by J. Saman
“Actually, I was going to hire an airplane to write it across the sky.”
“Ooh, I hope the message will include my name. First and last of course.”
“Of course, how else would you know it’s for you? You think we’re the only two people in Seattle celebrating a two-week sex anniversary?”
“That’s a valid point. I’m sure couples all over the world are being woken by their sex partner to celebrate the momentous occasion.”
“Is that what you are? My sex partner?” I raise my head, peering down into her glowing smiling face. “That sounds awfully clinical, Doctor.”
“What would you call us then?”
She’s baiting me. I know it and she knows it, and I can’t answer that for her.
But I’m so insanely in love with her. There. I am. I admit it.
I don’t even know how or when it happened, but it did. I look at her and I feel a happiness I have never ever known. She’s light, a glowing radiant sun. Pure energy, the most powerful force I’ve ever encountered.
And I need her. Just a little while longer.
I know it’s selfish. I do, but I can’t stop.
“I’d call you mine, but that’s a ridiculous moniker.” I cringe at my words, waiting for her to pounce, but she just looks up at me blinking quietly.
“I guess that’s true, we don’t really need a title or name anyway. It only complicates matters.” She thinks this is just sex to me.
It’s supposed to just be sex to you!
Right. And as much as I’ll hate myself for this later, she still needs to know.
I shift my body so I’m hovering over her, my hands bracketing her head.
“It’s been sixteen days since I showed up on that bench outside your building. The best sixteen days of my life, hands down.” I stop there, but I’m aching to continue. I can’t. She’ll end it now, and I’ll miss these last fourteen days with her.
Ivy’s eyes sparkle with a sheen of unshed tears as she reaches up to run her fingers along my jaw. “Me too,” she whispers, almost reluctant to utter the words.
“Hey, none of that.” She blinks a few times, trying to hold her tears back. “We’re okay, right?”
She nods, but doesn’t look all that convinced.
“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but you realize you’ve only had a series of stolen moments with me, right? I mean, I work insane hours, and I’m rather moody when I’m hungry and tired, which is often and . . .” She pauses, deliberating her next words. “And I don’t know you all that well. You don’t know me all that well either, because all we’ve had are these stolen moments.”
She’s nervous. Ivy chews on the corner of her lip when she is. I doubt she’s even aware that she does it. She’s afraid and so am I, but I can’t change our reality.
“Stolen moments with you are the only kind worth having.”
Those tears that had been threatening begin to fall, and I bring my mouth down to capture them before lowering my naked body against hers.
“Is this real?” she whispers against my lips. “I keep expecting to wake up and be gone. This is all a dream. Pretty soon, we’ll both have to wake from it.”
“I feel the same way.”
“So if this were the eighties movie, they’d start playing the cheesy music and we’d kiss and smile to it?”
“Hell yeah. The cheesy music is imperative to our story. How else would we know this was the point where I throw you the epic one-liners?”
“That’s a legitimate point.” She squirms a little beneath me, and I can’t help but love the hell out of that. But she’s still apprehensive—so very unsure of this. I am too, way more than she could ever be. “And you’re sure about the whole continuing this with me thing?”
No.
“Baby, if I wasn’t, why would I ever have agreed to try that disgusting Vegemite shit? No one in their right mind would ever do that unless they were getting regular sex. It’s probably the only way anyone ever eats it.”
Ivy laughs, smacking my shoulder playfully. “Vegemite is what makes us Aussies big, beautiful, and strong. It’s a national staple.”
“I will not argue that point, but it is the grossest thing I’ve ever eaten and I pledged for a frat my freshman year. That’s all I’m saying.”
She smiles wide, her eyes luminous in the minimal light filtering in from the street. “Do I want to ask?”
“No, you’ll think less of me and I make it a point never to have naked women think less of me.”
“I see.” Ivy tilts her head to the side, her hair fanned out across my pillow. “Then how about you give me more of you?”
“Like this type of more?” I roll my hips into her and her eyes flutter shut as her lips part in a silent moan. I love it when she does that. It’s so goddamn sexy.
“Well, it is our two-week sex anniversary, right? We should celebrate that.”
“Whatever you say, darlin’.”
My mouth dips to hers and since it’s early and we don’t have anywhere to be, I take my time kissing her.
It was never something I ever really cared about. I mean, I like kissing. Who doesn’t? But it always led to other things—more pleasurable and crucial things. But with Ivy, I really can’t get enough of her mouth. It’s the most sensual thing.
I slide inside of her slowly, wanting to prolong this moment.
She is so perfect to me. So absolutely devastatingly perfect.
There is nothing in the world as good as being inside Ivy. Nothing like watching her as I touch and kiss her body. Watching her come undone beneath me, knowing I’m the one who is making her feel that way.
I could be with her forever and never tire of it. I’ll always crave more of her sounds and this feeling.
I lust after nothing more than to live in this suspended reality with her, to prolong this dream instead of living the harsh reality where I lose her—where I’m nowhere near good enough to deserve or keep her.
Where she leaves.
We make love and it’s as new as the feelings and sensations swirling around inside my chest. And when we’re done, when we’re both smiling and sweaty and content, we watch the first of the downpour fall, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets.
“This storm is oddly beautiful, though I still think watching the snow fall is my favorite. It’s not something we had back home. In fact, I never saw any snow until I moved up to Seattle,” Ivy whispers, enveloped in my arms. “But I like watching the rain and wind whipping past your window from the comfort of your bed.”
“I never liked the snow until I moved out here. Or the rain for that matter.”
She turns in my arms, away from the window to face me.
“Why not? Does it snow a lot in Oklahoma?”
Shit. Here come the personal questions.
“Not a lot, but it does snow on occasion in the winter.”
“What was it like there, growing up?”
My body tenses instantly, and I know she feels it because her brows form a small V shape between them. “Hot in the summer and cold in the winter.” It’s a shit answer, but we are talking about the weather, aren’t we? “I’m going to go start some coffee.” I kiss the corner of her lips. “Do you want tea?”
Ivy frowns, silently examining me as I slide away from her, pulling on my boxers and sweat pants. I’m going through the motions of getting dressed, but really, I’m cursing myself and waiting for the Inevitable.
What would she do if I told her the truth about my past? Would she run away screaming? Would she be afraid of me? God, that thought makes me sick.
“Yes, please,” she says.
What the hell is she saying yes to? Did I ask her question?
I turn back to her.
“I’d love some tea.”
She gets up out of bed and heads straight for the restroom, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her.
Our perfect stolen moment over.
Chapter 15
Ivy
; Rolling my head around, I try in vain to release the tight knots from my neck. Eight hours of non-stop trauma has a way of knocking me on my ass, but the outcome was definitely worth a crick or two.
An eighteen-year-old boy with two gun-shot wounds to the chest. A car accident involving a toddler and a fifteen-year-old who overdosed.
Holy hell, that was horrendous.
But he survived, and hopefully this was enough of a wake-up call to get him off the streets and away from drugs. I am still hopeful despite all the rubbish I’ve seen in my years of fixing kids.
I am not one to give up on people.
That thought makes me want to laugh for some reason, though it feels anything but humorous. I was blissfully distracted for my entire shift, but now that it’s over, my thoughts automatically stray back to Luke.
It’s only been a little more than two weeks, but he’s all I see, hear, or think about.
He’s everywhere all the time and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to think about anything but him.
I should be focusing on my upcoming fellowship. I should be studying in my free time, and doing nothing but working every second of every day in preparation for the grueling and demanding year to come.
And though I am doing some of that, all I seem to want to do is be with Luke.
We’ve spent nearly every day of these two weeks together, even if it’s just a passing moment we steal like it might be our last. I sleep at his place if I’m not working nights, and he wakes me up at mine if I am.
He comes over after work, and I do the same and when we’re together, we’re the only two people in the universe.
I’m mad about him.
I’m also the world’s biggest liar, because I’m head over heels in love with him.
And that’s just a dog’s breakfast, right? I mean, I’m leaving and he’s not following. This is supposed to be fun and nothing more. It’s supposed to be fun, dammit! Though I know he feels something for me, I highly doubt it’s a tenth of what I feel for him.
Small soft hands cover my eyes from behind me.
I’ve always hated this trick—even as a child—and it’s not something someone relishes when they’re standing in the Emergency Department of a hospital. But then I catch the scent of musk emanating from her wrists and I smile so big, my face hurts.
“You derro wanker,” I say and my sister Sophia laughs, removing her hands from my eyes and jumping in front of me.
“Ha. I gotcha, you nubby cunt.”
Without warning I launch myself at her, squeezing the life from her small body.
“I can’t believe you came up a day early,” I squeal. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow avro.”
“I finished up early with a client and said, fuck it, I’m going to rain on my little sister’s parade.”
Sophia is wearing her usual all black with bright red lipstick. She is big into the rockabilly style with her short, bleach-blonde hair, done a la Marilyn Monroe from Some Like It Hot and black horn-rimmed glasses complete with rhinestones.
“Who was it this time? Movie star in rehab or rock star gone wrong?” I tease, but in reality, I think her job is aces.
She is a publicist to the stars, and the best in her field at that. Sophia is ruthless, and to put it in her words, you don’t muck around with a bitch like her.
It’s just one of the many, many things I love about my sister.
“Movie star. Such a fuckwit.” She rolls her pretty gray eyes, the same color as our father’s, and then gives me another hug. “Are you done for the night, or do I need to start drinking by myself?”
“I’m done, but I need a shower and a change before we go out. I’ll have to ring around if you want to meet my mates.”
“Of course I want to meet your mates,” Sophia gives me a look that says I’m an idiot for thinking otherwise. “And I want to meet that bloke you’ve been getting on with.”
“You’ll meet him. I have plans with him tonight anyway.”
We walk outside into the rainy yet mild evening and Sophia loops her arm through mine. “I’ve missed you, Ivy girl. What the hell am I going to do with you all the way across the country?”
“Come visit?” I muse.
“I hate the east coast of this bloody country. It’s cold, even when it’s hot. The people are not a friendly lot.”
I laugh, shaking my head as we slip into my car and drive toward my flat.
“You live in L.A. and are one of the nastiest women I know.”
“But that doesn’t mean other people have to be rude now, does it? There’s a certainty in the deception of L.A. A level of expectation that comes with the lies, but at least people are cordial to your face. On the east coast they’re all honest and forthright and cruel. It’s unsettling. You’ll see.”
“Whatever you say.” Sophia and I laugh all the way back, chatting like we haven’t seen each other in years instead of a few months. She’s committed to getting us all decked out for a night out at the pub, and though Cello’s is a nicer bar, it’s certainly not a club.
“Bloody oath, this one for sure.” Sophia walks into the bathroom, the heels of her boots clicking against the tile floor, her hands showcasing a silver dress. Not just any silver dress, but the silver dress I wore the night of my one-night stand with Luke a decade ago.
“No.”
“Yes. You’ll look scrumptious in this frock.”
“Not that one.”
She nods her head emphatically, shoving the shiny material at me with determination. “Stop being a prude and put this on. We’re running late, and if my liver doesn’t get a steady dose of alcohol in the next hour or so, I won’t be responsible for my actions.” She widens her eyes for effect.
This is really the last dress on the planet I want to wear tonight, but for some odd reason, I don’t want to tell her about that. I never once mentioned my one-night stand with Luke, and though I think she’d be proud of me for it, I find I want to keep that night for myself.
I grab the small dress that will show more skin than it will cover and slip it on over my head.
“Gorgeous. Let’s go.”
I get a ring from Claire just as we’re walking out the door, and she informs me that Kate and Ryan are coming as well.
“Just don’t bring anyone home to my flat, Soph,” I tell her right before we walk in. “It’s a one bedroom and either you’re on the pull-out sofa or in my bed. In either scenario, I don’t want some strange woman with us.”
“Ivy girl, if I find someone I want to have sex with, I’ll be sure to go to their place.”
“Cheers, mate. Most appreciated.”
I open the door for her and she saunters in with the type of confidence very few people truly have. But Sophia exudes it naturally. She knows precisely who she is and doesn’t give a toss if anyone doesn’t like it. It’s one of the things I admire most about my big sister, and wish I could emulate.
I like to think I have confidence, and with certain things I do.
I am a very good doctor. I excel in my craft with an aptitude and talent that’s been mastered through years of education, training and hard work.
And I feel like once upon a time, I was a brave, self-assured woman. I mean, I still am, but when it comes to men, not so much.
I dated here and there, but my first serious boyfriend turned into some crazy possessive stalker who tried to kill me.
Jason and I were in medical school together, and we were both very focused on our studies. I wanted it to stay casual, he didn’t. Slowly, over the months we were together, he began pushing for things in small ways. He didn’t like my friends and went out of his way to isolate me from them. He tried to make it so he was the only man around me in a social setting, and would frequently start fights with me over paranoid delusions of infidelity. Like that scene Kate mentioned when I had dinner at her house.
Then he wanted to live together, but went about it passive aggressively by slowly moving his stuff into my place, and occas
ionally refusing to leave. Finally, I realized what was really going on and I ended it.
That’s when the fun really began.
He would follow me around to my classes, and make a scene if he saw me speaking to another male—no matter who they were. It began to escalate to the point where he would stalk me everywhere I went, and eventually it all came to a head when he went berserk on a fellow student at a study session who had asked me for my number.
He punched the poor bloke in the face, and when I tried to break things up, I got a nice smack across the cheek for the effort.
That was the wake-up call that I should never have required, and I filed a restraining order that night. The car accident was another matter, and even just thinking about it now, terrifies me.
I’ve been working tirelessly to recover from all that, and I finally feel like I’m nearly there.
Now I’m “dating” Luke. But that has a very real and fast-approaching expiration date. An expiration date I’d rather avoid, because I’m so mad about him. So absolutely insanely crazy for him that I can hardly see straight, and it scares the bloody hell out of me.
But it also makes me smile as I spot him in the bar waiting for me.
Luke’s chocolate eyes take me in, heating with a flash of something else I quickly realize is recognition. I’m wearing the dress I wore the night I met him, and the slow impish grin that spreads across his face suddenly makes me glad I allowed Sophia to force this on me.
“Come on, doll,” Sophia pulls me in. Apparently I stopped moving in the doorway. “I’m parched. I need a bevy before I meet these mates of yours.”
“Manhattan, right?” I look over at the bartender and she’s smiling at me. “I remember you.”
“I’m impressed,” I say, a bit astonished. “That was nearly a month ago.”
She gives me a wink and then starts fixing our drinks.
“You slagger,” Sophia says to me, playfully nudging my shoulder. “You’re sharing your biscuit with that tasty bloke over there, and yet the hot bartender—female bartender I should add—knows you.” I glare at her, and not for the bartender part. “Oh, come off it. He’s delicious enough to make me consider rethinking my anti-dick stance. And those things do absolutely nothing for me.”
