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Should I just sit, or put my legs up in the stirrups?
I might as well get in position, speed things along.
I prop my legs up, even more uncomfortable in the spread-eagled position, and recline in the armchair just as the door opens again.
A man walks in, with dark hair and slightly tanned skin. He’s looking down at a clipboard, presumably studying my medical file, his face hidden.
“Good evening, Miss,” he says and stops.
I recognize that voice. Yeah, it’s changed, gotten more mature, raspier, sexier even, but it’s him!
The doctor’s head snaps up just as a chill runs down my spine. Our gazes lock, and for the first time in sixteen years, I stare into Johnny Raikes’ blue eyes. “Marissa?”
4
MARISSA
In a blinding panic, I try to close my legs and stand up at the same time, which only causes the stirrups to sway wildly, preventing me from doing both. It must look like that scene in Friends of Ross in the delivery room, only I’m dramatically naked from the belly down.
John is staring at me in shock. The only silver lining is that from his position near the door, he gets a side view as opposed to a full frontal.
I’m still fighting with the stirrups when he takes a step forward. “You have to—”
“Back off,” I yell. “And look away.”
John freezes and complies, turning toward the door.
Without the pressure of him looking, I stop thrashing like a fish on a hook, and, with a bit of calm, I lift my knees and slip out of the stirrups. I grab the paper sheet, wrap it around my crotch as a makeshift miniskirt, and jump out of the chair.
On wobbly feet, I cross the room to the desk, retrieve my panties, pull them on, and grab my coat to cover myself. I’m still too fidgety to put on pants.
Once I’m zipped up from knees to neck, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
John turns around, his face unreadable and annoyingly gorgeous. Gone is the boy I used to know, replaced by a man ten times more attractive. I take in the stubble dusting his jaw. The slight crinkle around his eyes. His hair is shorter, but the style suits him. And I had forgotten how tall he is.
John’s eyes scan me quickly in a not-so-subtle once-over. It’s fast, but it feels like he’s metaphorically undressing me. Not that he needs to after the show I just gave him. Or maybe he’s sizing me up, taking inventory of the small differences in my face, hairstyle, and general appearance from sixteen years ago.
“I work here,” he says eventually.
“No, you don’t,” I counter. “You live in California.”
He smiles, and I hate that I’ve revealed knowing even the slightest nugget of information about him. Now he must think I’ve been stalking him nonstop for the past sixteen years, or that I’m still into him.
I haven’t and I’m not.
“Used to work in California,” he corrects me. “I moved back a month ago.”
The room seems to shrink on me, and I have trouble breathing. Johnny Raikes and me living in the same state, in the same city?
No! No, no, no. Just no.
I must be shaking my head because John says, “I see that displeases you. Listen, Mari—”
“Don’t call me that.” He lost that privilege a long time ago. “I’m Marissa to you. Even better, Miss Mayer.”
John raises an eyebrow at the Miss Mayer. “Listen, Marissa.” He compromises by using my full name, but the intimate inflection he uses is still too much for me to bear. I do my best not to shiver. Thankfully, the next words out of his mouth are infuriating enough to cure me of all spine shivers. “I’m sorry about that night—”
“No. No, no.” I keep shaking my head. “You don’t get to give me a trumped-up explanation sixteen years too late either. I only want to know when I can reschedule my visit with Dr. Townsend and how to make sure we don’t cross paths again.”
