“Where are you going?”
“To ask.” Amarie slid her feet into flip flops, but Char caught her arm.
“I really am sorry if I misled you.” Her blue eyes tugged at Amarie’s heart.
“I know. You didn’t. It’s just . . .” She turned away, feeling ridiculous. “The night before, I always fill up with doubts.”
Gently, Char took the bottle from her and guided her back to the bed. They sat side by side. “I do want to talk about . . . us . . . but tell me what you’re thinking.”
She drummed her fingers on her thigh. She didn’t know how to explain it. “It’s like a heavy cloud sitting on top of my head. Technically it’s just wispy gas or whatever that I can shove away, but it weighs so much, it’s hard to breathe.”
Char nodded. Her fingers threaded through Amarie’s. “What can I do?”
“Ignore my ranting?” She uttered a short laugh. “I don’t know. It’s just something I have to deal with. It won’t really get better until I’m at the doctor’s office . . . and then a totally different anxiety will kick in.”
“What if I drive you in? Will that help?” Char caressed Amarie’s shoulder, fingers ghosting over her skin and sending delicious chills down her spine.
“Yes,” Amarie whispered.
“I’m sorry for sending mixed signals. I . . . I do like you.”
“You just don’t want to be with me,” Amarie said in a low voice. Suddenly she realized that she and Char were close enough to kiss. Her heart hitched in her chest.
“It’s not that.” Char brushed her nose across Amarie’s. She took a deep breath. “Ever since high school, all I’ve wanted was to come here and open my own restaurant. Now that I’m here, it finally feels possible. It wouldn’t be fair to you if we got together only to end up going our separate ways because of my dream. I don’t want to have to choose.”
Amarie’s heart knocked wildly against her sternum. “So you like me?”
Nodding, Char leaned closer until their foreheads touched. “I’m sorry, also, for assuming that we could just be friends.”
“You know what they say about assuming,” she said softly. “I was an ass too. I thought if I just tried hard enough, I could sweep you off your feet.”
“You already have, Am.”
The words sent warm tingles through her body. Sighing, she closed her eyes and the distance between their lips. At first, she just pressed her lips to Char’s, simply enjoying the way they fit together. Then Char’s lips moved against hers, a hand gently cupping the nape of her neck, the other hand winding around the small of her back. She let her center of gravity melt into Char’s. With awkward, pain-wracking movements, she climbed into Char’s lap.
“Hey there,” Char breathed, putting both hands on her hips.
Only thin layers of cotton separated them. Char’s breasts pressed against hers, and Amarie’s nipples tightened in response. All she wanted was to shimmy out of her clothes, pressing skin to skin, feeling every inch of Char around her. Inside her.
Their lips met again, hungry. Her tongue darted out, sliding along Char’s lower lip, enjoying the salty, sweet taste of her skin. Every nerve ending in her skin stood alive and charged. It was heavenly to be in Char’s arms, to be cherished, respected.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” Char whispered.
It was happening.
Really happening.
Amarie parted Char’s lips with hers, her tongue probing into the other woman’s mouth. Char’s grip tightened on her hips and she moaned. A thrill ran through Amarie. She cupped the back of Char’s head, deepening the kiss. Each press of their lips and swirl of their tongues was both a promise and an invitation. Char’s hands skimmed up along Amarie’s ribs. She arched into her touch, grinding against Char.
Breaking the kiss, Amarie grabbed the hem of her own shirt and pulled it over her head. Her lips returned to Char’s, as if magnetized. “I want you,” she whispered between kisses.
“Good,” Char replied, pulling away for a moment. She took off her shirt, tossing it to the floor. Her eyes latched on to Amarie’s. “I want you, too.”
A smile tugged at Amarie’s lips. All of her troubles melted away. The entire world could be burning outside of their hotel room, but for the moment, she didn’t care. It was just her and Charlotte, her sweet little Rhett. She wasn’t going to worry anymore about whatever it was that was happening between them. Life was short, the world fast-paced. Blink and she could miss it all.
She wanted Char and everything that came with her. She wanted to introduce Char to people as her girlfriend. She wanted more than just the long weekend. Any other love would send her backing away, but with Char, she knew exactly what she wanted. Her heart stood just at the edge, and she wanted to turn and fling herself into the open air, free-falling backward.
Right into Char.
She nudged Char back until the lavender-haired woman lay flat, gazing up at her with wide blue eyes, one eyebrow quirked.
“I love that you’re taking charge right now,” Char said.
“Oh, little Rhett, I can probably teach you a few things,” she said, fingers skimming up Char’s belly. She caressed the line of skin just under Char’s bra.
“I’m taking notes.” Char’s hands returned to her hips.
Leaning forward, Amarie moved to kiss her again. She was going to take her time, kiss every inch of Char’s skin. Then she was going to claim her, make Char completely hers. She was going to make Char feel so good, the whole hotel would hear it. There wouldn’t need to be any more conversations, because they would talk with their bodies.
Then her hip cracked.
A shock of pain radiated up through her lower back, shooting down into her knee and aching deep in her hip. It throbbed like someone had shoved a red hot and pointy iron stick into the joint. The pain blinded her, her hands balling into fists. She gritted her teeth against it, swallowing the scream that bubbled in her throat.
More than the pain, she was furious.
She rolled off Char and onto her side, breathing hard. Her body curled into a ball. Of course a pain storm had to happen during one of the best moments of her life. Though she squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolled down her cheeks against her will.
“Fuck,” she muttered through her teeth.
A soft hand caressed her back. Char’s body curled against hers. “It’s okay, baby.” She smoothed Amarie’s hair. “I’m right here, honey. I’ve got you.”
Even through the pain, Char’s touch and words reached Amarie. She relaxed into Char, her body going slack. There would be no sex, no sleep, but at least she had Char.
As the pain pulsed through her joints, Amarie snuggled into Char’s arms. She wanted to ask what it all meant, if Char had changed her mind about being in a relationship. Instead, though, she needed to just enjoy the moment.
“So you said you have a brother?”
“I do. Elliott.” Charlotte beamed. “Can I get you anything? Pain medicine? More Eau de Tiger Balm?”
“No.” Amarie sighed contentedly. “I’ve already taken the maximum amount of my medicine today. Sometimes it helps to just talk. I can’t exactly get my mind off the pain, but staying busy keeps me from getting consumed by it, if that makes sense.” She closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of Char’s skin, tinged with just a hint of jasmine that was more intoxicating than any perfume. “I’m an only child,” she added.
Char snorted softly. “I can tell.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She smiled, though. After several beats passed, she said, “Tell me about this dream restaurant of yours.”
“It’s not perfectly clear in my mind yet, if that makes sense,” Char said. “I don’t even know what I’d call it, or what it’d look like. I just know what kind of food I’d serve.”
“Like what?”
“You know how, when you go out to eat, sometimes you say something like, ‘I could make a meal out of these appetizers al
one!’?” Char giggled. “I’d serve nothing but apps. I’d take it past wings and beer battered onion rings. Like southwestern egg rolls, or crunchy taquitos. Baby lasagnas in cute little ramekins. Garlic breadsticks that you’d kill for . . .”
As Charlotte described her menu, Amarie's eyes grew heavier. She drifted off to sleep wrapped in Char’s arms, dreaming of standing beside her on the restaurant’s grand opening day.
∞∞∞
“Good luck today,” Amarie told Charlotte as she stuck her cane out of the passenger door of the Sunfire. She took a deep breath, trying not to think about the doctor’s appointment that she was about to walk into.
“Me?” Charlotte leaned over and wrapped her arms around her in a quick hug. “I’ll be fine. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
“And waste your convention day?” Amarie slid out. “No,” she said firmly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later. Go do RestHERanteur things.” She tossed Char a casual wink.
Then, before she could change her mind, she turned and strode into the building.
Though there was a set of carpeted stairs in the lobby and she normally tried to exercise as much as possible, she took the elevators that stood straight across from the entrance. She had plenty of time, but she also didn’t want anyone accusing her of faking it. It was probably silly, but she always imagined running into a nurse or someone else from the office staff before her appointments—someone who would judge her every move and report it to the doctor.
Anxiety was an asshole like that.
When the elevator doors opened onto Dr. Warren’s floor, she turned down the hall. Unable to help herself, she checked the time on her phone. She snorted softly to herself. She was ten minutes early.
The receptionist from the day before greeted her and helped her sign in, then invited her to have a seat. “We’re actually running ahead of schedule today, so it shouldn’t be long,” she said.
Amarie shuffled over to a chair close to the entrance to the exam rooms and dropped into it. The second she sat down, the door opened.
“Amarie?” a nurse called, pronouncing her name Ay-marie.
“It’s Ah-marie,” she corrected her.
“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart. Come on back with me.” Under a short crop of brown curls, her bright blue eyes glittered warmly. “I’m Lisa, Dr. Warren’s assistant.”
Amarie followed Lisa to the back, where her weight was taken. Then Lisa led her to an exam room—except it didn’t look like any of the exam rooms Amarie had ever been in. It looked more like a spa, with soothing earth tones and potted plants. An oil diffuser blew eucalyptus oil into the room. Even the music that played softly over the speakers was more fitting to a spa or yoga center than a doctor’s office. Though there was an exam table, Lisa gestured for Amarie to sit in the cozy padded armchair.
Lisa took Amarie’s blood pressure, then assured her that Dr. Warren would be right with her.
Despite the soothing music and decor, Amarie’s pulse raced. Things could go one of two ways. Either Dr. Warren would know exactly what was wrong with her and how to fix it, or she would send Amarie away with no answers. She took a deep breath. Dr. Warren would help her. She had to. Amarie was out of options. Besides, she’d sent Dr. Warren all of her medical records. Surely, in the weeks since, Dr. Warren had been able to put together the puzzle pieces. Perhaps Amarie would even walk out of the clinic with a treatment plan.
Knuckles rapped on the door.
“Yes,” Amarie called.
The door opened and a woman with golden brown skin eased into the room. “Hi,” she said warmly, holding out her hand. “I’m Dr. Warren. You can call me Fredericia, if you prefer.”
Amarie shook her hand. “Hi,” she said.
Dr. Warren wore long braids piled on top of her head and a long-sleeved floral maxi dress. She looked more like a model than a doctor. “So what’s going on?” she asked gently as she sat down on a stool. She placed an iPad in her lap and tapped the screen.
“Well, I was hoping you could tell me,” Amarie said, smiling nervously. “I’ve seen a lot of specialists and none of them can figure out what’s wrong with me. They do agree that it’s ‘something autoimmune,’ though. I saw that you specialize in autoimmune diseases, and hoped you could help.”
The doctor scrolled through something on her iPad. “I see you’ve had all your labs sent to us. Very good.” Her voice trailed off as she read Amarie’s chart. “No inflammation markers. Very good. Why do you think you have an autoimmune disease?”
Amarie lifted an eyebrow. Dr. Warren obviously hadn’t read through her whole chart. “Well,” she said, “I’ve had some borderline results.”
“Everything I’m seeing here is within the normal range.” Dr. Warren smiled. “Which is a good thing. We don’t want autoimmune diseases. They’re terrible.” She glanced through the chart again. “Has anyone talked to you about Fibromyalgia?”
Panic clawed at Amarie’s throat. Not again. She took a deep breath. “Yes, but it’s been ruled out. I don’t have any of the pressure points. Plus when I talk to people I know who actually have Fibromyalgia, we have completely different symptoms.” She lifted her hands, palms up. “It’s all in my joints, not my muscles and nerves.”
Dr. Warren stood, nodding. She put the iPad down. “Do you mind if I take a look?” When Amarie nodded consent, the doctor gently took her hands. “Does it hurt when I press here?” She squeezed a knuckle, her touch feather light. Amarie shook her head. “Here?” She moved along each joint in Amarie’s hands. None of them hurt to the touch. “Good.”
Amarie watched as she moved from joint to joint throughout her body.
“Does this hurt?” she asked, pressing her elbows and the backs of her shoulders.
Amarie shook her head each time.
At the end of the examination, Dr. Warren pumped hand sanitizer into her hands. “I’d really like to help,” she said, “but I truly can’t think of anything new that your doctors haven’t already considered.” She sat back down on the stool. “Autoimmune diseases of the joints like Rheumatoid Arthritis have swelling in the joints, and I don’t see any. Plus you don’t have any of the markers in your labs. This is a good thing,” she assured Amarie.
Shaking her head, Amarie lifted her hands. She clenched and unclenched her fists. “My whole body is so stiff. I can barely move,” she said, holding her hands out. “How can it not be something inflammatory?”
“You should be happy,” Dr. Warren said. “You don’t want these diseases. I truly think you just have Fibromyalgia.” She stood. “I can see you back in three months and run some new labs then, but I don’t think we’re going to find anything new.”
Fighting tears, Amarie stood too. “Wait. Please.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I can’t do this anymore. I cannot walk out of here feeling like you’ve dismissed me. Please. I need you to help me figure this out. I can’t work. I can’t sleep. I can’t even have sex. I’m not living like this.” Panic rose in her voice. She swallowed it. She needed to stay calm.
“Amarie,” Dr. Warren said, her tone placating. “I’m just not seeing any reason to treat this as an autoimmune disease.”
Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t go home without an answer. She wouldn’t. “I so need you to sleuth this out with me. Don’t dismiss me.” She risked a look at the doctor’s face, fearing what she might see there.
Dr. Warren nodded, her features softening. She sat back down. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’m dismissing you. I will do everything I can to help you.” She tapped her nails on the iPad, thinking. Then she scrolled through Amarie’s medical records again. “You’ve been on Prednisone a couple of times.”
Amarie nodded, holding her breath. She didn’t dare hope. She couldn’t believe she’d just talked about her sex life with a stranger, never mind nearly sobbed all over herself.
“Did it help?”
“Yes,” Amarie said, sitting down too, “but as soon as I stop
ped it, the pain and stiffness came back.”
Dr. Warren drummed her fingernails on the iPad. “And you’ve tried all these NSAIDs. Any luck with those?”
Amarie shook her head. “No. Prednisone worked the best out of everything, then Percocet and Tramadol—but I don’t want to have to take those all the time.”
“I understand.” Dr. Warren pursed her lips. Her eyes scanned the screen as she read. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to run some more labs, even though I don’t expect to see anything new. I want to see you back in one month.”
Amarie’s shoulders slumped. She nodded robotically, shoving the tears that welled up away.
“In the meantime,” Dr. Warren continued, “you shouldn’t be in this much pain. I’m going to start you on Prednisone, but you can’t stay on it forever. Has anyone ever had you try Plaquenil?”
She shook her head. “I tried Sulfasalazine, but it seemed to make things worse.”
“I’m going to have you try Plaquenil. It’s possible that you could be pre-Lupus, which might be why your labs have been so weird.” She launched into a list of potential side effects of Plaquenil. At the end of the visit, she handed Amarie two printed-out prescriptions and told her she would see her in a month.
Clutching the papers to her chest, Amarie made her way to the back desk to make her follow-up appointment. She had no idea how she was going to get back to the city, but that was the least of her problems.
Up until a few minutes before, she’d thought she had something autoimmune but relatively controllable. Everything she knew about Lupus was terrifying. Her mystery disease had already taken away enough. If it developed into Lupus, she would be playing a whole new ball game.
Chapter 14
Armed with a notebook and pen that she’d bought at the convenience store, Charlotte strolled into the menu planning panel. The boots that she’d borrowed from Rowan went perfectly with the only semi-professional outfit she had with her: the same one she’d worn out with Amarie. She’d also stayed up half the damned night dying a natural-looking red over her lavender hair.
Any Other Love Page 13
