Smith know that I could shave off 0.02 if I increased my forward speed when I kicked underwater during my freestyle swim. In that way, I would be more efficient when I pulled out after the end of my dolphin kick. The new fins that Smith ordered were really helping with the strength of my kicks. Maybe we could change them for shorter fins. I wondered how it would affect my kicks then.

  “Hey, you’re early today.” Her soft voice cut through my concentration.

  She was standing in front of me. Her golden locks hung loosely around her face. When she worked, she tied it up in a sort of bun, but once she got out, she let it down. The golden waves bounced off her neck, down past her shoulders, and her blue eyes were bright.

  I stood up and leaned close to her. Vanilla.

  “Yes. And you’re out early today, too.” I grinned and she held out her purse to me. It was a habit now for her to give me her purse. Well, her purse looked more like a shoulder bag. Instead of her swinging it around, she gave it to me to stop herself.

  I took it from her and let it hang on my left hand, careful not to have the bottom touch the floor. Some guys had problems with carrying women’s purses. I had none. Well, only Brynn’s, because it looked like a bag and well, it was Brynn’s.

  She talked about her day. She had some very interesting stories and I found myself laughing with her, sometimes to the point of tears, at the craziness that she had to deal with. There was a guy that had an erection for seven hours because he took an herbal medicine. I pitied the guy for a moment then found it way hilarious. A woman whose head got stuck in the toilet bowl, and a guy who got beat up by a lady three times smaller than him because he called her a “man.” She never mentioned their names, but when Brynn described her ER stories, I could not help but wonder how and why people put themselves in to these comical and almost unbelievable scenarios.

  Since the night when I first saw her in the ER, I didn’t miss one opportunity of “fetching” her from the hospital to walk her to her car. The main reason was that, for me, it didn’t seem like it was safe for a woman to be walking alone to her car at 11:45 at night. Brynn said that the security guard watched the video surveillance camera feeds of the parking garages, and that many nurses walked around the garage at that time of the night. Regardless, I just could not reconcile it with myself so I made it a part of my schedule to walk with her and drop her off at her car. I convinced myself that it was the only reason why I did it, but if I was being honest, my day was not complete if I didn’t see her. When she was off, she hung out with her friend and her brother so I didn’t get to see her. During the day, it was easier for me to fight the urge to talk to her because I was busy with training, or dealing with the business venture that I was laying the groundwork for with SwimFit. Nevertheless, at night, I caved. I had to talk to her, had to at least hear her voice. It must be the same for her because sometimes, she called first.

  Some nights, when we were both exhausted - me from a grueling day of training sessions and her from a busy day in the ER- I’d follow her car to her place and just watch her walk inside her apartment building. Other times, we would go to a coffee place and just talk. I liked listening to her talk. She was full of life and her eyes turned from light blue, to darker blue, to an even deeper, shinier blue, when she got excited. Her face always glowed, even when she was tired, and when she smiled, her pearly white teeth showed and she bit her bottom lip in a way that made me think of things that one should not be doing with a female friend.

  “Kieran, do you want to stop by for breakfast tomorrow?” Her tone was inquiring and unsure. She had never invited me to her place before. She was staring at the space ahead of us. We were now stopped between our cars. When I asked her why she liked to park so far away, she said that she wanted to de-stress after a workday by walking to her car.

  “Breakfast? Are you asking me out?” I hid a smile. Unsure Brynn was cute. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she was self-assured and made no qualms about expressing her opinions.

  “No...Forget it.” She took her purse from my arm and started looking for her car keys.

  “Why?” I raised an eyebrow, and inside, I was smiling.

  “Have a good night Kieran,” she said hurriedly and walked a few steps towards her car.

&
nbsp; I followed her and before she could get inside her car, I slowly pulled on her left arm. She had no choice but to face me. “I asked why, Brynn.”

  “Because I make good pancakes, muffins, and a mean cinnamon bun, and you said that you had late practice tomorrow.” She was avoiding my eyes.

  I advanced on her, inched closer, until she was leaning against her car. I slowly grabbed a fistful of her silky strands of hair and she turned her gaze on me. She bit her lip and that action just undid me. “I’ll be there for breakfast tomorrow. But right now, I think I need something else.”

  Her breath hitched and her bottom lip started quivering slightly. She was nervous. If Brynn played poker, this would be her tell. “What do you need?”

  “I need a kiss to go,” I said quickly before I covered her mouth with mine. God, she tasted good. She tasted minty, fresh, and all woman. Her vanilla scent assailed me.

  For weeks, I’ve been wondering what she tasted like. Every time she took a sip of that hot cocoa that she liked so much, I found myself wanting to be the lid of the cup. When she smiled and lowered her eyelashes, it hit me straight in the gut, and there were numerous times that I went home and became very friendly with my fists. We didn’t talk during the day, and when she was off work, I wanted her to make the first move and ask about hanging out with me. She never did. She spent a lot of time with her brother, and I didn’t want to impose on their time. Plus, Milo and I didn’t get along. So, I waited for her to make the first step. I still had a difficult time accepting the fact that she was Milo’s sister, but her presence made me forget that she was. I knew I would have to deal with the fact that she was his sister, and one day, if we became something more, I’d have no choice but to let him know about us. Just for now, though, I wanted to feel her lips against mine. She licked her lips that were oh-so-soft and I wanted more. I didn’t just want a kiss to go. I wanted to kiss her in a way that she would ask me to stay.

  “What are we doing Kieran?” she asked huskily, slightly pulling away.

  I pressed my mouth against hers and ran my tongue over her bottom lip. “We’re meeting up for breakfast.”

  “I’d like to spend a day with my sisters in the park without getting too tired.”

  ~C.J., age 6, hereditary blood disorder

  When the doorbell rang, I was making my third batch of pancakes. Years of knowing and living with my brother had prepared me for this. Kieran would probably finish all of the pancakes, muffins, and Eggs Benedict in one sitting. Swimmers ate large amounts of carbohydrates and unlike me, where my body would store each crumb within my stomach and my thighs, athletes showed no evidence of how much they pigged out. My brother watched his diet though. He ate a ton of carbs but stayed away from processed foods. He was lucky that I was here now to feed him every day. I was able to invite Kieran over because Milo was on an out-of-town project with the Research and Development Team at Quanta-Fix, where he worked as a mechanical engineer.

  I wiped my hands on my dark green yoga pants to dry them off, and tried to fix my hair blindly with my fingers.

  What made me invite him? Maybe this was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Hell would break loose, spiral out of control, and ricochet the broken particles in my face, if Milo found out. Why did they hate each other so much, anyways? From what I have seen of Kieran, he was a gentleman. He was aloof but he was not snobbish. He had a great sense of humor and he was easy to talk to.

  Before I could ponder more, the doorbell rang again.

  I opened the door and there he was. Yum. In a casual red shirt, jeans, and sneakers, he was the picture of the classic Californian mix of classy/surfer-boy goodness. His dark blonde hair all mussed, as if he just got out of the shower and ran a quick brush with his hands through it. His dark brown eyes raked over me, and he said, “Wow, it smells so good in here.” He was saying those words but his eyes hovered over me, his lips twitched a little, and he wrapped me into a hug.

  “Kieran, I haven’t washed my hands yet,” I protested meekly. He smelled like Kieran. All male. His unique scent engulfed me. I felt his solid muscles around me.

  He slowly let go and I ushered him into the living room. My apartment was a cozy one bedroom, minutes away from the hospital where I worked. It was twenty miles away from Milo’s place, but I fell in love with the loft-style design, with an open floor plan and tile throughout the place. The kitchen was what made me drop that security deposit the same day I saw it. Not many apartments or condos had this type of kitchen. It was a mix of modern and traditional design. The stainless steel appliances gleamed, the kitchen walls had been painted light blue, the clean lines of the marble countertop shone, and the mahogany-colored cabinets beckoned to me, making me feel like I belonged. It was a mixture of modern elegance and timeless appeal. The kitchen was my domain. My brother was king of the pool, and I was queen of the kitchen. My fondest, never-buried memories of my mother were when I was with her in the kitchen: baking cookies, making our own pizza, whipping up unique cake mixes and flavors, and decorating our cakes with frosting. My dad often teased us that we would be the first mother and daughter cooking team on the Food Network. They have been gone for a long time but their memories stayed at the front and center of my mind and heart.

  “You can watch TV while I finish setting up the table.” I lightly ordered him to sit on my couch.

  The right side of his mouth lifted. “Nah I want to see you work in the kitchen.”

  “Oh okay,” I replied with a quick gulp, and suddenly, the need to run my hands through his rumpled hair was overwhelming. He ignited a spark inside of me, long ago buried. I was attracted to other guys and even dated a few of them. Yet Kieran’s presence had this absurd, unexplainable, fiery effect on me. I had managed to ignore those feelings, which was really hard, but last night’s kiss was the last straw.

  I walked towards him, stopped half an inch away from his body, stood on my tiptoes, and reached in for a kiss. It was an urge that I had to satisfy, plain and simple.

  He responded with a yearning, burning kiss. I slowly pulled my mouth away from his lips and he leaned in for more. “Kieran, the pancakes …, “ I said, then weakly continued, “still on the stove.”

  “Mmm...,” he moaned against my mouth. He stilled my body by securing my waist with his large hands, locking me into position.

  As much as I didn’t want to pull away, the faint burning scent of the pancakes reached my nose. I lowered my mouth from his, removed his hands from my waist, and walked the few steps towards the stove.

  Conversation ceased to exist between us. The only sound during the silent tableau was the tension that hummed and crackled between our bodies. I struggled at cooking the last batch of pancakes because he was looking over my shoulder, where he had my back wrapped in the front of his body. From time to time, he rained kisses on the top of my head, and when he moved his mouth to my ears, I might have moaned a little.

  “The butter is melting over the pancakes and they’re going to get cold,” I said, in barely controlled breaths, as his hands slid up and down my waist.

  “Okay,” he replied, with unmistakable heat pouring out of him, and his voice thickened with want. “The only reason I’m letting you go now is because I don’t want to waste what you cooked for me.”

  I turned my head to the side and craned my neck up to meet his gaze. He was looking at me like I was the pancake, with unsatisfied hunger and desire. “Okay.” How was I going to eat when my stomach was in shambles? I would rather eat him than eat the pancakes.

  Brynn, where are you getting these wayward thoughts? That was easy. These dirty, naughty thoughts made an appearance whenever this man, who was carrying the plates of pancakes and muffins toward the oak dining table, was somewhere in the vicinity.

  Kieran’s strides were always measured. I observed him as he set the plates down and slowly pulled out the chair, asking me to sit before he sat. I held up a finger and walked towards the refrigerator. “What kind of juice do you want?” I added, “I have or
ange, apple, cranberry. Tea? Coffee?”

  He laughed out his response. “A glass of orange juice is good, thank you.”

  I brought the carton of orange juice to the table. He poured some in his glass, and then in mine, too.

  While we ate, we talked about trivial subjects and played at answering each other’s questions. He liked to collect baseball trading cards; I liked to collect recipes. He has gone skydiving and bungee jumping; I have gone diving, a momentary lapse in judgment, and done jumping jacks. He laughed at my jokes, and he easily made me laugh with his sarcastic humor.

  “I was right, I knew you were going to eat all of the pancakes,” I said, thinking of my earlier theory. “You’re just like Milo. He gobbles everything in sight.”

  I saw the light from his eyes dim at the mere mention of my brother’s name. It was time to open this subject up. I had waited on it for too long. If I was going to go any further with him, he had to tell me why they disliked each other so much. Dislike was actually a mild term for it. Hate might be appropriate. But rage would probably be the apt description as to what Milo would feel if he knew what was going on between Kieran and I.

  “Why, Kieran?” I asked, looking straight into his eyes. He kept chewing, and after a few seconds, he wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said, “Dia.”

  Dia? My brother’s ex-girlfriend? Why did she have anything to do with this?

  “Dia?” My question hung in the air.

  He clamped his mouth, gritted his teeth, ran a hand along his hair, and from across the table, grabbed my right hand. The fork in my other hand slowly fell onto the plate.

  Oh God, no. Please do not tell me... please don’t.

  “I slept with her.” His admission cloaked the sliver of hope that I was holding on to—that maybe Milo would be okay with me dating Kieran. That fragment of hope was just blown away by the wind, tossed around, and cannot be retrieved.