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That day I wore a pair of tight gray pants and a sleeveless blouse. It was conservative but sexy at the same time.
Dr. Cooper and I had a system. I would usually go in and see a patient for a preop visit to explain the surgery and recovery process or for a follow-up visit to assess their progress. Then, Dr. Cooper would go in after me to shake hands so they could meet with the person who would be operating on them or who already had.
Dr. Cooper was at the back of our area that afternoon, and I went to get him, telling him about the patient we were about to see as we walked side by side to the room. The hallway was clear, except for us. The patients that were there were tucked behind closed doors. Our medical assistant was nowhere in sight. I was concentrating on work and what I was saying to him, so it was unexpected when Dr. Cooper’s hand landed on my lower back and drifted to my ass as we moved forward. I froze. His hand loitered and searched my covered skin. My mind stopped as I wondered if this was really happening. Hekept his hand there for a few moments and squeezed me before letting go. I was shocked and speechless.
“I’ve never done that to you before,” he said with a smirk.
I thought he was testing me, seeing how far he could go before I put a stop to it. But I was so surprised that I didn’t react. I couldn’t.
“No,” I confirmed, at a loss for words.
And then he walked into the room to meet the patient, as if nothing had happened. And after a second of hesitation, I followed him.
That afternoon, I watched myself start to fade away.
And part of me was afraid if I continued down this path, at some point, … I’d disappear altogether.
After that, we never spoke of it again.
Another day, another invisible line crossed.
But that was the first time he had put his hands on my body.
Our relationship felt thrilling and unexpected in some ways. It was like a roller coaster with a slow rise before it plunged into the darkest depths, taking your stomach along a precarious ride. It felt like the highest of highs. But it also felt … completely wrong.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WILLOW
I don’t know if it’s chemical or kismet, but I start to burn for Zane after our first night together. That initial kiss the night we met started a slow simmer. I am boiling now, on fire for him, the vapors evaporating into thin air all around me.
I don’t think there’s anything more consuming than those first days when you’re falling for someone. Every moment is blissful. Every touch, every glance is addictive. Each word out of his mouth is profound and has me on the edge of my seat.
I can’t see anything past us. And we can never keep our hands to ourselves. He’s intoxicating, like a smooth and smoky aged bourbon. Together, in this magic moment, we’re perfection.
Zane and I are inseparable after that night at Deernan’s. We spend our days together and most of our nights. There are long hours when we’re curled up on the couch together. Walks in the evenings and a morning run or two. He even took me out at dusk to look for animals a few nights. We saw a herd of elk and a few moose. Some deer and antelope. No bears yet, but I’m still hopeful.
There is an ease between Zane and me that I’ve never had with another guy before. We live in the moment, and we never discuss more than what we plan to do that afternoon. The future remains untouched. It’s a looming certainty, but one we’re choosing to ignore, too caught up in each other to worry about other things. Things I’m trying to avoid thinking about at all. These days feel like the best kind of escape from real life, especially with what I have waiting for me back in the city. I love the bubble we’re in, just the two of us.
This is the first time I’ve ever been completely present. My entire life has been spent waiting for the next step, planning and preparing for tomorrow. I’ve never been able to just enjoy the day for whatever it brings and appreciate what’s happening right now. Until this trip and this week.
But all the while, the clock is ticking on my time in Sullivan’s Way.
“Have you ever been paddleboarding?” Zane asks from his spot in my living room. He’s perched on the couch with his bare feet propped on the coffee table in front of him.
“Nope,” I say, plopping down beside him and forcing him to move over a little.
He keeps scrolling through his phone while he talks. “Have you been to Spring Lake?”
“Dozens of times,” I answer, sliding down until I can rest my head on his shoulder. “It’s one of my parents’ favorite spots in the park.”
“It’s everyone’s favorite,” he says of the popular lake. He sets his phone down and drapes his arm along the back of the couch so he can pull me closer. “Let’s go there today. We can paddleboard. Or go canoeing if you’d rather?”
“I’ve always wanted to try paddleboarding.”
He leans down to kiss me, lingering for a moment. Then, he stands, pulling me to my feet in the process. “Let’s do it then.”
I laugh at his sudden charge of energy.
