Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Jump
Igrabbed the front of Angel’s shirt and shook him with glee, answering, “I’d love to stay with you.”
He laughed and pulled me into a kiss so we could rock together, wrapped up in excitement for the days to come.
I’d never been big on sleepovers as a kid. Back then, I shared a room with Kat, the coolest person I knew at the time, and enjoyed sleeping in my own comfy bed. It was hard to want to spend a night away from that.
As an adult, the idea of spending a whole week with Angel lit my imagination on fire.
I patted his chest. “We can do face masks or play board games. What kind of movies do you like? What about snacks?”
“First, let’s have breakfast.” He grinned, guiding me toward the pancakes.
“Are we doing this? I think we’re doing this,” I said. “I just have to figure out the semantics. I have a shift tomorrow, and Kat was going to drive me, so maybe—”
“I can take you.” He fork-fed me a huge slice of the heart pancakes, the strawberries and cream serving as a delicious, gooey middle.
I licked the sweet tang and touched my lips. Perfect. That was one shift handled. But what about the days Mom and Dad were supposed to drop me off? I wasn’t sure when I was going to see, let alone talk to them again.
Angel furrowed his brow. “Everything okay?”
I straightened my spine and looked away. “Oh, yes. Everything’s delicious. I just got distracted thinking about this morning.”
“This morning?”
“The non-cuddly part of it.” I forced out a broken laugh. It seemed so far away, now. So unimportant. “I’m not sure if I should call my parents.”
“About what? You’re a grown woman. They already think you’ll be here, right?” He gestured to Kat’s apartment.
“I know. But they’re also a big part of my…transportation network.” They still had a huge place in my heart, too, no matter how much it grew for my boyfriend. “I’m sure they’d be concerned if I suddenly asked to be picked up from another address.”
He lifted his shoulder. “You could make other arrangements. Ride shares, friends, or meet in a public place if my mom’s house is too awkward. We could even call in sick and spend all day in bed.”
I stiffened. “During Valentine’s? But they need us.”
He snorted and scooped another forkful of jam-coated heart. “Cake Warehouse would manage. But if you’ve pledged your honor to The Closette, so be it. I could always use the extra tips.” He focused on the pancakes, his enthusiasm notably dimmed.
Was he upset I wouldn’t ditch to go on dates with him? Or was he sick of dealing with my family drama? Or, worst of all, was he disappointed about our potential lack of sex?
“I-I’m sure we’ll figure it out. We can share our calendars for shifts,” I said, my face hot.
“I also have classes.” He cleared his throat and pushed the pancakes around the plate.
“Right.” Of course he'd have school and rotations.
“I have one tonight,” he admitted. “But I can probably watch the recorded seminar with slides the day after.”
I patted his shoulder. “No, go to the class. You might have questions, and it’d be better to ask them in person rather than hope the professor will check their email within the next few days.” Or weeks, knowing them.
“They have office hours, pidge. The only thing I have to go to this week is labs. You’re welcome to come with. You could read in the lobby, catch up with our classmates, or talk to my guidance counselor.” He tried to ‘airplane’ me a bite of breakfast.
But some of this was too hard to swallow.
I eased his hand down. “I’m not ready to go back.”
His intense gaze flitted across my face. “Okay. Do you want to wait at home for me?”
That big house would feel so empty without him.
Especially knowing what he was doing. And I’d work myself into a frenzy about sex by the time he came back.
After all, half the people in med school would give it to him, and they had a real future ahead of them.
They weren’t rummaging through five-dollar thong bins wondering which end went where.
Not that he’d pressure me about it. But my nerves were already fried from the morning fight with my fam.
I drew his free hand to my chest and clasped his fingers with mine. “Why don’t I sleep at Kat’s tonight?”
“What? Why?” He frowned and started to pull away, but I tightened my grip.
“We can spend the rest of the week together,” I said, smothering my voice with more reassurance than lube on a scope. “And a full day before your class. I just need one night to arrange stuff with my sis, and maybe clean up the kitchen. Is that okay?”
He knitted his brows, but nodded.
“Tomorrow, then,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.
I traced the lines of his palm, trying to remember what Kat had told me about reading them. The life line. The heart line. The head line. It was all so unscientific. But they felt nice.
These hands would save lives.
In some ways, it already felt like he’d saved mine: a lifeline amid the chaos.
I wanted to be close to him. Closer, soon. But I wanted to get deeper into his brain before we got too far in each other’s pants.
We cuddled into one chair for breakfast and fed each other bites of pancake. I leaned into his chest and eyed the hearts of various anatomical correctness on the plate. “Hey, Angel? What made you want to become a doctor?”
“Money,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. Typical ego.
“What? It’s true,” he said, lifting his leg to send me off-balance.
I gripped his knee and giggled. “No, it isn’t. Pharmacists are where the big bucks are at.”
“Hmm, thanks for the information. Maybe I should change my major,” he said sarcastically.
“Seriously. How did you know that was what you wanted to do?” I steered my fork toward his mouth in a roundabout manner. “It takes a lot of planning and effort to get into, let alone graduate, those programs.” I would know.
He sighed, staring flatly at the chunk of fruit-flesh. “I wanted to be able to take care of myself.”
Because no one else had?
I held my breath, fighting the urge to fawn over him.
‘Don’t pity me, pidge,’ he’d said at the bar. And I didn’t pity him. I cared for him. I hoped he had a wonderful life. I wanted to be part of it.
“You know, doctors aren’t known for being good patients. But I think you’re setting yourself up for success beyond your finances,” I said, caressing his chin.
Angel smirked. “I think so. At least the on-call room would have somewhere we can sleep.” He eased the pancakes off with his tongue first and held me closer as he sucked the rest off the fork.
Uncertainty wriggled inside me. Naps were great. He was great. But what about home? What about family? Were cute mornings and sex going to sustain this relationship when neither of us had any sleep?
“You didn’t…wish your life had more meaning?” I asked.
His eyes flashed with something akin to curiosity. “You don’t think our lives have meaning?”
“I didn’t say that.” I didn’t mean that, at least. Especially not for him. “I guess I always thought healing would be the greatest gift. To help somebody.”
“There are lots of professions that do that, hypothetically,” he said, licking the whipped cream from between the tines.
I nodded. “I actually started out in a nursing program.”
“Nice,” he said. “Why’d you pivot to med school?”
I shrugged. “Doctors didn’t have to deal with bedpans as often.”
He chuckled and squeezed my hip. “What’s the real reason, pigeon?”
I tucked myself under his arm, my gaze downcast. “I don’t know.
I thought I could make a bigger difference, order tests for people who felt like no one cared about them.
But there’s so much I can’t fix in my own life right now.
I shouldn’t be trusted with anyone else’s.
I’ll have to leave that honor to the tough cookies like yourself who can handle a night shift,” I said, nuzzling morosely into his neck. “Take care of them for me.”
Angel squeezed me and sighed. “Such a bleeding heart, pidge.”
“I guess so. Even my pancakes bleed.” I pointed out how a strawberry had stained the center of our pancakes red.
He kissed my shoulder and waited until I met his darkened gaze to speak. “I love that you care so much, Tori. When things get tough, I tend to shut down, go numb, and eventually, do something risky to feel anything besides the low-key angst gnawing at me.”
“What do you mean ‘risky?’” I hedged, my mind racing with made-for-TV movie references to drug dens and seedy strip clubs.
He squinted at the ceiling. “I’d…dance with a stranger, on occasion.”
I winced at the idea of him close to anyone besides me. “I bet they stepped on your toes. That’d make you feel something,” I mumbled, trying to digest what he was telling me.
“I much prefer dancing with you, pidge,” he said, twirling the ends of my hair. “You make me feel more than anything else has, like I could be a good man.”
“I don’t think I’m the deciding the factor in that,” I said, cleaning some jam from his lip. “Besides, you’re already a good man. You’re my angel.”
He reeled me closer. “And you’re my sweet, sensitive pigeon.”
“Sensitive?” I jerked back.
He laughed, the force of it like a pleasant shock to the chest. “It’s a good thing,” he swore.
“Maybe in bed,” I grumbled.
“That is one benefit.” He grinned. “And, tomorrow, we’ll be sharing a bed.”
“Yep. I’d better shave my legs and repack my bag.”
He shrugged. “You can borrow my stuff. Or we could hang out naked all day.”
I gestured widely to the living room. “You have a white couch.”
“I have blankets and a hot girlfriend,” he said.
Oh my gosh, he thought I was hot.
Blushing, I offered him a dollop from the whipped cream massacre on the crook of my finger. “Hopefully, we won’t make as much of a mess at your mom’s.”
“No promises.” He sucked my finger clean, the pressure and caress of his tongue so intense he could’ve checked my heartrate.
This man and all these new feelings were going to send me into cardiac arrest or make me the strongest I’d ever been.
But based on how committed we were to caring for each other—and ourselves—I thought we had a great prognosis.