8. Dillan
8
DILLAN
B y the time the baby has been safely delivered, it’s hours later, and I’m so tired I can barely see straight.
In the moment when a difficult birth is happening, adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I don’t think of anything else but the task at hand. Now, however, all of that faded, and I’m quickly reminded of my lack of sleep. I want to crawl into bed and not get out for at least a day. Thankfully, the mom and her baby are healthy and doing well. Though the child is premature, she’s breathing on her own and still a good weight. A day or two in the NICU for standard monitoring, and then the family can take her home.
After changing out of my scrubs and washing up, I’m finally able to check my phone. There are no texts or voicemails. Considering it’s after eleven, I assume Lizzie would have gotten up and found my note by now. If I recall correctly, she told me she didn’t need to wake early and isn’t supposed to be at work until later in the day.
The thought of her lying in bed waiting for me is enough to give me a second wind of energy. I’m eager to get back—maybe have a fifteen-minute nap before taking her out to lunch. Images of the night before flash in my mind.
Her voice. Her smile. Her laugh. Her moans.
I’ve never met anyone so in tune with her body. The way she playfully moves is like an art. It’s clear she’s a hell of a lot more comfortable with herself than she was when we were teenagers, and that confidence is sexy as hell. I love a woman who knows what she’s about and isn’t afraid to take what she wants.
And those eyes. God, those eyes. They’re seductive and sexy, and when she’s turned on, golden flecks glint in their dark-brown depths. Everything about Lizzie is captivating.
The rush of intense desire and emotion at the thought of her almost overwhelms me. It doesn’t scare me, but it does make me cautious. I enjoy my life and my freedom. Being tied down has never appealed to me before. Not that I think that’s on Lizzie’s mind either. We’d been far too preoccupied with each other’s bodies to talk about a possible deeper meaning behind our actions, but I never got the sense she wanted anything more than a fun night. Or two. Or more.
That’s a thought for another day. All I want to do right now is return to the hotel and explore more of those curves.
Shit, it’s late.
Traffic is a real pain, which is standard in New York City, but it still pisses me off. I don’t have time to sit around and wait in my car. I check my watch: 11:20 a.m. Miraculously, I manage to get to the hotel before checkout, but just barely. I rush upstairs. A small glimmer of hope in the back of my mind persists that she’ll be there.
But as soon as I step into the room, I know I’m too late.
She’s gone. Even so, I take a quick look in the bedroom just to make sure. The messy bed is empty. Her clothes are gone, but my white undershirt is still there. I pick it up, surprised to find it still warm. She must have worn it, which means I’ve just missed her. Fuck!
The note I left her is also gone, which means she’s at least seen it. She’s read my message, so she has my phone number. But I never got a call or text.
There are a number of reasons why she hasn’t reached out , I tell myself as I head to the door. On my way out, something catches my eye. In the trash bin, I find my note crumpled at the bottom.
Has she blown me off? Has my absence given her the perfect time to slip away?
It’s also possible she entered my number in her phone and got rid of the note because she didn’t need it anymore. It’s the most logical explanation and yet, I don’t feel like it’s the right one.
She saw my note, didn’t call or text, waited for me, then left without leaving anything for me? There’s a chance she woke up late and had to rush out somewhere.
“Get your shit together,” I say aloud, forcing myself to leave the hotel room. “She’ll probably call later. Why are you so worked up over this?”
Because your phone number is in the fucking trash.
If what happened between me and Lizzie was only a one-night stand, well, that sucks but ultimately wouldn’t be that bad. It wasn’t like I went into the situation expecting to emerge with a girlfriend.
When I hand back my keycard at the reception, I inquire about any messages for me. There aren’t any.
You like your life, and you don’t want change, I think as I find myself stuck in traffic again. Don’t fucking worry about it.
If it’d been anybody else, a quickie with a stranger or a one-night stand with an acquaintance, I wouldn’t waste another thought. But Lizzie and I have history.
She said she’s a dancer, but she never told me where she danced. There are hundreds of studios throughout the city. I don’t even know if she works at a dance school or at the theater, or for a performing company. Maybe for a TV or movie?
You idiot, I tell myself. You could have asked!
How the hell am I supposed to narrow it down? My only lead is the restaurant where we met. I don’t think she’s a regular. I’ve never seen her there before, but it’s not like I frequent the place all the time. Maybe I could pop by at some point and see if we’ll run into each other again.
Realizing I’m treading into stalker territory, I pull myself out of those spiraling thoughts. I’m not that guy, and I have no intention of becoming one now.
If she wants to call? Fine.
If not? I just let it roll and not let it get to me.
W hen I drive into the garage, I’m so damn tired my eyes are drooping. I even close them for a bit on the elevator ride up. I’m sure after I sleep for a few hours I’ll be back to normal. Besides, I have other things to think about.
For one, my new office space has just finished being renovated, and I have to work on moving my entire practice for next week, which is going to be exhausting but damn worth it. Most of the equipment will be sold, since I’ve already purchased newer models, but I have to hire at least two more receptionists and another doctor to help with the caseload. I’ll likely be scheduling a chat with Fran and asking why the hell she went MIA when she knew her client was at risk of premature labor.
Once the elevator doors open, I drag myself down the hall toward my apartment. I have just put the key in the lock when I hear a voice behind me.
“Hey, D, long night? You look like shit.”
My neighbor and new buddy, Gavin, stands in the doorway of his place, a gym bag slung over his shoulder as he heads out. He’s a tall, muscular marketer who works at an ad agency. I met him a few weeks ago when I moved into the building. We’d each bought out the apartments on either side of our units to expand, and our mutual ambitious nature led us to think we could buy the other out. However, once we grabbed a beer and got to talking, we hit it off and decided sharing the floor with the other wouldn’t be so bad.
He’s a rough-and-tumble outdoorsy guy who fixes up motorcycles in his spare time, which works out great since I’m into buying vintage bikes. We’ve recently gone to a couple shows together where I’ve bought the bike and he’s fixed it up. We’ve done it twice now, and between the two of us, we turned a pretty good profit.
“ I look like shit? You’re one to talk. The eighties called, and they want their biker shorts back,” I tell him, opening my door and stepping inside.
Gavin follows me. “Laugh all you want, but I wear these for a reason. They help when I’m working out and catch the ladies’ eyes.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I shake my head with a chuckle. Those shorts are glorified nut-huggers. Fuck that shit. The only thing missing is a white half-shirt and a damn mullet.
“Oh, I will,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “I didn’t know you were on call last night. Don’t you usually have Fridays off?”
“I wasn’t working. Well, I ended up working, but I wasn’t supposed to.” On Fridays, Gavin and I usually hang out, but it isn’t a fixture in our lives. There are a few locations we like to frequent, Amelio’s being one of them.
“Got called in? That fucking sucks. Hope they didn’t interrupt anything.”
“I went to get a quick drink.”
“And a possible lay?” Gavin asks.
“Let’s just say, I wasn’t there very long.”
At that, Gavin’s eyebrows shoot up, and he grins. “Fuck yeah, man. What’s her name? Any good in the sack?”
Collapsing onto my couch, I lean my head against the armrest, and I give him a stern look. “Let’s keep the conversation on a more respectable level, shall we? Real men don’t need a scoreboard. We let our actions do the talking. Maybe take a lesson or two in subtlety, my man. Her name is Lizzie, and she’s actually an old friend. We knew each other in high school.”
“Nice. So, you gonna see her again?”
I shrug. “Not sure.”
He crosses his arms, waggling his eyebrows. “Ah, so just for fun then?”
I don’t respond right away, really not in the mood to explain the whole situation. “We both have shit to do. Speaking of, you got nothing on your plate?”
Getting up, Gavin rolls his eyes and walks to the door. “Get some sleep. We’ll grab a beer later, and you can tell me what went down.”
H e leaves, and I take a minute to just bask in the silence. New York is busy and loud, so when I bought my place, I spent a good chunk of money fixing the insulation and making it as quiet as I could. Even bought out the upstairs floor so I wouldn’t have to hear any neighbors walking around all the time. Gavin was pissed I got to it before him, but hey, it’s New York real estate. You have to be quick to get what you want.
And what I wanted was a huge two-story apartment at the top of an NYC tower with the best views in the building. Can’t get much better than that.
I would have passed out on the couch, but I want to sleep in my own bed. Between great sex and an intense delivery at the hospital, I need rest to feel even slightly human again, and my bed calls to me upstairs. So, I haul myself up there, stripping off my clothes as I go. Normally, I don’t like leaving clothes on the floor, but I’m willing to make an exception so I can get to sleep fast. I know as soon as I hit the pillow, I’ll be out for hours.
I t’s later than I think it’ll be when I finally open my eyes again. It takes me a second to wake up, groggy and sore. Geez Louise. I hadn’t closed the black-out curtains, so the sunset fills my room with rays of oranges and pinks. Swearing, I feel around the nightstand for my remote, hitting the button that will bring down the window shades. It would be so damn easy just to roll over and go back to sleep.
Unfortunately, my grumbling stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten anything. Not to mention, I’m sweaty and feeling gross. I’d only been able to take a two-minute shower at the hospital when I arrived, and that certainly hasn’t sufficed. With a yawn, I get up and stretch before checking my phone.
Still nothing from Lizzie. A few messages from a couple of buddies, Gavin and Cal, but not from her.
“Shower and food, then think about your old crush who just waltzed into your life and waltzed back out,” I mutter, tossing my phone on the bed.
A fter a long hot shower, I wander into the kitchen to try and figure out what to eat. There isn’t much in the refrigerator, since most nights I’m too lazy to cook. Work keeps me busy during meals, and I don’t have the time nor the patience to make something myself.
I decide to break my healthy eating habits for the evening and order pizza. I’ve just grabbed a beer from the fridge when there’s a knock on the door. I don’t even have a chance to see who it is before Gavin lets himself right in.
“You should lock that door, or any idiot could walk right in,” he says, joining me in the kitchen.
“Live demonstration, right here.”
“Fair enough.” He laughs. “I brought that one on myself.”
“Besides, most people actually wait to be let in.”
“Waiting is overrated,” he argues. “Anyway, it’s part of the guy code. I’m allowed to just walk into your house, just like you’re allowed to feed and walk my dog when I’m away.” He chuckles, making himself comfortable at the counter.
Giving him a pointed look, I grab another beer and slide it down the counter to him. “Busy day?” I ask, popping the cap off mine.
Gavin groans. “You have no idea,” he says and casually swings off his cap with a practiced flick. “Had a new client today, and they just kept going on and on about their last marketing specialist. ‘He did this; he did that; he made me do this.’ Well, good for him—but I’m not him. Clearly, he wasn’t that good if you decided to leave his ass and get a different one. Give it a rest, and fucking do what I say. But you know, customer service and all that shit. Just gotta smile and nod.”
“I’m telling you,” I raise my beer, clinking it with his, “you should open your own place.”
“Yeah, but then I’m also financially responsible for it. ’Cause, you know, all that takes is money.”
I shrug. “Small price to pay.”
“Says the billionaire.”
Gavin acts like I’m some pampered trust fund kid. Sure, I have amassed wealth, but it’s from savvy investments and grinding it out. My folks are regular middle-class Americans, no silver spoons here. “You’ve got money in the bank. Don’t act like you’re scrimping and saving to make ends meet.”
“I live comfortably ,” Gavin insists. “If I bought my own office, then I wouldn’t be able to afford this place.”
“Wouldn’t be a bad trade-off.”
“You’re just saying that because you secretly want the whole floor to yourself.”
“Maybe a little.” I grin before taking a swig of my beer.
“Besides, starting a new agency from scratch is fucking ridiculous. There’s so much you have to do. First thing’s first, you have to find the right place. Just like every business, location is everything…”
I start to tune him out. It isn’t that I don’t care about my friend’s problems, it’s that I’ve heard them all before. Gavin is a great guy, but he errs on the side of caution. I’ve lost track of the number of times we’ve had this exact conversation.
Gavin seems to notice my lack of attention, because he waves his hand in front of my face. “Hello? Earth to D. You there, bud?”
“Whatever you want to do, man,” I say. “It’s your life.”
“No, no, don’t try to act like you were paying attention.” Gavin calls me out. “I saw the glazed-over look in your eyes. Are my problems too boring for you?”
“No, I’ve just heard them all before.” I shrug and take a long pull of my beer. “Gavin, if you want your own office with your own clients, just go for it. I would.”
Gavin studies me with narrowed eyes. “You’re thinking about her , aren’t you?”
His question comes so far out of left field that it takes me a second to register what he means. “Who?”
“Don’t ‘who’ me. The chick you fucked last night. You gave up that argument way too fast. I know you, bro. You never waste an opportunity to tell me exactly what I should be doing with my life.”
“Big deal if I’m right. When life offers you a chance, you take it. Don’t label me the asshole.”
“You’re not,” Gavin assures me, his tone lightening. “I mean, not all the time.” He shoots me a smartass grin and when I keep quiet, he adds, “I wish I had half as much determination and ambition as you do. You said earlier that you weren’t sure if you were going to see this girl again, and I don’t think that’s sitting as well with you as it usually does.”
With a sigh, I put down my beer and lean against the counter. “I haven’t decided what I feel about the whole situation,” I say. “And that pisses me off.”
“Damn, how good was the sex that you’re still thinking about it? I’ve known you to have one-night stands before, and they never distracted you like this.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know those women as well as I know Lizzie. Or at least, knew her. It’s been a long time.”
“When did you guys meet?”
“Back in high school.”
Understanding seems to wash over Gavin, and he gives a long, “Ohhhhhh.”
“What? Ohhh fucking what?”
“High school crushes. Those are brutal, D. I still remember my biggest high school crush.” He sighs dramatically, as if reliving a battle scar from teenage love. “Rebecca Sparks. Man, I wonder what she’s doing now. Glorious tits. Glorious everything.”
“I’m sure that’s part of it,” I tell him. “We did have some unresolved tension between us, the good kind—that’s definitely resolved now.”
Gavin waggles his eyebrows. “So, you finally learned what you missed out on and want more?”
“Something like that. But…” For the first time, I force myself to say aloud what I’ve been thinking. “It’s more than that.”
“Aww, you caught feelings?” He presses his hand over his heart and flutters his eyes, mocking me. The dick .
“Nah, man, come on.”
“So why aren’t you going to see her again?”
“Don’t have her number.” I shrug.
“What the hell ?” Gavin throws his hands up, beer forgotten. “That’s literally the first thing you do when you hook up with a girl you wanna see again. What’s wrong with you?”
“I had a work emergency. I had to run out.”
His eyes widen. “You didn’t leave her a fucking note?”
“I left her a fucking note.”
“Well,” he says, “probably came off wrong.”
“I told her I was coming back. I must have just missed her. The delivery took a lot longer than I thought it would.”
“And I’m guessing she hasn’t called or texted, right?”
I don’t answer him.
Gavin studies me for a minute as I keep drinking my beer. “Ah, that’s why all this is bugging the shit out of you. You’ve been sitting here, waiting—and nothing. Guess what? When she doesn’t text or call, it means one thing and one thing only.”
“Yeah?” I quirk a brow, wondering what kind of “sage advice” he’ll decide to grace me with. “What’s that?”
“You weren’t hitting it right.”
“What the fuck, man?” I’m about to kick him out. I haven’t gotten enough sleep for this. Friend or not.
“Just saying. Maybe I could give you some pointers,” he teases, an amused grin on his face.
I shake my head. “I don’t need your fucking pointers. I’m good.”
“Man, I’m just trying to help a brother out,” he says. “Wake up. The chick’s just not into you.”
I lean back, annoyed. “I guess,” I grumble, uninterested in dragging this out any further. After Lizzie’s radio silence, I can’t be sure about anything anymore.
“That sucks, buddy.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Nothing you can really do about it. If it’s really torturing you so much, it’s best to just move on. Her loss.”
Over the years, I’ve had a few long-term girlfriends, but none of them worked out. They wanted more from me than I was able or willing to give. From the start, I’d been honest about my lack of paternal instincts or desire to have kids. I had a couple of girlfriends who thought I’d change my mind, but I never did, and once I understood they still hoped for more, I felt it better to move on, for my sake and theirs. I never thought about settling down and don’t see it in my future.
“I’m hungry,” Gavin announces, slapping the countertop before picking up his beer again. “What’s for dinner?”
Pushing the heavy thoughts aside, I check the time. “I ordered a pizza. It should be here soon.”
“Perfect. Hope you got pepperoni. You know it’s my favorite.”