“What do you do for fun, Dr. Peters?” I asked.
“Look … shit, I need more vino,” she said, glaring at the empty bottle beside her. “Anyway, I know everyone has to be all formal at the hospital, but is it possible for you to just call me Laura?”
“Sure, Laura,” I said, astonished at the informality. Is the Ice Queen thawing, I wondered. “I’m Keith, but you already know that, or I think you do.” Pondering that, I honestly couldn’t ever recall her addressing me as much more than “hey you” and that sort of thing. She flagged down the waitress and ordered another bottle of riesling.
“So tell me all about Keith,” she said.
“Not much to tell,” I told her. “I went into the Navy out of high school, became a corpsman, served in combat, then got out in four years and went through the paramedic course and got a degree in biology. But I guess I wasn’t done with adrenaline, and got a job working EMS. And now here I am, 42 years old and working a 911 truck, wondering if shrinks have a more official name than cray-cray for my condition.”
“Oh, come on,” she said as the waitress brought a fresh bottle of white wine for her. She poured a glass, drank it down, then poured a second and drank that as well, then filled her glass again. It was, I noted, riesling, a sweet wine without a high alcohol yield like champagne might boast. Still, she was knocking it back pretty hard. “There has to be a pretty wife and probably a dozen kids going on.”
“None of the above,” I said. “I don’t know if that’s ever in the cards for me. I’m getting kind of old to be changing diapers.”
“Some of us fuck up and marry our fucking jobs,” she said, then drank the third glass of wine and poured a fourth, emptying the bottle. She yawned and her eyes drooped. Long shifts and alcohol weren’t a good combination.
I was growing concerned. I didn’t need to be a Rhodes scholar to see she was too drunk to drive.
“I don’t think it’s arrogant to say I’m a damned talented physician, even goddamned talented.” Her words came fast and furious, but had started to slur.”But sometimes I wish I’d taken a residency in dermatology and have a life with banker’s hours, a life with some normalcy.”
“Yeah, I understand,” I said, and I did. Whatever dreams and idealism I might’ve had at 18 or 20 years old were gone forever. Truth is, I was bitter now. To quote the country song, my give-a-damn was busted. But then she fell asleep, or passed out, and one way or another I knew she was about to be thrown out of the roadhouse, and that a DUI or even a public intox charge would stand a chance of fucking her up, maybe for life, and I’d rather not learn she went out drunk and killed some poor schmuck because she was at the grape. I flagged the waitress for a check and she told me the woman I’d saved paid my tab. I asked about Laura’s tab and the waitress shook her head, then handed me that check, which I paid with a handsome tip and a smile. She smiled back and dashed away.
I helped Laura, who was only semiconscious, to her feet, and escorted her out to my truck. “Schloox like Daddy’s,” she slurred, and wept some. I unlocked the passenger door, then picked her up and deposited her on the front seat, buckled her seatbelt, shut her door, then fired up the big engine in my truck. I didn’t know where she lived, nor what kind of car she drove. She was in no shape to tell me, and I’m too much the gentleman to go rooting about in a lady’s purse for her wallet and driver’s license. I drove her to my house, unloaded her from the truck, then walked her indoors, where I deposited her on the guest bed. She was out cold in a heartbeat.
I took my bathrobe into the guest room and put it over her like a blanket, then removed her shoes. Her slacks and blouse remained untouched. I went to the third bedroom, which was more or less my office and man-cave - don’t judge, it’s a guy thing - and scrawled a note to her.
Laura,
You had a bit too much wine and I don’t know where you live, so you’re in my guest room. When you feel up to it, I can take you back to the restaurant to retrieve your car. The Keurig is in the kitchen and you have the privilege of the fridge. There are several quart bottles of Gatorade in there, which tends to turn my own hangovers back into a buzz. Feel free to wake me if I sleep in.
K
I folded the note into a tent and wrote her name on it, then put it on the nightstand beside her, turned out the light, then went to the shop behind my house. The original owner had been a woodworker and built what amounted to a second 3-car garage back there. When I bought the place nine years before, I probably vacuumed a cubic yard of sawdust from the garage. I’d converted it to a dungeon, making a few pieces of furniture with my own rudimentary tools, and had it heated and air-conditioned. I pulled a bullwhip from a hook and laid 100 lashes into a dress-maker’s mannequin wearing an old tee-shirt of mine, staying in practice, an activity I frequently engaged.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my head was full of imaginings of Laura instead of that dusty dummy, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Yeah, so she showed me a bit of humanity buried in the iceberg that was her. It didn’t mean I liked her. I respected her, yes, but I hadn’t abandoned my perception of her as a frozen iron bitch.
Done, I went to bed. Usually, I sleep in the buff, but because Laura was there, I put on scrub pants and a tank top. I jacked off, and came hard, with images of my guest in my mind, then slept like the dead until 7:00.
CHAPTER 5
I awoke with a pounding ache in my skull. It ebbed and flowed like a relentless tide. There was one constant. Pain. The blackest of clouds shrouded my memory, patches of things I remembered overlapped with gaping holes where there was nothing.
Pressing my hands to my temples did nothing to help. This was the cost of overindulgence. A thick moan escaped me, not the sexy kind, but a needy, regretful noise. I wrapped myself in the thick layer of fabric covering me, inhaling the most heavenly scent. It was a deep, masculine aroma, which flooded my senses and brought up way too many questions, most pressing being where the hell was I?
I raised my heavy eyelids halfway, only to slam them shut again. Light burned through my lids, and more pain told me I didn’t want to do that again any time soon. Except, this wasn’t my bed. That alone drove me to attempt the impossible.
Against better judgment, I fluttered my eyes open, determined this time to discover where I might be. It was too bright, but a glance across the unfamiliar room revealed thick drapes blocking a window. I squinted and groaned again. My mouth was dry and sticky with thick saliva. Whatever is covering me was not a sheet, but a … robe? It was the only piece of heaven in my universe right now, and I couldn’t get enough of how wonderful it smelled.
The aching in my skull subsided. I didn’t want to get up, but my bladder pinched, demanding relief. Slowly, I raised myself to a sitting position and took stock of my predicament. With relief, the first thing I noticed was my clothes, the most important piece of information being that I was still wearing them. No shoes. I swung my bare feet down, meeting the roughness of a Berber carpet. Moving brought back the ache in my head, but I needed to find the facilities.
I was in a home, or apartment. There had to be a bathroom nearby. So, what was the story? Had I gone home with someone? I never went home with anyone.
Once on my feet, the room swayed, and I nearly lost my balance. The room swirled around me, but slowly became stationary again. I smacked my dry lips, tasting the foulness of my mouth. My stomach turned in the worst way, prompting me to seek food. And water. Gallons of it. First, I needed to negotiate my way across the room, and find that bathroom.
I eyed the bed again. Maybe I should sleep this off? No. I was awake, and to be honest, I was a little scared. Fortunately, the bathroom was just down the hall. I entered and closed the door behind me, turning to the sink where I splashed cold water on my face. I wished I could wash my brain free of the toxins too, but that wasn’t medically possible. The mirror did me no favors. Sunken eyes. Sallow face. My hair a mess of tangles. I looked exactly like I felt.
Quickly, I brus
hed my teeth using my finger and a little dab of toothpaste from the tube by the sink. After taking care of business, I headed down the hall, seeking an answer to my most nagging question. Who the hell had I gone home with last night?
Before exploring further, I went back to my room to find my shoes. Odd how the mind works. There was nothing mine about that room. A quick glance around and I spotted my shoes. I also noticed a note propped up beside the bed. It had my name on it.
With my hands shaking, I grabbed it, and my jaw dropped as I read. I fleetingly wondered who the hell ‘K’ could be, and then memories of Keith across the table from me hit me like a slap in the face. Of all the people to have gone home with? It had to be him? I’d never live this down. Now, not only would I have to endure the snickers of the Ice Queen moniker, but drunk-assed-bitch would be added to the list. Not that I was a bitch, I just didn’t have time to deal with people.
I wanted to find a hole, crawl inside it, and never leave.
Instead, my stomach grumbled. That shakiness persisted, telling me I needed food. Well, he said the fridge was mine. I wondered if he kept it stocked with beer and empty ketchup bottles, or if the man knew what a grocery store looked like.
There was no sign of life, except for my cautious shuffling. He’d said to wake him, but I wasn’t ready to face the judgment in his eyes. Perhaps I could entice him with a little food? Men ran on their stomachs, and maybe he’d forget about my indiscretions while he shoveled chow into his face, leaving me time to sort out exactly how mortified I should be.
All kinds of images ran through my head of what might have happened in my drunken haze. The guy was handsome, ruggedly so, and mature. He’d lived hard and didn’t approach life with hesitation. Images of him performing the Heimlich maneuver on someone flitted through my head. I hated him because I always felt off guard around him, fluttery, and unexpectedly needy. There were many things I might be, but needy wasn’t one of them. Which made me hate him even more, because he turned me into something I despised.
Surprisingly, he kept a well stocked fridge. Okay, maybe there was one thing I could admire about him. I poked around and found the makings of omelets. I liked mine stuffed with fresh veggies, ham, and plenty of cheese. I found all of that, and more in his fridge.
In no time, I had bacon sizzling and omelets on the grill.
“Something smells like heaven.” Keith’s low rumble had me turning around. That low gravel vibrated deep in my chest, tugging on strings bound tight around my heart.
His cowboyish gait was at odds with the faded scrubs covering his impressive frame. All that was missing was a ten-gallon hat and one of those low slung belts with a pistol jutting from his hip. He gave me more than a smile and rendered me speechless by the look on his face. My breath stopped and my pulse pounded. My skin tingled, and for a moment I forgot all about my hangover. Time was suspended as his gaze latched onto my mouth, then descended in a slow, meandering path. He took in the shape of my breasts, the narrowing of my waist, and lingered on my hips before dropping to the apex of my thighs.
My entire body reacted with a flush of something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. My core ignited and spread outward. The rush of heat inflamed my skin and tightened my nipples. And as my pulse kicked up a notch, a throbbing ache settled between my legs.
Behind me, the bacon burned.
“Oh, dammit!” I spun around and pulled the bacon off the stove.
“Need some help?”
“No,” I exclaimed. “I saved it.”
“Wasn’t expecting breakfast.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
Slowly, I turned around, hesitant to meet his gaze. The man was potent. At work, I kept my distance, but in his home, his undeniable masculinity washed through me, drowning me in fantasies I had no business dreaming up. Like how his sculpted lips naturally curved up at the edges and what I wanted him to do with them. Like me, the man had a hard job, but he always seemed to carry a smile. His strong jawline framed his seductive lips, making him look commanding. Masculine. And way too hot to be standing less than ten feet from me.
He hadn’t moved his focus from my body. The man had made an art out of checking me out.
I snapped my fingers. “My eyes are up here.”
His brow quirked up and his lips tightened. “I know where your eyes are.”
“You don’t like me very much, do you?”
“Why do you say that?”
I shrugged. “Look, about last night…”
“Hun, no need to say anything. We all have nights like last night.”
“I just don’t want you thinking…”
“What, that the overly serious doc is human?” He shook his head. “We all put on our pants the same way. Maybe our masks too.”
Holy hell. I heard his words, but his eyes said he wasn’t thinking about putting clothes on. I needed to ask about last night, but couldn’t admit to the holes in my memory.
“Food’s done, if you want any.”
He sauntered toward me, and I couldn’t help but take a step back under the heat of his gaze. I thought he was coming over to me, to…to I don’t know. Was it too presumptuous to think he might find me attractive too? But he stopped at the fridge, opened the door, and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade.
He shoved it into my hand. “Drink this. It’ll help with that hangover you’re trying to hide.”
“I’m not—”
“Hun, this ain’t my first rodeo. Don’t argue with me. Drink it.” He opened the cupboard and pulled out two plates. Bringing them to me, he held them out. “Food looks good, and smells even better. If it tastes half as good, I might just keep you around.”
I’m pretty sure my heart stopped. My mouth gaped. To cover my awkwardness, I shoved food in my mouth. He’d better damn well like my cooking, this was a slice of heaven. Closing my eyes, I let the savory flavors swirl around in my mouth, then gagged when my mind shifted to something much more deviant.
It was time to flee this place, because the longer I spent in Keith’s home without the buffer of work, the more I wanted to never leave. Unfortunately, I didn’t think he felt the same.
With a sigh, I took a long gulp of Gatorade. Now that I’d had some food, and a little fluid, I was on my way to recovery. It was time to broach the one question I didn’t want to ask.
“What happened last night?”
He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps bulged and I couldn’t keep my eyes from enjoying the sculpted muscles of his chest.
He huffed a laugh. “My eyes are up here, doll.”
Fuck him, but tossing my words back at me had me laughing. “Sorry.”
My plate wasn’t even half done, but he’d scraped his clean. Guess he liked my cooking.
“What all do you remember?” he asked.
Now, wasn’t that a loaded question?
CHAPTER 6
I was amused at her sheepish smile, the one that really told the tale that she remembered little, if anything, of the night before. “Would you believe we went to a strip club, where you mounted the stage and danced like a slithering snake?” I asked, keeping a perfect poker face.
A bit late, red warning flags popped up in my mind, fluttering on a high wind. I already knew the teasing would annoy her, so that wasn’t why the warning flags popped. Her not-unexpected eruption caused me to set that thought aside. It would be some time before I understood why I said it and why it caused her temper to flare, far more than expected.
“Not on your life,” she sneered. “Goddammit, I should’ve known better than to have asked. You win. I’m humiliated, doing the walk of shame from your fucking house. Fuck you. I’ll call a taxi.” She stormed off to the guest room while I drank my own bottle of Gatorade, pleased that I’d stopped last night’s beer drinking at the half-pitcher. She returned a moment later, looking more annoyed than ever. “Did you take my phone?” she asked.
“Nope,” I said. “The reason you’re here is I
didn’t think it proper to dig in your purse for your driver’s license. For that matter, I paid your tab last night for your dinner and wine. I know you hate my ass. Or you at least don’t like or respect me, and that’s okay. I’m used to that from you. But I swear to God on a stack of bibles nine feet high that I was entirely the gentleman. I didn’t want to see you fucked up for a public intox charge, or worse, a DUI charge. And, still being the gentleman, I’ll give you a ride to your car. Maybe your phone is there. Maybe you dropped it.”
“No, I don’t hate your ass,” Laura said, looking a bit deflated.
“As far as last night goes, I’m not running my mouth to anyone,” I said. “No good deed goes unpunished, right? Thanks for breakfast. Let me get into jeans, grab my wallet and keys, and I’ll run you back to the roadhouse.”
“Look, how many ways do I need to apologize, to say I’m sorry?” Laura asked.
“None at all, Dr. Peters,” I returned. “I’d rather not be lied to anyway. I’ll be ready in a moment.” I went to my room and shed my clothes, then donned jeans and a western shirt, and slid into my Nocona cowboy boots. Maybe I should give her cab money and send her on her merry way, I considered. But I knew that wasn’t in my makeup. I might seem rude and crude to many, maybe even to most, but I liked to think of myself as a gentleman, and a gentleman doesn’t behave like that. One way or another, I’ll be shut of her in fifteen minutes, probably faster than a cab could get here anyway, come to think of it, I considered. And, God willing, I won’t transport anyone to her for the next five fucking years until I retire.
“Let’s go,” I said a moment later, finding her sitting on my favorite chair in my living room.
“Let’s talk instead,” she said, looking me in the eye. “Look, I know what people say about me. Ice Queen. Frozen bitch. Cunt. I’m not stupid, Keith.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said. “You showed me a bit of your humanity last night, then shut it off this morning. It’s okay. I’m just a lowdown paramedic, just a lackey to you, Dr. Peters, beneath your notice until this hour in time. You’re not the first, and won’t be the last.” I looked her in the eye. “I’ll say this, though. Never, ever, fool yourself into thinking you can do my job or deal with the horrible shit I endure to own and keep this house and make my way in the world. If you want to be Miss High and Mighty Arrogant Goddess of Medicine, be my guest. But thank you for telling me that little boy’s organs saved other kids. That doesn’t make it easier, but makes his death a bit more acceptable. I broke my hump to keep … to keep that poor kid alive.” I choked back a sob, surprised at how much it hurt to lose a kid. It wasn’t my fault he died. It wasn’t even hers, and I don’t know if he’d have survived if this had happened right outside a neurosurgical OR with a full team on standby.
Off Duty Page 3
