10. Knox
Chapter ten
Knox
Rule #16: Don't take what isn't yours.
1. Get married.
2. No marriage. Find a house ASAP.
3. No dogs larger than a toaster.
4. Dogs are amazing. Keep the dog alive.
5. You're not my doctor.
6. Let people help you.
7. Gemma showers at night.
8. Keep your clothes on.
9. Ask before inviting friends over.
10. NO SEX in the apartment.
11. No snooping through other people's stuff.
12. Clean up your messes.
13. Keep cell phones on silent.
14. Be reasonable, you fucking tyrant.
15. Rook takes out the trash.
16. Don't take what isn't yours.
17. Label what's yours.
18. Give prior notice of social plans, if applicable.
19. No smoothies before 7 am (also they're gross).
20. Ask Gemma before you play games.
21. Use sound safety protocols.
22. No sex.
23. No sex in the apartment.
24. Don't leave your clothes on the ground.
I stared at the newest rule Gemma had added to our absurd list. Taking an earthy-sweet sip of my mushroom coffee, I tamped down a smile. We had made the rules two Sundays ago, starting with several contradictory, crossed-out "rules," and it had only gotten more ridiculous as time went on. No sane roommates would follow a list like ours, but it had become a way for us to communicate with each other without actually having to gripe at the other person directly. I glanced over at the mess I'd made putting together my morning coffee and sighed. Gemma had a point. I often focused more on the problems in my head than what was going on with my environment. Why waste time tidying up when I had an emergency surgery to get to?
But I had a roommate now. As improbable and often uncomfortable as it was, I had to share my space for the time being. And Gemma liked things tidy. I could try harder to accommodate that. Setting my mug down on the counter, I gathered the cream and sugar to put them both away.
I glanced at my smartwatch. Any minute now, Gemma would make her way to the kitchen. She tended to stumble out of bed and get ready fast before going to work, and I didn't know how she did it. She stayed organized even when she was rushing. Not a cup left on the counter. Not so much as a Q-Tip on the bathroom counter. Where I left a trail of disorderly mess behind me, she seemed to float through her existence like a carefree, squeaky-clean bubble.
Sure enough, Mini scratched at the door moments before Gemma burst through it, leash between her teeth and her bright yellow jacket half-on over her crop top and sweats. She wasn't wearing a bra again, and I caught a flash of round, full breast beneath the hem of her crop top as she reached up to shove her arm through the other sleeve of the coat. I inhaled sharply, coiling tightly from the inside out. This woman never fucking wore clothing at home, and this wasn't the first time I'd gotten a glimpse of her breasts, her hips, her legs, her ass. She seemed completely unaware of what she was doing to me.
Not that seeing a woman's body had to necessarily turn me on. I was a healthcare professional. There was no reason that seeing Gemma's nipples through her nightshirt or walking into the kitchen to find half her ass hanging out of her shorts should affect me.
Only, it did. There was something about Gemma that got past all my barriers and turned me into a barely leashed, hormonal teenager again. The errant desires and mental pictures would come out of nowhere—mental videos of bending her over the sofa, wrapping her soft skin in hemp rope until she moaned, holding her in the shower and sinking myself into her slowly…
They were driving me absolutely crazy. So, naturally, I did what I did best.
I ignored it.
"Issthoo dark," she slurred through the leash in her mouth.
I picked up my mug and sipped, staring. "What?"
She pulled the pink leash from between her teeth before clicking the latch to Mini's collar. "It's too dark! I keep sleeping in."
I glanced at the clock. It was 6:46, which was later than usual, but not too bad. "You seem high-strung."
"Your DNA is high-strung," she retorted, barely sparing me a glance. "I'll be back." She paused at the elevator to point to me. "You better be out of the shower when I'm back, Fudgecake."
I glared hard. "Stop calling me that."
"Oh, do you need me to workshop it?" she asked with a sharky grin. She stuffed her feet into her tennis shoes while she teased me over her shoulder. "What should I call you? Fudgie? Dreamscicle? Ooh," her lashes flared as she pressed the button on the panel. "Cakepop."
"You are not calling me Cakepop," I said dismissively.
Her only response to that was an evil cackle before she abused the "down" button inside the elevator with several, impatient jabs. My phone buzzed, reminding me that I had limited time to shower and get ready for my own appointments today. As I took out my phone and headed to the shower, I pulled up short.
The contact on my screen surprised me. Both because of who it was and because it appeared to be some kind of group chat.
Frost:
I've been informed that our moms are trying to get us married. And Rook fell into a trap. FACT CHECK?
Spencer:
I met the trap. She's really cute.
I frowned at the screen, walking into the bedroom again as I tapped out a text.
Rook:
We are not referring to Gemma as "the Trap." Who gave Frost my number?
Also, how was there a "we," here? Why was Frost worrying about my personal life? We'd done our residency together with Spencer, and our mothers were friends, but we didn't interact much outside of work. Had our moms been talking? Dread pulled the blood from my face. Had my mother told them?
Frost:
Well, I hear congratulations are in order. Your mom told my mom you're getting married.
It wasn't not true. It was just that I hadn't been able to convince Gemma to marry me, and even when she did give in, it would be entirely fake. Then another message blinked through the chat.
Nash Wells has entered the chat.
Wells:
What is this. Did someone die.
I reached the bathroom, and with a deep sigh, I let my phone drop to the counter. What a fucking mess. My mom had definitely been bragging to the other women in their "book club" about her perceived success. The phone buzzed several times, and after I'd stripped and waited for the shower to warm up, I picked it up again with some reluctance. It seemed like I would have to address my court full of jesters.
Reed:
This is partially my fault. Rook's mom talked to our moms, and then I admitted to Frost that Rook tripped and fell into a marriage. Now he's panicking.
Frost:
I can't get married. I'm too pretty.
Rook:
I'm not married.
Spencer:
Good. I'll marry her instead. I might share if you're nice.
Knox Rook has left the chat.
Knox Rook has been added to the chat.
Frost:
Stop avoiding your responsibilities. This is a real problem.
Wells:
Why? Who cares what our moms are doing?
Reed:
Rook's mom tricked him into cohabitating. The other moms are impressed. Which means you're in danger of being… schemed.
Wells:
Who left the moms unchaperoned?
Spencer:
Wait… is that what Kiss-Met is? I thought it was a restaurant. Mom is taking me next month.
Wells:
…
Frost:
…
Rook:
How did you graduate medical school?
Spencer:
I'm googling it…
Reed:
Kiss-Met is a dating service. And it's spooky. The CEO is Merlin or something.
Frost:
Is Merlin bangable?
Reed:
She's like 120.
Frost:
With age comes experienced wisdom.
Rook:
Please never reproduce.
Wells:
I'm sorry your mom got you entangled, Rook.
Knox Rook has left the chat.
Knox Rook has been added to the chat.
Rook:
I'm not entangled. Who keeps re-adding me to this thing.
Frost:
Entangled sounds promising. You should name her pussy the Trap.
Rook:
Which hospital are you operating at today?
Wells:
RUN FROST.
Benjamin Frost has left the chat.
I left the tree full of monkeys hanging in the chat, but I had to admit, it was amusing to reconnect with my residency fellows. Frost was going to get himself killed by someone’s furious lover if he wasn’t careful. Out of the five of us, he was the only one who had never failed to make time for his love life. I remembered Cal dating a bit during our residencies, but he had stopped after a few harrowing experiences with fellow doctors. I couldn’t blame him.
I’d always had short-term relationships with women as long as they understood my preferences. It was surprisingly easy to come across women who enjoyed being bound and pleasured—it kept the touching to a minimum and the fucking to a maximum. It had always worked perfectly for me. And even this week, I’d met a gorgeous, raven-haired bombshell who worked for the IT company that handled our hospital’s billing system. She’d given off obvious interested vibes as we’d interacted for a short time, and then I’d noticed the pin on her bag that depicted two wrists tied together. Bingo.
And yet, I hadn’t been interested. Why had I not been interested? The only reasonable explanation… was my roommate.
I lathered soap over my body in the shower, my mind slipping away to thoughts of Gemma over the past two weeks. She had no idea what she was doing to me day after day, and I had very little sanity left to begin to understand my reactions to her. It didn’t matter what she was wearing or what she was doing, my damn body reacted in one way , regardless. When she walked by in baggy sweats and an oversized sweatshirt, my cock grew hard. When she flounced into the kitchen wearing a crop top and shorts that showed off her perfectly round ass, my mouth watered. I tried to ignore my reactions. I did my best to school my thoughts and remind myself that Gemma was not an object, but a person, existing in her own space and simply being herself. She didn’t need a slavering man living in her house and following the bounce of her breasts with his eyes.
And yet, I still did that.
I swiped a hand down my face, clearing the water from my eyes but making no progress in wiping the image of Gemma’s body from behind my eyeballs. I wanted to push her against the bathroom wall like I had that first day, but this time, I wouldn’t cover her with a towel. I’d lower my lips to her breasts and taste her skin, suckling one pink nipple and flicking the bud with my tongue until she moaned for release…
I shook my head, looking around the bathroom. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. I glanced down at my erection, tight and throbbing and so painfully hard, I had doubts about my ability to walk, let alone finish getting ready for the day. “Fucking hell,” I hissed out loud. “That ridiculous texel mouse.”
Ridiculous. Gorgeous. Enticing.
“Fuck it.” I wrapped my fingers around my length and slid my hand up to the tip and then pressed hard down the shaft. It was crossing some kind of line, I knew. But fuck me, I couldn’t take the torture anymore. I imagined Gemma’s breasts, round and full and seared into my memory from when I’d held her naked, wet body in my arms. I imagined twining rope around her wrists and stretching her body out for my perusal. For my use. For her pleasure. I imagined torturing her slowly with my fingers and tongue and aching dick, and finally, finally I found release.
Panting hard, I leaned my head against the shower wall and stared up at the designer light fixture in the center of the room. I was in so much trouble.
I heard the elevator hum back to our floor, and I poked my head out of the bedroom door, cinching up my tie and looking for Gemma. I had to do something about this. It felt so wrong to be this physically attracted to her every goddamn day, and then actually jerk off to the thought of her in the shower when she lived here. But thus far, every attempt I had made to talk to her about our situation had been immediately deflected. I'd been so busy, it hadn't come up again, but that was going to change. Right fucking now.
But it wasn't only Gemma who exited the elevator. Spencer was with her, dressed for work in his brightly patterned, kid-approved scrubs and ridiculous foam clogs and staring down at her with a dopey smile on his face. The sun had finally lifted above the city horizon, slicing across the wood and industrial fixtures, and it illuminated one side of Gemma's face and wind-blown, blond hair. And her besotted expression.
Fuck no . There was no way I was going to let Spencer do his thing with my complicated roommate situation. I straightened in the doorway of my room, and with the wide, open concept of the living space, I had a clear line of sight to both of them as they laughed their way out of the elevator.
Spencer spotted me first, and with a cheery wave of his enormous arm, he grinned like a satisfied mountain lion. "Good morning, Cakepop."
I glared at Gemma. "Really?"
"I found him hungry and all alone down there," Gemma said like she was talking about a stray cat. "What was I supposed to do? Let him freeze?"
"Yeah," Spencer frowned dramatically. "I was freezing." Then he went into my kitchen and started rummaging around for breakfast. If we hadn't been friends since childhood, I would have unceremoniously booted him out then and there. He dug around until he found some granola, and as he poured it into a bowl, Gemma got him the milk.
"I'm running late, but there's coffee in the pot—"
"Not his coffee," I interjected.
"—and I made really good brownies last night. They're in that pan over there."
She was giving Spencer our brownies? I liked those brownies. We'd eaten them at the island and watched a stupid dating reality TV show before bed last night. I stalked into the kitchen and stood between Spencer and the pan of brownies with my arms folded. "Are you simply here to remind me of your existence, or do you have something you need?"
Spencer poured milk over his granola. He'd braided the top portion of his hair before scrunching it into a bun, and I had to wonder how many years he would get away with that hairstyle. Would he look like that when he was old and gray, or was it temporary? He took a bite, and around the crunchy mouthful said, "I need you, actually."
Gemma took her travel mug full of coffee and fast-walked to the bedroom. "Okay, I'm late; we have to plan some kind of Halloween singles mixer thing, and my client list is full. Have fun saving lives!" Then she closed the door, and Mini plopped herself down in a loaf shape in front of it, like some kind of guardian sphynx.
Spencer leveled a meaningful look my way. "Well. She's working out for you… as a roommate."
"You mean 'the Trap?'" I glared. Spencer chuckled before taking another bite of his cereal, and I left the kitchen to grab my black wool coat from the hook. In mid-October, the days were finally getting chillier, and I had to walk between several hospitals today. "What do you need, Spencer?"
"It's work-related, actually," he replied, following me with the bowl of cereal in his hand. "A patient in our network is asking around for second opinions for her CDH case."
I paused with my coat in my hands and gave Spencer a worried glance. "If her fetus has a congenital diaphragmatic hernia, and she's seeking second opinions, then I take it she's been told the surgery is too risky for her and the baby."
"Potentially," Spencer agreed. "But your FETO surgery success rate is the highest I know of."
I sighed, putting on my coat. "Have her call and schedule with me. I'll do my own round of tests. What gestation?"
"Twenty-two," Spencer winced. "You'll need to hurry."
I nodded. "You'll assist if she's a candidate for surgery?"
"It's why I asked," he confirmed. He took another bite of cereal. "Knew I could count on you."
"Stop talking with your mouth full," I grouched. I buttoned up my coat. "You were literally just texting me this morning. Why did you need to show up to ask this?"
Spencer smiled like the wily scamp he was. "Just checking on your trap situation." I fake lunged for him, and as I'd hoped, he flinched away but laughed obnoxiously as he returned to the kitchen. "I'm going to eat Gemma's brownies. You want some?"
I stared at my best friend darkly. What I wanted was to punch him in the nose. The irony was that I didn’t have any right to want that. I had to figure this thing out with Gemma soon. Something about the situation felt life-altering, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it with sheer willpower, there were other forces at work I had little control over. And I didn’t like lack of control. I didn’t like it at all.