This little raven-haired, scotch-eyed, pale-skinned beauty had my hand twitching.
She challenged me, and it was obviously uncomfortable for her to do so, which made it extremely difficult to put her in her place immediately. She was literally, albeit without the words, asking for such treatment.
No one has challenged me in years. It riled me up.
And although she looks like she could play the role of pillow princess, someone to lie there magnificently naked, ready and aching to receive, I more pictured her as a woman you’d have to tie up, bind, and gag just to get yourself to lie with her.
She’s a brat.
Then she completely mistook me for a man that she found on a dating app who handled her inappropriately. Even though I have attempted to clear that up, she’s not buying it.
I’m not the type of man to send a picture of my cock to a woman yet to meet its acquaintance.
Her disbelief, and the fact that she actually dates men who she doesn’t even know, should have been more than enough to wipe her out of my mind. Yet, she’s occupied it long past eviction, whilst making me act like a fool at times.
I’m not a fool.
“Bridget says she’s single.”
“Not another word.” I hit the unlock button on the key fob, open my door and slide in.
“See you Monday,” Simon calls mischievously from behind me as I shut the door.
Turning down Terrace Drive and passing Ms. Bloom’s house, I actually do a double-take to see if there’s a light on.
There is.
I run a hand over my face and try to erase the image of her ass as she bent over my examination table. It’s the kind of ass no man forgets— round, soft, with a bit of a bounce to it. Flesh you could grip while plowing into her from behind. Sans the bruise, it’s the perfect ass.
I look at her front door and heat burns in my chest, and other places, when I think about her flushed face when she opened the door and the fact that I nearly chubbed up when I thought she was watching porn. Then the vibrating wand nearly brought me to my knees. My brain understands exactly who she is and why I was there. But that scene … Christ. She’s my fucking patient but trying to get that chart to my dick in that moment was more difficult than gaining citizenship here in the US.
This is wrong on so many levels, I think as I push the accelerator to stop myself from creeping any further.
I’m drawn to her. I want to check on her wellbeing, her injuries, see if she caused any further stress on her fracture during yoga class with Simon’s wife and their best friend Calliope. A class I was one hundred percent behind when Simon told me about Calliope’s new healing yoga class idea. Yet, knowing Ms. Bloom is the first test subject in this venture makes me apprehensive.
The woman is an accident waiting to happen and clearly needs to be saved from herself. Previous life experience reminds me that I’m no savior. It’s been years since I’ve had to give myself that reminder, but this situation is different. Ms. Bloom is different. Everything now … is different.
I pull into the driveway of our new home for the first time as its owner. I should feel relieved knowing that when Kai returns from her time with her grandparents, she’ll come home to a place like this. A place that’s permanent, where she can grow roots. A place where she may finally feel comfortable making friends.
I hope to someday hear her laugh echo through the walls, see her smile brightening the room, hear her get excited and start rambling on and on about a video, a movie, a new friend. Hell, even something that her annoying dog does. Maybe she’ll even play football.
Walking into the house, I look around and see our things have been delivered— new furniture, new rugs, new life.
Kai and I have furnished this place through texts for the past couple weeks. I wished she’d wanted to see it in person, but she insisted the virtual tour was fine.
Who lets a ten-year-old have the final say when picking out a house? A father who had, up until three years ago, suffered silently beside her. A man who now regrets living in his grief when he should have been the man he is today.
A man ready to live again.
“Scotch!” I yell for our Scottish Terrier.
I walk into the house farther. “Maryanne?”
When I get no answer, I realize she must not be here yet to drop him off.
“Dr. Stewart?”
I look away from the pool that I’ve been staring at for God only knows how long and turn when I hear Maryanne’s panicked voice coming from the house.
She hurries toward me with a red and tear-stained face.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, pulse racing.
“He’s gone.”
Fuck.
Still Friday
Lizzie
“Are you out of your mind?” Tonya booms from the other end of the phone.
“That’s debatable, but I’m already in love with him.” I laugh as I crouch down next to the pup that I just rescued —well, sort of— a few hours ago.
“So, let me get this straight, you found a dog—”
“Not just a dog, a Scottish Terrier … I think.”
She interrupts, “In your neighborhood?”
“I know my neighbors. They treat their dogs better than they do their kids. I may have found him in this neighborhood, but I can assure you—”
“Lizzie, you need to take him to the vet to see if he’s chipped. Then you need to hang signs in the area to see if someone is looking for him.”
“I’m sure he’s a stray.” I squat down and scratch under his chin.
“The picture you sent me looks like he’s straight off the Westminster Kennel Club website. He has on a Burberry scarf, for the love of God!”
“But no tags, not one.” I scratch behind his ear.
She sighs. “Lizzie …”
“He came to me on the anniversary, Tonya.”
Placing her on speaker, I send my father a text, thanking him for sprinkling a little bit of magic from heaven by way of this little fur baby on a day I needed it the most.
But, even as I think it, I realize how completely naïve it sounds to someone like Tonya … okay, possibly everyone else but me, but it doesn’t make it untrue. Dad did make me believe in magic, and this little guy is magical.
Her silence gives me further pause, and I finally agree to see if he’s chipped, and maybe, if he isn’t, I’ll hang a couple signs … or at least tell her I will.
“Make sure you exhaust all avenues. You wouldn’t want to get too attached to him.”
She’s dulling my shine with her logic.
“I need to take Fraser out—”
“You already named him?” she cuts me off.
“Well, what am I supposed to call him? Dog?”
After a long pause, she asks, “What are you going to do with him when you go to work?”
Shit, I think to myself. I never called Shirley, avoiding the inevitable financial crisis.
“I think he’ll be fine. I also just realized I’m sure I can still work at the restaurant. I’ve got this, Tonya.”
“You know I love you, right?” She always leads with this before shrinking me.