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“You make it sound so simple,” I say.
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s what makes it so interesting.”
“It?”
“Us.”
“Us?” I laugh. “Awfully, presumptuous of you.”
He shrugs.
I hold up a finger. “Onedinner,” I say. “That’s it.”
He holds his silence neither agreeing nor objecting as he pins me with his unrelenting gaze.
He does this a lot as if he’s drinking me in, studying every facet of me. I shake my head to break the trance I seem to fall under in his presence. It’s late, I’ve got to go home to get some much-needed sleep.
“Alright,” I say, as I slowly rise from my chair. “Spokoynoy nochi, Mr. Petrosky.”
A wide grin splits his face, apparently impressed by my attempt to say good night in Russian.
Yeah, so I learned a word or two. What’s the harm in that?
***
I’m highly anxious as I ride the subway uptown. Silently, I berate myself for putting myself in this predicament. But Dr. Heisler’s invitation to watch the triple bypass surgery proved too irresistible to pass up. But amid the procedure, I nearly panicked when I realized that the surgery would run long past my deadline. And short of an immediate death in the family, slipping out would be frowned upon by the faculty. So, I’d stood there silently willing their hands to hurry, with every success of course.
I just barely had enough time to run back and grab a shower, get dressed, and hop on the L-train. This, of all nights, is the night I’m supposed to meet Sebastian Petrosky for his thank-you dinner.
I can’t believe I’m actually doing this!
I’d talked myself in and out of it so many times, that I’ve lost count. Against my better judgment, I gave Sebastian my number the day he was discharged from the hospital. Three days later he made use of that number. We settled on a time and place for the date.
Ten days after Sebastian and I met, I find myself stepping into Che Pierre’s on 9thStreet. It’s mainly French but the chef is half Russian and offered an array of delicious authentic Russian dishes. I check my watch one more time, I’m six minutes late…not too bad.
I approach the hostess and inquire as to whether Sebastian Pestroski has arrived yet. No, she informs me. I head over to the bar and wait. I finally decided on this chic little black cocktail dress. I’m wearing my hair up in a loose bun, a few tendrils down on either side. I’ve been told it’s one of my sexiest looks, but not that sex is on my mind. I just want him tothinkabout how great that would be with me.
What? No, that’s not what I want. This is two people having a simple thank-you dinner. We’ll enjoy a meal and good conversation, and then we’ll go our separate ways. Piece of cake.
I place my order at the bar and sit on an empty stool. My size six ass isn’t sitting on it for more than 30 seconds before I feel a hand on the small of my back. I start to spin around but hear a familiar voice.
“Dr. Graham, hello,” I feel his warm breath on my neck like a soft feather being drawn across my skin. Goosebumps break out all over. This is not a good sign. I smile as I look over my shoulder.
“I was beginning to wonder if you ran off because I was late.”
“You thought I was punishing you?” he says in a low rumble. “Let’s get to know each other first, shall we?”
I laugh. “You’re a cheeky little thing.” I stop to take him all in. It’s the first time I’ve seen him outside a hospital bed. He’s wearing the hell out of a custom-fit Armani suit. It hangs impressively on his six-foot frame. And his face, finally the discoloration has faded, his natural tones are vibrant. He looks incredible.
I slide off the stool and balance on my knock-off Jimmy Choo shoes. Sebastian’s eyes navigate the length of my body, pouring all over it. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined you’d be out of your scrubs.”
“Hospital chic wasn’t quite doing it for you?”
“Youdo it for me,” he says evenly and then gestures toward the hostess. “Our table’s ready.”
