Chapter 13
HOLLY
Two weeks. It’s been two weeks. Normally the weeks fly by thanks to shift work and study and the never-ending treadmill of exhaustion, but these two weeks have moved slow as molasses. And nowhere near as sweet.
Danny loves me.
Danny loves me.
Danny loves me.
I’m supposed to be studying. There are papers and open textbooks strewn across the table. But all I can think is Danny loves me. I panicked when he blurted it out because it instantly felt like a jigsaw piece clicking into place, but how could that be?
Yes, there were feelings, but… love?
It seemed too soon and too quick and too… half baked. Too like Danny and not enough like me with my bullet journal and ten-year plans, erupting from the middle of his stream of consciousness trip into fantasy land about living like the Kardashians.
I suppose a lot of women would be thrilled if the guy they were…
seeing suddenly came into lots of money, but my parents worked too hard put me through college and I’ve worked too hard to get where I am just to throw it all away to become a lady of leisure.
Forget the reason why I became a doctor in the first place.
Although, I admit as I stare at the books in front of me, bleary-eyed, some days that has a certain amount of appeal.
I know he was excited and letting himself wax lyrical, but I’ve been grappling all along with the dichotomy of us.
Future ER-attending Holly rejecting the idea of letting myself feel anything for a drummer in a rock band who doesn’t think past his next gig versus elevator/alley Holly feeling all the feels.
So his smorgasbord of decadence seemed the classic representation of our differences.
He seemed so like my ex, Warren-like in that moment, expecting me to fit in with his plans, and everything just slowly froze inside me as my brain blared back away!
Back the hell away.
Even if it has been, ever since, thinking – very unhelpfully – overtime about him and how his declaration of love has seeped into all my nooks and crannies and the ways I could help Danny spend his money. The good he could do with it.
We could do with it.
But he needs to figure that out himself. He needs a plan for it – that part was at least the truth. Money like that is a big responsibility. If a person wanted to do something meaningful with their life, anyway.
A sudden knock on my door yanks me out of the cyclical trap of my thoughts. My pulse spikes. Danny? Could it be him? He’s stayed away, as have I because that’s only fair after insisting he sort his shit out. But that doesn’t mean it’s been easy.
It doesn’t mean my body hasn’t craved his in the middle of the night. Or my finger hasn’t hovered over his number in my phone just so I could hear his voice again or tell him about the latest entry to the ER ass box.
Shaky legs take me to the door, but it’s not Danny, and for a moment I just stare at the UPS guy, who greets me with a friendly smile and holds out a rectangular parcel. It’s from . I take it automatically, even though I know I haven’t ordered anything from them.
Like I get time for online shopping.
But it has my name and address on the front. Maybe my mom ordered something for me and forgot to say anything?
I sign for it, and he leaves, and there’s just me and the parcel. I should put it aside for later, but it’s not like I’m being particularly productive right now. Thinking about Danny and how much I miss him instead of ventilation protocols for inhalation burns is not getting me anywhere.
I sit and tear open the parcel to reveal a box with a picture of a bright pink dildo on all four sides. And the lid. I blink, momentarily stunned. My mom sure as hell hasn’t sent me this. Which only leaves one person. I look through the discarded packaging and find the note.
Because I know you haven’t gotten around to it yet…
Love Danny xxx
I blink again at his choice of words. Love Danny. My heart gives a funny little double beat as those two words stare back at me. A standard, familiar way to sign off a card, sure, but also a reflection of his true feelings.
Even if I hadn’t wanted to hear them.
The thought gets me so churned up, I actually transfer my attention back to the box. Gingerly, I open the lid, like I’m afraid it might leap out and insert itself in my vagina of its own accord. It doesn’t, so I upend the box, and the packaged dildo falls into my lap.
Tentatively, I pick it up. The crinkle of the clear plastic is loud in the silent room. It’s long and thick and hard, cylindrical rather than being any kind of life-like representation of the male anatomy, and I’m back in the elevator with Danny and the screwdriver.
My body responds in kind. My nipples ache as if they’re being pinched, and my pelvic floor contracts in some kind of wild Pavlovian muscle memory. A warm slipperiness slicks my folds as I rip it out of its plastic, needing to ease the roar inside me so damn bad, I don’t care how I achieve it.
And it’s a lot safer than calling Danny.
A strong waft of plastic wrinkles my nose. The latex aroma is almost overwhelming, and I thank God I’m not allergic. I’d probably already be rolling on the floor with my airway closing off just from the smell alone.
Danny doesn’t smell like that.
I think about the real thing, and my urgency dies. It’s not the same. It doesn’t look the same or feel the same. It sure as hell doesn’t smell the same. It’s not the real thing, and that’s suddenly what I need. Not just anything.
I need Danny.
And not only for what he’s packing inside his underwear and his willingness to put it at my service, but because he’s the first man ever who’s made me think about anything other than my job. Because he’s made me believe I can actually have a life outside medicine.
Because he’s likes having sex with me but he wants more than that, too.
He’s offering me a life, and for the first time, looking at this godawful dildo, I actually want one.
Because he’s been dogged and determined in his pursuit of me, despite my lack of encouragement.
Because his smile turns me on and makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world.
Because he’s patient and playful and makes me laugh.
A dildo can’t do that.
I look at it in my hand, garishly pink, and toss it on the table as if it’s suddenly caught fire. I hunt around for my phone, dragging it out from under some papers, my fingers shaking as I message him.
Come and do me now!!!
My finger pauses over the send button, and I delete it after a couple of seconds.
I can’t do that. Not after I rejected him and essentially told him to grow up.
I know in my gut that I’m the one who has to go to him.
He’s the one who’s made all the moves. Who’s put himself out there for me. It’s my turn to do the same for him.
But if I go to him, it can’t just be for sex – that’s not fair either. I can’t use him for that. Not when I know he wants more. I have to want more, too.
And I do. I do want more.
I think for a little. My pulse is bounding through my body so hard I can feel it in my fingers as they hover over the keyboard. Finally, I settle on something simple.
Are you home?
I stare at the phone for long moments, willing for those three little dots to appear that tell me he’s texting back. Suddenly they do, and my pulse edges up a little higher.
In 39. Fixing sink. Why? You get a delivery you need a hand with?
I laugh, not expecting him to crack open the door for me so readily.
We’ve texted a few times this past two weeks but mostly just are you okay and how was your day/night/shift/gig.
He has to know this is not that. And yet he’s chosen to be funny/sexy/bantery Danny and I could kiss him for being so magnanimous.
And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. He’s not Warren, who would still be sulking over my refusal to fall in with his plan. He’s Danny.
I don’t stop to think. I don’t even stop to change my clothes or run a brush through my hair or put on lipstick. I have to see him – now. I have to talk to him now. And it’s not like the man was put off by me looking like the Yeti on the day of the blizzard.
I run down four flights of steps. The door to thirty-nine is open and I stride in, not knocking or waiting for an invitation to enter. Ahead of me is Danny in his regulation jeans and T-shirt, his shoulders broad, his ass to die for as he bends over the sink.
My heart leaps. And not because of his ass, but because of the sense of rightness settling in my bones. ‘Danny?’
He turns abruptly, his eyebrows raised, his frown turning into one of those slow-burn smiles that I feel deep in my soul, as well as other places, as I shut the door behind me and stalk towards him, my heart swelling, every cell trembling. Gah! This man – I’ve been such an idiot.
‘You need it that bad, huh?’
I give a husky half laugh as my greedy gaze eats him up. Glancing at the huge wrench in his hand, I say, ‘We’re not talking about that, I hope.’ Because it’s so good to see him and flirt with him.
He chuckles, and those dimples… I want to lick those dimples. ‘I don’t think you can handle the wrench. Although…’ He tips his chin at the tool bag. ‘I do have my lucky screwdriver with me.’
‘Lucky screwdriver?’
‘Forever to be known as,’ he murmurs with a grin.
The wrench makes a metallic scraping sound as Danny places it in the sink.
His biceps shift nicely at the action, the tatts on his arms play peek-a-boo with the sleeves.
His fingers wrap around the edge of the sink behind him as he rests his ass against it, too, his legs casually extended and crossed at the ankles.
I try not to look at soft denim cupping the very nice bulge nestled between his legs, and fail. But I manage to contain it to a brief glance. He smiles as he clocks my interest.
‘Does Mrs Duffy know she has a billionaire fixing her sink?’
Another smile. ‘I’m keeping that on the quiet for a bit longer.’