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“No problem, Son, we’re lucky the baby’s healthy and mama is, too.”
“I know.” I glance behind him and frown. “Where’s Regan?”
“Oh, she said to thank you and tell you goodnight.” He sets down his bag and heads toward the bed where Lucy and her baby girl are getting to know each other.
She’s very lucky. Less than two hours of pushing brought a beautiful baby girl into this world, and when I caught her, she gifted us with a lusty, robust cry of displeasure. The miracle of life is a humbling sight to behold. And Regan was a great birth coach and my right hand. We work so well as a team.
The goodwill and optimism that started to grow while we were in the thick of delivery evaporates at Rob’s message. She may not want to talk to me, but I damn sure want to talk to her. I leave the patients in the very capable hands of one of the best pediatricians in the state and go in search of trouble.
I walk through the stone-arched walkway that connects the residential facilities with the classrooms and offices. I’m angrier with Regan than I have been with anyone in my entire life, but I can’t help the rush of pride, as I survey what she’s done with this place.
Venus Rising is nothing short of remarkable. It’s everything she said it would be. It’s bittersweet to see
her doing it all and not to be part of it. We’ve made an art form of avoiding each other.
I see her twice a week when she joins our CrossFit Team for a workout.
She doesn’t talk much to anyone. Even her brothers. She comes, gets her workout done, and then leaves. It hurts like hell to see her and pretend I don’t crave her, with every fiber of my being.
The buzzing interest around the picture has subsided—mainly because she keeps such a low profile.
I still wake and experience the same sinking sensation I’ve felt since I moved back here and realized that she would not be mine. Tyson has invited me to her house every Friday for the last month, and I’ve said no. That first encounter, at her house, was still too close to the surface. I’m not ready to socialize with Regan.
Thank God I love my job and that it’s demanding and intense. But, at night, when I’m alone with my thoughts, they’re all about her.
As I approach the suite of offices where hers is, doubt descends and slows my stride.
I don’t know if I’m ready to be alone with her. But I don’t know when I’ll have another chance, and at the very least, I need her to know that she can’t provide medical services here unless she gets licensed. And to tell her that she can’t call me like this again.
I steel myself and knock lightly on the door with “Regan” etched into the frosted pane of glass that serves as a window. There’s no response, but I see a light on, so I test the knob. I open the door, and I stick my head inside, slowly, and look around the room.
The first thing I notice is the map that takes up one entire wall. It’s dotted with different color push pins and sticky notes. I step into the huge space and close the door quietly behind me. It’s part office, part situation room.
Regan is sitting propped up, lengthwise, on a small bright blue sofa. Her laptop is on her thighs. Her head lolls to rest on the back of the sofa and her hand dangles off the edge. A soft snore punctuates her exhales.
I walk over and gaze down at her. She looks as wrung out as I feel.
But even exhaustion can’t tame the beautiful synergy of her bold cheekbones, her wide-set heavily lashed eyes, or her generously full lips and the soft set of them made even more so by sleep. I would have fought any war by her side, or at her front, if she’d have let me.
I trace the lines of her body with my eyes. Each one on prominent display, beneath her light grey calf length pencil skirt, topped by a form fitting white t-shirt. Her feet are bare; her toes are painted candy apple red. God; I want to taste them.
She is a whole eight course meal, and I’m a man who’s been living on beans and toast for months.
My entire body responds with what I can only describe as a full-body hunger pang. My mouth waters. My fingers twitch, and my cock stirs. My gut rumbles, the way it does when I’m hungry.
Her eyes pop open as if she heard it. She gasps and covers her chest with her hand. “You scared me.” She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths.
“Sorry, I knocked.” I step back from my hovering stance and shove my hands in my pockets.
“I was only closing my eyes for a minute… Let me just shut down, really quick,” she says, groggily, and taps her mouse to wake her laptop. She lowers her feet to the floor and starts to type in earnest.
Something falls from beneath her skirt and lands on the floor with a thud, and then rolls a few times, before it stops halfway between us. She’s immersed in whatever she’s doing and doesn’t seem to notice.
I stoop to pick it up and smile when I realize it’s a vibrator. And it’s warm and sticky. I lift it to my nose and inhale. The smell of her, citrus and fucking heaven, fills my nostrils, and I go from disinterested to full on rock hard in seconds.
“Okay, all done,” she announces, and reaches over and puts her laptop on the small side table next to the couch.
“Did Rob not tell you I was…” Her words die on her tongue, as her vision clears, and she sees the toy in my hand. Her face blooms with color.
