by Ann, Natalie
He stood up straighter, crossed his arms over his chest, and sent her a warning look she had never seen before. “For what? I’m not the one who had two men kiss her tonight. Neither of which was me, by the way.”
She held her ground, regardless of the fact that an angry Jack stood almost a foot and half taller than her and had her by more than a hundred pounds. “What do you mean? Ryan? Mac? They are my friends!” she shouted back. “There is nothing going on with them. Ryan is your best friend.” She pointed at him with her finger. “What’s the matter, don’t you trust your own friends? Or is it me? Can’t trust me? Still think I’m a party girl out to have a good time? Is that it?”
“Will you stop talking for a minute? I can’t answer anything if you don’t pause for air,” he said with a snarl.
“Fine. Talk. Answer my questions then.”
“I don’t even know which one to answer first. Listen…” He started, running his hands through his hair. “I’m no good at this. Relationships. I told you that. What do you want me to say? That I didn’t like seeing two other guys’ hands on you? Well, I didn’t. No man would, plain and simple.”
“They’re friends,” she repeated, crossing her arms at her chest, but with less conviction than before. “And you never said you weren’t good at relationships, just that you didn’t want one.” She waved her hand dismissing the statement. “Either way, doesn’t matter. I’ll say it again. They’re friends, like big brothers to me.”
“It doesn’t matter, guys don’t think that way. They think ‘she’s mine, hands off.’ Regardless of if it’s their friend or not,” he said, holding his ground.
She held hers. “That’s crazy.”
“Really? Want to meet some of my friends from college? Girl friends. And let’s see how you feel when they greet me with a kiss?”
“That’s different. I don’t know them,” she said lamely.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know Mac either.”
He had a point, but she wasn’t giving up that easy. “Besides, you probably didn’t have any friends that were girls in college, so it’s a moot point.”
“This is crazy. Forget it.” He turned to leave.
She dashed in front of him. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re fighting right now.”
“Home. You refuse to see my side of it, fine. Then there is nothing left to discuss.” He went to sidestep her and reach for the doorknob.
She plastered herself against the door. “No. You don’t leave when you’re fighting. You talk and work it out. You never leave until you’re done being mad at each other.”
“Says who?”
“Me. You said you aren’t good at relationships. Well, maybe that’s why. You run when it doesn’t go your way. Stand and fight if you want it bad enough. Or is that the problem?” she asked, trying to hide the hurt from her eyes. “You don’t want it.”
He sighed and pulled her away from the door, then walked back into the living room. He took his jacket off and reached for hers when she did the same. Laying them both over the chair, he sat on the couch next to where she had just sat. She saw how troubled his eyes looked. “I do want it. You know I care about you.” He reached to hold her hand. “You even told me so,” he said, trying to tease, but she didn’t smile at him.
“That’s another thing. You’re slow,” she said accusing him.
“Cautious.”
“Cautious,” she repeated, then added, “Slow. I shouldn’t have to tell you that you care for me. You should tell me yourself.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a deep breath, then pinned her with a stare. “How many serious relationships have you had?”
“Define serious.”
“Living together. Or at least thinking about living together?”
“Then none,” she said solemnly.
“Well, then I know more about this than you. It’s not healthy when one person controls everything, pushes for everything they want if the other person isn’t ready,” he said, his eyes drilling into hers even more.
Cori wondered if that was what Jack’s marriage was like, but she had enough restraint to hold that question back. Barely. “I don’t like to push. I try not to, but it’s how I am.” She tried to explain her side of it. She wanted him to understand.
“Well, I take things slowly. It’s how I am.” He held his hand up before she could interrupt. “Sometimes I need a push, I will agree. But it can’t always be what you want or when you want it either. Give and take, Cori,” he said with a tilt of his head.
“I know,” she said, dropping her shoulders.
“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad. I’m saying it because we need to understand each other. You need to understand me. And I do understand you. I don’t think you’re a party girl. I trust you. It was a knee jerk tonight, nothing more… It’s hard to explain. But I’ll take responsibility for that, and I’ll apologize for it.”
“I hate apologizing,” she started out saying. “But I will if I’m wrong. I shouldn’t have attacked you tonight. I should have asked you rather than yelled. But I’m not apologizing for pushing you so far.” She grinned ruefully at him. “Because if I hadn’t we wouldn’t be here right now. You would have been watching the Super Bowl alone, and you would have missed out on some pretty spectacular sex these past weeks.”
Smiling, he pulled her close. “There is that.” He pushed her head onto his chest and stroked his hand up and down her back. “We good?”
“Yeah,” she said as she snuggled in closer. “We’re good.”
“OK,” he said, withdrawing and starting to stand. “I should get going. It’s getting late and tomorrow’s going to be here pretty fast.”
“You can’t leave,” she told him.
He raised his eyebrow at her.
“I’m not trying to push you. Or control anything. Well, maybe I am. But really, you can’t leave until we have make-up sex.” She reached up, placing both her hands on his face, pulling him down for a kiss. “Even I know make-up sex is the best sex there is,” she whispered against his lips.
Valentine’s Day
“Teach me how to cook,” Cori demanded when Brooke slid perfected deveined shrimp into the butter and garlic mixture on the stovetop.
Brooke must not have heard her correctly. She gave the shrimp a final stir and checked her pasta, then turned back to Cori. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Teach me how to cook, please? Maybe a meal?” she amended. “Something easy.”
“Why?” Brooke asked. “You’ve never seemed interested in cooking before. You’re always more interested in eating. You’ve never really cared where the food came from or how it was prepared. Does Jack want you to cook for him?”
“No, at least I don’t think so. Though I’m sure he doesn’t approve of my dietary regimen.”
She stuck her tongue out at Brooke when that produced a snort. “Anyway, as I was saying. He has never said anything. I don’t think he cares. But he can’t cook either, other than eggs that I know of. Shouldn’t I know how to make at least a few easy dishes at this point in my life?” she asked helplessly.
“Not necessarily. My mother never learned to cook,” she said, joking while she poured the white wine into the sauté pan, stirred the shrimp again, then tossed them around in the air.
“Well, I’m not in the position to hire a cook, so, help me, please? I managed to serve the meal you prepared the other night just fine, and Jack loved it. I want to do something nice for him on Sunday.”
***
“Brooke, help!” Cori wailed into the phone Sunday afternoon.
“Relax,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s bubbling. You said not to let it bubble,” Cori said in a screech, then looked at the red sauce in the big pan spilling out onto the stovetop.
“How high do you have the heat?” Brooke asked calmly.
“I don’t know. Not on high. You said not to put it on high, so I didn’t,” she said, explain
ing, her voice continuing to rise.
Brooke sighed and tried another approach. “What number is that dial turned to?”
“Oh, eight. It’s on eight.”
“Turn it to three for now. You have it too high,” she said, reassuring Cori.
“You told me not to turn it to ‘high.’ You didn’t tell me eight was high. How am I supposed to know that?”
“Take a deep breath, Cori. It’s a pot of spaghetti sauce. Make sure you stir it every now and again so it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan.”
“It can stick? How does sauce stick? I thought I only had to worry about the pasta sticking to the pan?” Cori groaned and laid her head down on the counter next to the oven. “How did I get myself into this mess? It’s not funny,” she accused Brooke when she heard laughter on the other end of the phone.
“Yes, it is. Anyway, did you bake the meatballs for twenty minutes like I explained?”
“Yeah, but they still looked raw when I put them in the sauce. I can’t serve him raw meatballs. This was a mistake. Darn it, what was I thinking?” She groaned again. “I’m going to give Jack food poisoning. What a great Valentine’s Day gift,” she said, near tears.
“Stop it right now,” Brooke said, scolding her. “Get a hold of yourself. What is wrong with you? It’s a spaghetti dinner. I’ve never seen you like this. You’ve got plenty of time. It will simmer now. It needs to for several hours anyway. When’s Jack coming?”
Cori took a deep breath and pulled herself together. She looked at the clock on the oven. “Around four.”
“Then you’ve got three hours for the meatballs to cook, that’s plenty of time. Besides, the longer the sauce cooks, the better it tastes. Keep stirring it every thirty minutes or so and you’ll be fine.”
Another exaggerated deep breath and Cori felt more composed. “Great, I’ve got this. I think. Thanks. I can handle the rest of the night, but this dinner thing is making me nervous. I want it to be perfect,” she said, sticking out her bottom lip.
“It’s the effort that counts. I’m sure Jack will think so, too.”
***
Jack stepped into Cori’s living room, stomped the snow off his boots, then leaned over to take them off. He tossed his jacket over the back of her chair and pulled the hat off his head.
“You cut your hair,” Cori said as she looked at the shorter waves on top, his hair now closely cropped around his ears and neck. “Very GQ. Whoa.”
He actually started to blush, causing her to laugh. “All you need is a bit of stubble and you would be ready to model.” She winked at him. “I know you’ve got the body for it. I’ve seen it firsthand,” she added, running her hand up his chest, watching his blush deepen.
“Are you done critiquing my look?” he asked, looking hopeful.
“Oh, no. Not critique, complementing is more like it. Not that I didn’t like it a bit longer. That was pretty sexy in a windblown casual way. So, why did you cut it?” she asked, reaching up on her tiptoes and running her hands through his hair affectionately.
“It needed to be trimmed,” he said. “And I told the girl to cut it short, figuring I wouldn’t have to go back again for a while. It’s hard enough to find time as it is.”
“Oh, so you are going to let it go back to the windblown look? Yay, me. It’s going to be like dating two different guys. Two different models,” she corrected.
He ignored her and walked into the kitchen to get a beer that she had been habitually restocking for him. “That smells good,” he commented as he lifted the lid. “Brooke’s work again?”
“No, I made it with Brooke’s help,” she smiled proudly.
He looked so horrified her smile vanished and her shoulders dropped. “Brooke helped me,” she repeated. “And I’ve been bugging her all afternoon with updates. She assured me I wouldn’t give you food poisoning.”
He grimaced. “I’m sure it’s going to be good. You did a good job with her other dish,” he reminded her. “And I’m touched that you wanted to eat in rather than go out today. Today is probably the worst Hallmark holiday on the earth.”
She smiled tentatively. “Yeah, well, Brooke did all the work for that last one. I only cooked it. But I really did everything this time. I never realized how many ingredients went into spaghetti and meatballs.”
She laughed in memory. “You should have seen Brooke’s face when I told her I would grab a jar of sauce. She refused to help me if I did that, told me I had to make the sauce from scratch, or it was cheating.”
“Well, I’m glad you did it.” He leaned in to give her a kiss.
He was getting situated on the couch with his unopened beer when his phone rang.
Cori leaned over and grabbed it off the coffee table where he set it with his keys when he came in. She noticed Dr. Smith’s name, the Head of Orthopedics, appear on the screen and handed it to him with a frown on her face.
Then she sat there listening to his end of the conversation, which consisted of less than three words total, including his greeting. When she heard his deep sigh she felt the disappointment set in.
Ending the call, he turned to her. “I’m sorry. I need to run in quick.” He started to explain when she looked upset. “I shouldn’t be long. It seems the teenage son of a major donor to the hospital went down hard on his knee while playing basketball with his friends. Since several colleges are currently scouting him, the parents are upset. They requested the best, and that’s me,” he said with a smile.
She knew he was trying to lighten the mood. So she plastered a fake smile on her face. “I’ll hold dinner for you. Text me when you are on your way back,” she said when he stood up.
He looked at her thoughtfully. “You said you knew what to expect dating a doctor,” he reminded her.
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it, though. No worries. Go do your doctor thing. I’ll be waiting for you,” she said and picked up his unopened beer, intending to place it back in the refrigerator.
***
Almost two hours later, Jack found himself removing his boots in Cori’s living room for a second time. He was starving and in desperate need of a beer after spending the last hour calming the careless teen’s parents, reassuring them the injury was only a bad bruise and it wouldn’t affect their son’s performance in the least. He told the young player to rest for a week, keep ice on it, take it easy, and everything would be good as new.
Too bad he didn’t think things would be so good with Cori. He knew she was upset. She hadn’t put up too big of a fuss and he appreciated it. But he felt the need to make it up to her.
So on his way out of the hospital he took a quick detour to the gift shop and picked up flowers. Then saw the huge chocolate kiss and grabbed that too. Chocolate always softened her up.
When she saw the goodies in his hands she smiled. Then eyed him accusingly. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t. You’ll get your other gift after dinner. Unless you want it now?” he asked. She didn’t need to know he bought that gift right before he came over the first time today.
As he was leaving the beauty salon in the mall he noticed all the signs in the windows advertising Valentine’s Day, prompting him to check the date on his phone. Sure enough it was February fourteenth, causing him to swear.
It took him longer than he thought to find just the right gift, but in the end he thought it was perfect.
“I want it now.” She grinned and held out her hand. He knew she really didn’t believe he remembered and she wanted to put him on the spot, but she was in for a surprise.
He pulled the slim gift-wrapped box out of his jacket pocket and placed it in her hand. Her jaw dropped and he was never so happy to have picked today to get a haircut.
Dashing to the couch, she sat down and started to rip the paper off, like everything else she did in life, in a hurry.
The name on the jewelry box indicated he didn’t buy his gift at the hospital after all. She lifted the lid and tea
rs formed in her eyes. She took a closer look and then started to laugh.
“If it doesn’t fit, we can bring it back to get adjusted. I told them you were tiny, so they shortened it already.”
He reached in the box and pulled out the dainty silver link bracelet and clasped it around her wrist, turning it so she could admire the two silver charms dangling on the end. A heart and a pair of lips. The same two items that were on her scrubs this week when he bought her lunch in the cafeteria.
“I love it!” She reached over and gave him a big kiss. “You redeemed yourself,” she said with a huge grin.” She was still holding him when they heard a hissing sound from the kitchen causing her to jump up in alarm. “Crap. The pasta.”
Roxy’s Gift
Jack let himself in the front door of his house several hours later. Of course Roxy was there to greet him. When she noticed what was in his hand, she started to jump up and down, trying not to hit him with her front paws, but not succeeding.
“What? You want this?” he asked of the gigantic rawhide bone with a red ribbon tied around it in his hand. Handing it to her, he ran his hand down her back when she took hold of the large treat.
He grinned as he watched her settle down to enjoy the massive bone and thought back in amazement over the last few hours. He was never going to think of Valentine’s Day as a made up Hallmark holiday again. Matter of fact, it might be his favorite holiday ever.
Hours earlier they had run into the kitchen after they heard the hissing sound. The pasta water had boiled over, scorching the stovetop. The pasta looked three sizes bigger than it should have, even after running cold water on it in hopes of rinsing off some of the starch. But it was edible, if a bit chewy. He had to admit she did a pretty decent job with the sauce and meatballs, and told her so.
It wasn’t that it was the first dinner she ever cooked in her life that made it memorable. Or even the gift she gave him—though he had to admit she did a good job there. She had handed him a bright red bag with pink and white tissue paper overflowing from it. Inside he found a large bag of M&M’s—peanut butter—since she realized he liked them the best. A six-pack of his favorite craft beer and two paper coupons, redeemable for hour-long massages, completed the gift. Nothing more a man could want than a gift like that.
