by Piper James
As I rounded the corner from the hallway into the living room, a banshee’s screech split my eardrums as something flew toward my face. My hand flew up to block the strike too late, and pain streaked across my eyelid as my fingers tangled around whatever it was that struck me.
Someone tried to tug it away, but I clenched my fingers more tightly around it, refusing to let go. I’d be damned if I was going to be hit with it again. That shit hurt.
My eyes focused on the scrap of material in my hand, stretched tightly as my assailant’s tugging grip tried to wrench it away from me. I cocked my head as I studied it for a moment.
Was that…a bra?
I looked up at the woman on the other end of the weapon, and my heart gave one loud thump at the sight of her. Long dark hair, tangled in knots as if it’d been windblown for hours. Big brown eyes. Lush lips that made me wonder how it’d feel to be kissed by them.
I shook my head to clear it. Jesus H. Christ, what was wrong with me? The woman just assaulted me with underwear.
“Jessa, I presume?” I said in my most professional voice. “I’m Rafe Walton, your father’s doctor.”
With those words, she released her end of the bra, which of course, snapped forward and hit me in the lip. I dropped the offending garment and pressed my fingertips to my mouth. She stumbled forward, dropping to her knees in front of me to snatch up the bra and shove it behind her back.
When she looked up at me with those velvety chocolate eyes, my breath hitched in my throat and my dick twitched in salute. I coughed and took a step back, forcing my eyes to look away from her as she quickly scrambled to her feet.
“I’m so sorry, uh, Dr. Walton,” she said. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here. You scared me.”
Obviously. I really hoped she didn’t usually go around whipping strange men in the face with her bra.
“My apologies,” I said. “I’m a stranger in your home. I would have announced myself, but I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Wait. Why are you here? Is my dad okay?”
“He’s stable,” I said, holding my palms up in the air. “I just popped in to check on him and make sure he got settled in okay after being released from the hospital. He’s taking a nap now, so you should let him rest for a couple of hours before you go see him.”
She arched a long, graceful brow at me and said, “You mean the Braves game is on, and he doesn’t want me to bother him.”
“Busted,” I murmured, rubbing a palm across the back of my neck.
“Dad still thinks I don’t know his tricks,” she said, shaking her head before peering up at me with those eyes. “Is he really okay?”
“He will be,” I assured her. “He has bacterial pneumonia, but he’s on a course of strong antibiotics. His fever has already come down, but he may continue to have a cough for a few weeks. All he needs is rest and to finish his prescription.”
“I’ll make sure he does,” she promised just before a shout rang out from Greg’s bedroom.
“So much for pretending to sleep,” she mumbled, grabbing a plastic carrier from the floor beside her and setting it on the couch.
She opened the wire door, and an orange streak shot out with a yowl before darting down the hallway. I tried to follow it with my eyes, but the thing was too fast. I looked back at Jessa with a questioning brow, and she shrugged.
“That was just my cat, Butthead.”
“Your cat’s name is Butthead?”
“No. His name is Winchell. But if you knew him, you’d call him Butthead, too.”
I nodded in understanding, but I was really trying not to think about the fact that her nunchuck-esque bra had disappeared. She’d either shoved it down her shorts or up her shirt, and my hands were itching to go searching for it.
Shaking my head, I cleared my throat and picked up my bag from where I’d dropped it on the floor when she attacked. I needed to go take a shower. A cold one.
I gave Jessa a few last-minute instructions and told her I’d be back the next day to check on her father. She nodded, not showing any surprise at the fact that I was coming back for another house call. When she didn’t move or say anything else, I spun around and headed for the front door without so much as a goodbye.
I told myself being rude was a good thing. I couldn’t afford to get tangled up with a woman, especially an underwear-wielding ninja.
I had too much to do. Too many patients to take care of. I didn’t need any distractions.
I hopped in my car and drove home, fighting like hell to force the image of Jessa Maddox on her knees in front of me out of my head. It didn’t work.
It was an image I was sure would never leave me.
3
Jessa
Oh. My. God.
Did that really just happen? Did I just try to take Rafael Walton’s eye out with my bra?
I stuck my hand down the back of my shorts and yanked the offending article out, only to get a scratch on my back from the damn underwire that had poked through the material. I stalked to the kitchen with a growl, throwing the bra into the trash can with a little more force than necessary.
That stupid underwire was the whole reason I’d taken the thing off to begin with. After suffering through it digging into my flesh for the last few hours, I couldn’t take it for another minute. So I’d slipped it off underneath my shirt and was just pulling it free when Rafe came around the corner and scared the shit out of me.
I stalked back into the living room and fell against the couch with a sigh. Closing my eyes, I replayed the scene between Rafe and me over and over in my mind, playing the “what if” game just to torture myself.
What if I’d waited thirty more seconds before taking the bra off?
What if I’d decide to wear a cute, sexy bra, instead of the oldest, rattiest one I owned?
What if I had just nuzzled my face against his package while I was on my freaking knees in front of him?
Just remembering his expression when I’d stumbled and looked up at him from that kneeling position made my blood run hot. I imagined all kinds of scenarios in which I might drop to my knees in front of him, and none of those included him coughing uncomfortably and stepping away.
In that moment, I’d prayed for a hole to open up in the floor beneath me so I could drop out of sight. If only I could be so lucky.
Rafe Walton.
I didn’t know which was worse—my embarrassing display of bra warfare, or the fact that he had absolutely no clue who I was.
In his defense, it had been almost ten years since he graduated high school, and I was a sophomore that year, in the same grade as his little brother Nate. But still, Milestone was a small town with a small high school, and everybody knew everybody.
Even if I looked completely different—which I did—he should’ve recognized my name, at least. Right?
I opened the small doors on the coffee table in front of me and thumbed through the stack of yearbooks until I found the one from my sophomore year. Burrowing into the corner of the couch, I opened it to find Rafe’s senior picture.
And my memory proved to be completely accurate. Rafe had the same glossy black hair, rich chocolate eyes, and golden brown skin as he does now. He was freaking hot, and I’d had the biggest crush on him...which no one else knew about, of course. Even back then, I didn’t have friends.
I flipped the pages until I found my own picture, grimacing at the sight of it. Silver braces lined my top and bottom teeth as I smiled as wide as possible to accommodate all the metal. My poor face was riddled with acne, and, for some reason, I thought a shoulder-length bob with thick bangs was a good look for me all through high school.
I didn’t claim to be the smartest or most worldly person at twenty-five, but damn, I was clueless at fifteen. Thank God for the dermatologist that moved to town during my junior year. She helped me find a skin regimen to clear up my complexion and even suggested a longer hairstyle better suited to my face shape.
By senior year, I ha
d the braces off and boys started to notice me, but I’d already become a bit of a lone wolf and had no use for any of them. I decided to wait until college to date and have sex, and I found the experience of both more than a little underwhelming. At least I could say I gave it the old college try.
I snapped the book shut and tossed it back where I got it. I stretched out on the couch and stared at the ceiling, wondering if I’d see Rafe again before I went back to Atlanta. What would I say to him if I did?
Hey sexy, how’d you like that bra clasp to the eye I gave you the other day?
I huffed a laugh at my own ridiculousness, then froze, my eyes flying wide as a memory hit me. Rafe had told me to make sure Dad got plenty of rest, drank lots of fluids, and took his meds. Then he said he’d be back tomorrow to check on him.
I’d been in such a daze at the impossible string of events that had just taken place, I hadn’t really comprehended what he’d said at the time. I just assumed I wouldn’t see him again before I headed home, so the whole scene between us would become an awkward memory.
A funny story we’d tell our friends…well, he would tell his friends, and I would tell Butthead, because he was the only real friend I had.
But no, he was coming back here, and I’d have to face him again. Tomorrow.
Well, shit.
“Hey, Dad.”
I’d given him an hour to watch his game before slipping into his room to check on him. His face lit up with pleasure at the sight of me, and warmth filled my chest as I rushed forward and hugged him.
“Hey sugar pie,” he said, returning my embrace. “How was your drive down?”
“Pretty good. Butthead was a hot mess, though.”
I climbed onto his bed and curled up next to him, stretching my arm across his chest. He cradled me against his body, and it was like coming home. It had only been a few weeks since I’d seen him last, but it felt like forever.
I was a daddy’s girl, through and through.
“Of course, he was,” Dad said. “Maybe if you had a real car, with a roof and doors, he wouldn’t be terrorized by the ride.”
“My Jeep has a roof and doors, Dad. I just choose not to use them.”
It was an old argument. Dad wanted me to be safe, and according to him, my Wrangler was not. I’d worked my ass off, squirreling away my tips and every penny I could spare to save up for the down payment on that Jeep. It was my dream car, and I loved it.
“I hope it doesn’t rain while you’re here,” he chuckled.
“If it does, I’ll just move your truck out of the garage and park there,” I sassed before sobering. “Seriously, Dad, how are you feeling?”
“A little like hell warmed over,” he admitted. “But better than I did yesterday.”
I sat up and looked at him, my eyes roving over his handsome face. His hair and trim beard was a little grayer than last time I saw him. But his blue eyes still sparkled with life, and laugh lines were the only creases to mar his smooth skin.
I was a later-in-life baby for him. He’d met and married my mom when she was twenty-two and he was pushing forty. I’d been born less than a year later, and my mother had left a few months after that.
But I didn’t want to think about her. I stroked my fingers through Dad’s hair, smoothing it away from his forehead.
“You need a haircut.”
“I’m letting it grow,” he argued. “I think it makes me look young and hip.”
“In need of a hip replacement, more like it,” I teased.
“You’re a cruel, cruel girl Jessa Maddox,” he sighed, but his eyes twinkled with humor. “Now go. Get out of here and let me finish watching my ball game.”
“I should probably get Butthead’s litter box set up before he pees on your carpet anyway,” I said, sticking my tongue out at him as I climbed from the bed.
“Don’t you let that demon cat piss on my floor!”
I laughed as I slipped through the door, closing it behind me. Dad pretended to hate my cat, but I’d caught him more than once snuggled up on the couch with him. Two peas in a pod, they were. Both grumbly and sharp on the outside with a soft, gooey center.
I felt the muscles in my shoulders relax for the first time since getting the call from Dad at the bar. He seemed okay, like his normal, witty self. Maybe he was right, and I’d worried for nothing.
Everything was going to be fine. I cringed at the thought. There was that word again.
I meant, everything was going to be perfect. Not fine. Perfect.
4
Jessa
They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.
Dr. Walton had called to check in on Dad this morning and told him he’d be by to see him after his shift ended at the hospital at four o’clock. It was four-fifteen, and he’d be here any minute, I was sure.
I’d been so wound up, I scoured Dad’s liquor cabinet for something to take the edge off and came out with a bottle of expensive tequila. Dad hated the stuff and only kept it for guests. Technically, I was a guest, so I grabbed the bottle in one fist and a shot glass in the other before heading back to the kitchen.
By the time the doorbell rang, I’d downed three shots and was feeling a pleasant buzz. I walked to the front door, carefully schooling my features into what I hoped was a warm smile before swinging it open.
“Well, hey there, Dr. Walton,” I said, beaming at him. “It’s so good to see you, again.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus, does he fill out those jeans.
“I’m sorry?” he said, cocking his head.
“Oh! Did I say that out loud?” I asked, pressing a palm to my chest. Did I say it out loud? I didn’t think I did.
“Uh, yeah,” he said slowly. “Thanks.”
I stared at his beautiful face for a moment, taking in the dark slash of his brows, those obsidian eyes, and his full lips. I wondered what they’d feel like on my skin. They’d probably feel too good, like heaven on steroids.
“Hey, Jessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Come in,” I mumbled as I stepped to the side and held out an arm for him to pass by.
I closed the door and leaned back against it, staring at his amazing ass in those tight jeans. Pushing away from the door, I shook my fuzzy head to clear it. I needed to get it together. I hadn’t had that much to drink.
“How’s the patient today?” he asked as I joined him in the center of the living room.
“Cantankerous as ever,” I answered with a grin. “You can go on back. He’s expecting you.”
Rafe nodded his thanks and headed for the hallway that led to Dad’s room. As soon as he turned the corner, I rushed back to the kitchen and took another shot of tequila. It flowed down my throat, smooth as water, and warmed my belly pleasantly.
My head felt a little wobbly, so I walked slowly into the living room and slumped onto the couch. My vision swam as the room started to spin around me, and I closed my eyes to try to make it stop. It didn’t really help, and I groaned.
When had I become such a lightweight? I’d only had four shots in, what? Half an hour?
“Oh, that’s probably too much,” I muttered to myself, swallowing against the alcohol-fueled bile trying to rise up my throat. “Ugh, shouldn’t have had those tacos for lunch.”
“Hey, are you okay?”
I popped upright at the sound of Rafe’s voice. I peeled my eyes open to find him standing in front of me, staring down with a concerned look on his face.
“I’m just fine and dandy, Dr. Rafe,” I said, my attempt at sounding chipper failing miserably as the words slurred together.
“Are you drunk, Jessa?”
“No. Of course, not,” I huffed. “It’s not even five o’clock yet. I don’t day-drink. Usually.”
“Well, you smell like tequila, and you seem to be having trouble keeping your eyes open,” he said, and my eyelids popped up just to prove him wrong.
“I can open my eyes. See?”
“Impressive. Listen, you really shouldn’t be drinking while taking care of your father. What if he relapsed and needed to be taken to the hospital?”
“I’d jus’ call a tuber. Wait, that’s not right. Suber? Luber.”
“There aren’t any Ubers in Milestone, Jessa. You’d have to call an ambulance.”
“Or I could call you,” I shot back. “Wait. I don’t have your number. What’s your number, Dr. Rafael Walton?”
I stressed each syllable of his name, the sound of it curling off my tongue in a way that sounded seductive to my ears. Take that, Dr.-never-knew-I-was-alive-in-high-school. Bet you want me, now.
Wait, did I say that out loud? He was still staring at me in that judgmental, yet concerned way of his, so I must not have. Relief washed through me as I pulled my phone from my pocket.
“Gimme your number. I’ll text you if I need you.”
Rafe moved forward, taking the phone from my fingers and sitting down on the coffee table in front of me. I stared at him as he stared at me, both of us remaining silent for an eternity. Or maybe it was only a few seconds. Hell, if I knew.
“How often do you drink, Jessa?” he asked, and something about the tone of his voice raised my hackles.
“Whenever I want. I’m a grownup, Rafe.”
“If you have trouble keeping the need for alcohol under control, there’s a support group at the hospital,” he offered.
“You mean, like Alcoholics Anonymous?” I asked, the words slurring even more than before.
Jeez, I really had turned into a lightweight. I only drank when my nerves needed calming or, in extreme cases of insomnia, to help me sleep. But even then, I usually stopped with one shot. I’d been subjected to way too many drunks at the bar, drinking their lives away, to ever let myself fall down that rabbit hole.
“I’m not an alcoholic, Rafe,” I murmured. “I’m just gonna lay my head back and rest my eyes for a minute.”
