by Logan Chance
“Fucking disgusting.” I stand and grab my little sister, Chelsea, in for a big bear hug.
“What’s got you all flustered?” she asks when I pull out of the hug.
“What?” I wipe a hand through my hair. “Oh, nothing.”
“It isn’t the redhead who just left here is it?”
“What redhead?”
My sister swats her pink-tipped nails against my jacket. “I see someone has a crush.”
“Stop.”
“I’ve known you my whole life. I’ve never seen you this worked up over someone before.” She narrows her eyes a bit. “Who is she?”
“No one. My assistant.”
Chelsea folds her arms. “Is she no one, or your assistant?”
“Neither. Both,” I grumble.
“Come on. You can tell me about it over lunch.”
I follow Chelsea out the door, leading her across the walkway toward my favorite yellow taco truck.
My eyes scan the afternoon crowd, searching for Rose. She always has lunch alone in the courtyard on the bench under the giant oak tree. But, not today. Now I know why she rushed out of my office.
She’s got a lunch date. With a man.
He’s around her age, maybe a year or two older, but not her type at all. I can tell. First, he’s wearing skinny jeans with purple shoes. And second, he’s staring at his phone instead of paying attention to her. She needs someone, well, more like me. But not.
Chelsea steps up to the window to order, and I try to get a better glimpse of the man with Rose.
With our tacos in hand, Chelsea follows my gaze. “Is that your assistant?”
“Yeah, I don’t know.” I take the taco from her hand and bite into it, thankful for something to keep me from answering her questioning stare.
“You don’t know if that’s your assistant?” Her arched eyebrow gets higher.
“Yeah, I guess.” I try to sound nonchalant, but Chelsea is Chelsea and isn’t buying it.
“Let’s go say hi.”
I stand my ground, firm, not budging an inch. “She’s on a date.”
“So. I just want to meet the woman who has my brother all tied up in knots.” She walks toward them, and I wish more than anything I wasn’t following her.
19
Rose
“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
— Anne Frank
This phase of my life should be known as AD-After Declan. Ever since the sessions with Declan, I feel like I’m this whole new person. Like a butterfly that’s emerged from its sex repressed chrysalis into a new world. My writing has come to life, thanks to him. Before, it was one dimensional, going through the motions of what I thought someone would feel. Empty words with no real meaning. Now it’s nuanced, living and breathing. He’s made me more daring with myself, which in turn, is making me more daring with my writing, and my characters. It’s a crazy world I’m living in, filled with bright colors and loud noises, and I’m trying my best to keep the two worlds separate.
Since we’ve been back, I’ve been trying to cross back over the line where it’s safe and familiar. But it’s like trying to get over a barbed wire fence naked. He’s leaving tomorrow to meet with Houston Dale and I don’t know if I’m glad for the reprieve or sad that he might be going away permanently.
If I’m being honest, it wasn’t easy pretending I had no feelings to talk about in his car. Since he’d already warned me not to get confused about his help, I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t do my job once we got back, so I compartmentalized all those feelings I’m not supposed to have into a little box inside my head and worked it out on the page. I finally wrote ‘The End’ on my novel. When Christian offered to meet me on my lunch hour today to take a look at it, I was thrilled, because today is the day I’m going to publish. Maybe.
I sit impatiently, on the bench in the courtyard at work, waiting as Christian reads over the ending on my phone.
“So, what do you think?” I ask, a little too needy for approval.
He hands back the phone. “Rose, you’ve got something special there. I think you’re ready. What are you so worried about?”
“No one can know I wrote this.”
I may have emerged from my chrysalis but I’m just learning to fly with these baby wings and not quite ready to spring this on my parents. Or Declan.
“Listen,” he says, “part of joining the group is signing an NDA not to reveal identities and such. So you don’t have to worry about us.” He pushes his black-rimmed glasses further up his nose and squints a bit. “Is that who I think it is?”
I peer over my shoulder and spot Chelsea Sincock, in all her superstar glory, walking our way with Declan trailing behind.
“It is.” I stand in a rush, shutting my phone off and sliding it into my black satchel. “Her brother is my boss.”
He’s no longer listening to me, and I can’t really blame him; she’s even prettier in person.
“You’re Chelsea Sincock,” Christian says, beaming at her. “I’ve seen all your movies.”
Chelsea smiles back. “Aw. Thank you.” She holds out her hand to Christian. “Well, you know me. Who are you?”
“I’m Christian Dennings. Rose’s friend.”
Declan is a statue, holding a taco, minus avocado, I’m sure, completely mute. His stare penetrates right through my skin, like he wants to touch me with his mind. And subliminally, I’m over here spreading my legs for him to do so.
Chelsea turns to me. “Rose? I’ve heard so many great things about you.”
“Same.” We shake hands. “It’s so amazing to meet you.”
“How do you know Rose?” Declan asks, skewering Christian with his gaze.
I stiffen. “Does anyone really know anyone?” I joke.
“She just showed up on my doorstep one day,” Christian deflects with a smile.
Declan’s harsh stare scrutinizes us, and now I wish this little meet and greet was over. As cool as it is to meet Chelsea—squee—I want to crawl under a rock and hide until Christian leaves. He asks Chelsea a few questions about her latest movie project and she’s gracious and down to earth, filling him in on a few details about her role until Declan interrupts, telling her they should leave Christian and me to whatever we were doing before they arrived.
“It was nice to meet you both,” she says before they leave.
Christian continues his pep talk as I peek glances at Declan and Chelsea walking toward the building. They stop, and she gives him a hug before heading towards the parking lot. He glances in our direction, before disappearing into the building.
Christian and I discuss publishing for a few more minutes, and emboldened by his assurances and Harry Potter quotes about breaking the rules and thinking anything is possible if you have the nerve, I say a quick goodbye and hustle back to work.
As is the norm, Declan is sequestered in his office when I return. I open my document and all the things I’ll need. I have twenty minutes left of my lunch hour, twenty minutes to give birth. I probably shouldn’t be doing this here in the office, but it’s sort of ceremonial in a passive aggressive way. It’s really only fitting I do it where Love Doctor was conceived.
Now, I just have to figure out this publishing garble on my screen and heave this baby out into the world.
I select my genre (Erotica) and type in search words—boss, asshole, sexy, romance, love, hate, professional—until I’ve reached my allowed limit. A ping sounds from our inter office messaging system and I read the message from Declan flagged urgent.
“If your ‘friend’ is gone, I’d like a cherry biscuit.”
“Didn’t you just eat?” I reply back, slightly confused at his single quotations around friend.
“It’s dessert.”
“Just finishing up something.”
I tab back over to Better Books and continue the process.
A ping sounds, and I tab back over.
“Have you
left yet?” his message reads, once again marked urgent.
“Yes,” I type back.
“Obviously not, since you replied.”
Nerves take a rollercoaster loop through my belly when I peek over my shoulder at the closed door. There’s no way Dr. Sincock will ever find out he was the muse for my novel.
I tab over to Better Books, and a shiver of excitement racks my shoulders as I move the cursor over and select the file. I’m finally doing it. The blue bar inches across as Love Doctor uploads, and I send a little prayer up to whoever is listening that people will be kind to my book baby, and then I finally do it. I hit publish. My celebration is cut short when another ping sounds.
“Can you stop daydreaming about your ‘friend’ and fill my request?”
This is too much stress. I’m trying to publish a book and pretend I’m not harboring feelings for the man who inspired said secret book. I push away from my desk and stalk into his office. We all have a moment where we crack, this is mine.
“Did you get me that blueberry muffin?” he asks, with a serious expression.
I place my hands on my hips. “It was a cherry biscuit, and no.”
A burning starts low in my belly and fans out through each limb as his eyes roam over me, starting at my feet, moving up and then back down.
“I see. So no biscuit is what you’re trying to tell me?”
I nod.
He stands and strides across the room. “You know what this means, don’t you?” I shake my head. “It means I’ll just have to eat you instead.”
And then, he kisses me.
A full-force kiss. It’s like gale force lust knocked my sails over, and I’m no longer churning through the fierce ocean, but floating into him.
I open my mouth to him, and his hand glides along my collarbone to slip behind my neck. I don’t think it could get any better until he deepens the kiss, twirling his tongue with mine. I moan, and he swallows it down in a hungry attempt to get closer.
“Why do you have to be so sexy?” I ask as he pulls away to nibble the base of my neck.
“I know the feeling,” he says back.
And then, our lips lock once again and I’m no longer the lone ship on the ocean, no, I’m the little bird flying high and spreading my wings for the very first time.
His greedy hands roam my body as if he’s never touched anyone else before in his life.
And I’m glad he’s taking control right now, because I can no longer even remember my own name.
20
Declan
"To solve a difficult problem in medicine, don't study it directly, but rather pursue a curiosity about nature and the rest will follow. Do basic research."
I walk backwards with her, leaning against my desk, and then I sit on it, bringing her with me to straddle my lap.
“You’re absolutely wrong for me,” I tell her, kissing her lips once more.
“There’s never been anyone more wrong for me.”
I keep kissing her, keep sucking and tugging her tongue into my mouth, and at the same time, grinding her hips into me.
“You’re so infuriating. Do you know that?” My anger mashes together with the extreme lust swimming through my body.
“I hate how right you always think you are,” she murmurs. “And who doesn’t like avocados?”
I stop kissing her neck. “Everybody.”
Her eyes lock with mine, hungry, eager, so damn beautiful, and my heart bangs around in my rib cage. My erection is painful, to the point I might just take her now, forget about being right or wrong.
“You kiss me like you’ve never wanted anyone this much,” she whispers.
“Christ,” I murmur, “I never have.”
She pulls back just a bit, and her innocent eyes greet mine. “You haven’t?”
I shake my head, barely able to breathe as her hips grind against me. “No.”
“You want me?”
I fight every urge to kiss her, lay her down, move in and out of her, show her just how bad I want her. Instead, I grab her hand, rubbing it over the hardness straining against my zipper. “This is how bad I want you, Rose.”
Her pink tongue darts out to wet her plump lips. “I can’t believe you’re so…”
“Hard?” I finish for her.
Her cheeks flush. “Big.”
Jesus. I kiss her. I kiss her because all I can do is kiss her. It’s the only way I can control the situation. I want her to get off. I want to make her orgasm. But I need to keep my body in check.
“Tell me, Rose. Tell me you’ve never wanted anyone this bad.”
“Yes to everything.”
“The thought of how wet you might be is driving me insane.” Blood pounds in my ears. “Are you wet for me?”
“Very.” She moves in to kiss me again, but I hold her by the hair, not letting our mouths touch just yet. She tries to grind against me but I hold her still with the other hand on her hip. She lets out a whimper, and it’s probably the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
“I’m going to make you come, Rose. I want you to drench your panties with it. I want you to move against me like your life depends on it. Got it?”
Her eyes search mine, questioning. “So, is this a follow-up appointment?”
God. I want to scream no. I want to tell her this is so much more for me. Instead, I kiss along her throat, the side of her neck, and nibble on the lobe of her ear until she is once again moving against me.
“I want those panties to be soaked just for me. Make them so wet for me.”
I keep using my hands to rock her hips into me, so she can come. She rides me, dry-humping me with her eyes closed, her head tilted forward, her lips-bruised and plump—begging to be kissed more.
I need to keep my heart out of it. I need to keep my head in the game, even though every cell in my body vibrates with lust.
Her tits press up against me, her chest heaving, and I reach a hand up to cup one. It fits perfectly in my hand, so much so that I can’t stop kneading it with my palm.
“I’m so close,” she whispers against the shell of my ear.
I return my hand to her ass, helping her get off.
“Come all over those panties for me,” I say, dragging my teeth against her collarbone.
She grips the back of my shoulders, runs her fingers into my hair briefly, and then back to my shoulders, gripping my shirt in her hands. “I’m coming,” she moans in a throaty whisper.
“Fuck, Rose.”
She rocks and rocks, her body lifting slightly, bringing her tits even with my mouth. I reach out, nibbling the stiff peak through her shirt.
She rides out her orgasm and I could never be prepared for how beautiful it is. Bliss filled blue eyes stare back at me. And I can’t stop looking at her. I simply can’t turn away.
The moment she comes down from her glorious high, she drops her forehead to mine. I run my fingers through her hair, smoothing down the edges.
“I’m going to need those panties, Rose,” I whisper against her lips.
She stands and slides the scrap of material down her legs, stepping one heel out of them and then the other. Pink. She hands them over and her breath catches when I rub them against my cock before slipping them in my pants pocket.
My phone rings interrupting our moment and it’s like the sound brings us back to the reality of where we are.
“I’ll let you get that,” she says, transforming into business Rose. “I have some things to print out before your next patient.”
Right, I actually have a job to do. The phone continues ringing, demanding to be answered. I rise and adjust myself before answering. “Dr. Sincock.”
“It’s Houston Dale.”
“Hello, Dr. Dale.” Rose breaks her stare from mine and exits, closing the door.
With Rose’s panties burning a hole in my pocket, I spend the next fifteen minutes hearing what Houston has to offer. It’s a lot. He wants me to fly out tomorrow night, meet him in person, and scope out the
area. I agree.
When I hang up, I find Rose seated at her desk. “I’m flying out to New York tomorrow.” What horrible fucking timing.
“For the job?”
“Yeah,” I answer, raking a hand through my hair.
“Oh, that’s great.” Great? She doesn’t want a replay of what just happened? ‘Cause I sure do. “I’ll get your flight scheduled and your hotel. How long will you be gone?”
“It’s ok, I can book it.” This all feels wrong. I don’t know how to separate work from the fact I just made her come.
“Why? Is it because…” she hesitates, “...I’m still your employee, Declan. We need to be professional, even if you have my panties.”
Hearing her call me by my first name is like a punch in the chest. Maybe it’s best I’m going away for a few days. She’s right, we have to be professional. To drive that fact home, my next patient arrives. While Mrs. Winston updates her paperwork, I return to my office and email Rose the trip information.
The rest of the afternoon is spent with back to back patients that run over time. By the time, my last patient leaves, Rose is gone for the day. When I check my email, an itinerary is sent to me from Rose with a note that reads, “Have a good trip. I’ll talk to you when you get back.”
I grab hold of the panties in my pocket, knowing full well she won’t be getting these back anytime soon.
They’re mine.
The next morning, I dribble the ball and make a three-pointer as Jonah groans behind me.
“Nice shot,” Jonah says.
“I’m feeling extra lucky today.” And I do. I have like a pep in my step or something. I wipe the sweat from my brow.
The park where we shoot hoops is filled with families, sitting on blankets, basking in the sun, or couples walking hand-in-hand with sniffing dogs trailing behind as Jonah and I shoot hoops on one of the parks four basketball courts. We have the one closest to the road, and I’ve been using that to my advantage by acting like there’s something important going on over Jonah’s shoulder so when he has the ball he might take a quick peek. But, he’s onto me, and my usual playful tactics haven’t been working out so well for me the past few minutes.
