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Dr. Hamilton placed his arm over the back of her chair, giving her an affectionate look. “I think it’s pretty romantic. Both workaholics.”
“I think workaholism runs in the family.” Derek pulled out his phone and checked the screen. “Emerson hasn’t texted me once today…hope the kids don’t have her in a choke hold.”
A couple minutes later, Daisy returned and fell into her chair. Her mood was noticeably different, her skin a little pale.
Dr. Hamilton noticed it just as quickly. “You alright, sweetheart?”
She rubbed her stomach and shook her head. “Yeah, I’m good. I think I just ate too much.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Dex teased.
My hand immediately went to her forehead. “You’re pretty warm.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Dex is right. Sometimes I don’t know when to cut myself off. I forget that I’m not eighteen anymore.”
“You want some water?”
“Sure.”
I went into the kitchen and got her water with ice and some ginger ale to settle her stomach. I set it in front of her then rubbed her back as I watched her sip it down. The conversation carried on.
Mrs. Hamilton looked at me. “My husband hasn’t been home much lately. I know you guys are working hard at the hospital.”
“I don’t know if we’re working hard,” I said. “Just working long.”
“I’m still overseeing patient care for my fellow researchers,” Dr. Hamilton said. “So, I’m at the hospital pretty much all the time now.”
Sometimes he was in the lab all day, but other times he popped in and out. I didn’t know what he did with the rest of his time, whether he was in his office doing paperwork or having meetings. But now I realized why his company did so well. Because he was involved in everything. He checked everything. He made sure every patient who came to his company was getting the same care as if he were their physician.
I had big shoes to fill.
Very big.
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside. “Something smells good.” I carried my bag to the couch and set it down. Every time I came home and she was already there, it was a brand-new experience. Like it was the first day she’d moved in all over again.
“Well, I’m glad it smells better than it looks…”
“If you don’t want to cook, you don’t have to. I can do it.”
“I know, but I’m trying to get better.”
I came into the kitchen and gave her a quick kiss.
She motioned to the pan. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
The dish was both soggy and charred…not sure how she managed that. “Um…”
“Ugh.” She grabbed the pan and carried it to the trash can. “I give up.” She tossed everything inside and set the pan back on the stove.
“Cooking is an art.”
“It’s a science. You follow directions. Not any different from being in an organic chemistry lab.”
“If that were the case, you would have mastered this. It’s more than that. There’s more to the process than just the directions, skills you acquire over time.” I opened the fridge and took a look.
She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “At least I can fuck better than I cook.”
I chuckled. “That’s why I asked you to move in.” I grabbed a couple things and set them on the counter. “Let’s do this together. I’ll teach you.”
She hopped on the counter and crossed her legs. “I’m burned out. I’ll just watch you.”
“Alright. As long as you’re naked.”
“Then we may as well order a pizza…because no cooking will get done.”
“That’s fine with me.” I left the food on the counter and moved between her legs, our eyes level. My hands rested on her thighs, and I stepped closer, examining the perfection of her face, her plump lips and her intelligent eyes. My hand moved to her neck before it slid into her hair. As an anchor, I tugged her head back, pressing my lips to her neck, kissing her warm skin.
She melted right at my touch, her hands immediately slipping underneath my scrubs. Her fingers made contact with my hardness, and she let out a moan as my tongue slid across her skin.
The heat turned into an inferno instantly.
Warm breaths filled the kitchen. Clothes were dropped. Dinner was forgotten.
I carried her into our bedroom, which now had her clothes in my closet, her shoes at the foot of my bed, her makeup on the counter. Any trace of my ex-wife had been erased when she moved out. But now, she’d been replaced entirely, by the woman I was supposed to be with.
We hit the bed and moved together hard, like rabbits in spring, our bodies coming together with such desperation that it was as if last night never happened, as if the flirty texts we sent back and forth throughout the day had never happened. As if this had never happened before, it happened for the first time.
