Chapter 4
“Night,” I call out to Indie as I pass her door at the top of the staircase and turn left to hurry off to my room.
“Wait!” Indie replies, leaping off her bed and bounding toward the door in all her cuteness. Her curly red hair’s in a standard topknot and she’s sporting some fiercely wild zebra-print specs. “I didn’t have a chance to say thanks.”
I frown. “Whatever for?”
She bites down on the sweet in her mouth and then answers, “For getting Tanner. I could have done it. You didn’t have to.”
“It was nothing.” Even though Tanner Harris still has my blood boiling. “It was actually somewhat amusing…at times.”
She smiles. “Well, I really appreciate it. You’re kind of an epic roommate, you know. Had I known, I would have stopped resisting ages ago.”
I laugh at that comment. The only reason Indie finally broke down and moved in with me is because her gig with Bethnal Green doesn’t pay very much and she refuses to accept any money from her disgustingly wealthy boyfriend.
Camden’s contract with Arsenal was monstrous.
The papers reported it at one hundred fifty thousand pounds per week.
But I’m not about to complain about her morals.
Indie is a genius and doesn’t need to be kept by any man.
I pay for my flat with my trust fund so it’s really no bother.
Plus, I love having her here. We’ve been friends since the first day we met in med school, and she’s as close to what I think a normal family should feel like.
In fact, I wish we were family. She’d make a hell of a lot better sibling than my brother who’s a barrister just like my father.
If she needs somewhere to stay, she belongs with me.
Indie smiles once more and turns to go back into her room, but I shock her with a hardy smack on her arse. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you succumbed to your desperate love for me.”
“Oh yes, I am your kept woman and proud of it,” she says, wiggling her butt at me as I chortle and turn to walk away.
It takes all of my willpower not to look down over the railing to the lower level where Tanner’s lying shirtless on my sofa. His stupid, nappy beard and half naked presence in my home is like a sweet calling me in the night when I’m on one of my ghastly diets.
Maybe just a quick peek.
Bugger, he was looking right at me.
My face heats with annoyance and I storm into my master suite, slamming the door behind me and flopping down onto my bed in utter frustration. I’m typically not one to run away from a fight, but Tanner is one person I do my best to stay far away from.
I stare up at the ceiling fan. It rotates slowly above me and, instead of cooling me down like it’s meant to, it only stokes the thoughts of Tanner running wildly through my mind.
What he did for Sedgwick tonight was extremely generous.
Did he mean what he said about popping over to pay Sedg a visit?
I can’t envision Tanner Harris having tea with a homeless man.
I just can’t. I’ve never seen him do anything charitable before.
If he had, I would have read about it somewhere, surely.
Did he do it to save face in front of me?
No, that can’t be it. He hates me, and the feeling is mutual.
Perhaps he was just extremely grateful. Perhaps I should remember that when I ask for payback.
I hop out of bed and pop into my attached loo to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. I am in serious need of sleep. Arguing with Tanner is more exhausting than a twelve-hour surgery at the hospital. Thank God I’m not on call tomorrow.
My face heats when I look at myself in the mirror and recall how Tanner looked in those joggers downstairs.
Christ, they were riding so low, his V-line was on perfect display for me, pointing to the area I remember with absolute clarity.
He probably did that on purpose, the cheeky bastard.
But the damage is done. Tanner Harris’ cock is burned into the penis vault of my mind, whether I like it or not.
Why couldn’t it have been crooked? Or bald?
Or overflowing with so much pubic hair you couldn’t see where his hair ended and his dick started?
That seems like the kind of penis he should have been swinging.
It enrages me that it had to look better than all the others I’ve had before.
And I’ve had plenty.
I’m not a whore, per se. I’m experienced.
I’m twenty-seven years old, I’m unattached, I have a stressful job, and I like to have fun.
Indie and I have our tradition called Tequila Sunrise that we started when we both first became doctors.
It basically involves us going out and partying our arses off, and that level of commitment usually coincides with a good amount of blokes.
Tequila Sunrise began when we got a harsh dose of reality at the hospital one night.
We thought life couldn’t look any grimmer.
It essentially became our version of carpe diem, which is survival to get through the bad days of being a doctor.
We make it a priority to take advantage of all sorts of experiences life has to offer.
As a result, this is the lifestyle I’ve chosen for myself: Single, ready to mingle, and happy to have a dingle on a regular and satisfactory basis.
I don’t date seriously because I don’t have the bloody time.
My fellowship with Dr. Miller at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital is gruelling.
Dr. Miller is so talented and smart that I’m constantly on my toes, trying to keep my head above water.
She’s devoted her life to saving babies before they’re born, and I want to soak up everything I can while I have her.
It’s important to me to feel I’ve made an impact on this world and I can’t think of a better way to do so.
As I slip into a pale blue, satin cami with matching shorts, I argue with myself that I’m not wearing these because of the fact that Tanner is here.
Rather, I’m wearing them in spite of the fact that Tanner is here.
I’m not going to change what I want to wear just because we have an unruly boy in the flat. No indeed.
By the time I snuggle into my bed and allow myself to drift off to sleep, I’ve forgotten all about the obnoxious man downstairs and am very much feeling completely secure with my place in this world.
But I don’t sleep for long because, nearly every single night, I wake up out of nowhere and see three a.m. on my digital clock.
My body has developed an annoying internal clock that thinks three a.m. is a great time for a snack.
My great Aunt Doris was afflicted with the same syndrome.
She used to say, “Oh, honey, I have the same trouble. It’s those biscuits.
They call to me in the night! Bloody well scream until I get up and eat them. ”
Except my biscuits come in the form of dark chocolate.
I’ve been snacking in the middle of the night since I was twelve years old.
My mother even had me see a sleep specialist to try to break me of the habit.
I used to say I never remembered eating the snacks, so the doctor told her that I was sleep eating and not much could be done for it.
But that was a bald-faced lie. I knew exactly what I was doing when I sunk my teeth into the gorgeously bitter chocolate that exploded in my mouth with a riot of sweet, zingy comfort.
My late night indulgence is a large reason why I have trouble with my weight.
But my indulgence is louder than my vanity so chocolate always wins.
My nighttime snack is not an accident; it’s a commitment.
“I deserve it.” I say my three little magic words and toss off my duvet.
I pad out the door of my bedroom and glance over the railing to see a sleeping Tanner still down on my sofa.
The bluish security light from outside illuminates his bare chest enough for me to assess he’s breathing heavily.
He’s just coming off of a match and with all his extracurricular activities last night, he has to be out cold.
I tiptoe down the stairs, doing my best to avoid all the creaky spots when I walk by Tanner’s chiselled abs that are mercilessly taunting me.
I make it past my dining room table and through the door into the kitchen without a peep.
I open the cubby that hides my secret stash of Cadburys and begin nibbling on a dark chocolate bar.
It tastes divine. It’s smooth and creamy with fruity notes that makes my inner fat girl purr with satisfaction.
I’ve never understood the women who prefer salty snacks like crisps.
Get me a lump of chocolate any day and you have me begging like a sex addict in a strip club.
The only thing that could top off this treat is a dash of milk. I open the fridge and am rummaging around for the carton when a voice from behind me says, “Well, hello, hello. Mind if I have a bite?”
I jump straight up and knock my head into something hard and hear a groan of pain. I turn to find Tanner stumbling backwards, holding onto the refrigerator door for balance with one hand and clutching his chin with the other.
“Bollocks, my head,” I moan and rub the spot beneath my topknot that whacked into him. “You scared me half to death, you arse!”
I prop myself against the counter next to the fridge, my hand over my chest as I try to slow my heart rate. It’s racing partly because I didn’t hear him, but mostly because my guilty conscience is waking up more fully and scolding me for sneaking chocolate at three in the morning.
“I just wanted a bit of whatever you’re nibbling on,” he says innocently while draping his forearm on the open door. The light from inside is blasting straight on him, casting extreme shadows over every single ridge of muscle.
I tear my eyes away from his body and reply through clenched teeth, “Did you have to drape yourself over the top of me to ask? God, you were practically mounting me!”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Well, I was enjoying the view for a while, but then I started to feel a bit pervy staring at your arse hanging out of those tiny shorts. I figured I’d better make my presence known before I took a bite of the wrong treat.” He winks.
My jaw drops as my hand moves to my backside. Standing upright, the hem barely reaches the bottom of my arse. Bloody hell, he had quite the view indeed.
Before I have a chance to think about what he’s just said, his deep voice adds, “Though I will say the front view isn’t half bad either.”
I suck in a gasp of air as he closes the fridge and moves into my personal space to rest a hand on either side of the counter behind me.
In the sudden darkness, my other senses kick into overdrive.
He smells a bit like my car and a bit like the musky scent a man gets after a busy day.
It’s a touch of deodorant, faint remnants of soap, and then just…
man. I can feel the hardness of my nipples drag along the satiny material of my cami as I take in big gulps of air.
The sensation of the fabric makes everything inside of me hum.
I’m on Tanner sensory overload, and I feel like a completely different person right now.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice raspier than I anticipated in response to Tanner’s warm breath hitting the top of my head as he looms over me.
He’s tall. I’m five nine and have an undying love for heels, so I’m used to dating men my height.
But with both of us barefoot, my gaze barely meets his furry chin.
He presses himself flush against me and I nearly moan as I feel the outline of his semi hard cock on my hip.
At least I think it’s a little hard. If that’s Tanner Harris soft, I don’t know what to think of how he’d feel if he was completely erect.
I should be pushing him away. I should be disgusted by his body touching mine, especially when Lord only knows what else it’s touched in the last twenty-four hours.
But in the night like this, I’m a slave to my hormones.
And the truth is, there’s a little dark place in my body that still aches to know what it would be like to fuck Tanner Harris. Just once.
I hate that part of me. I loathe and despise it. She’s an adulterous cunt.
Suddenly, his warm breath in my ear sends a shiver down my neck as he fumbles for something behind me. He pulls back with a foiled chocolate in his hand.
“This will be the perfect starter.” His eyebrows tweak lasciviously as he turns to walk away, calling over his shoulder, “You might need to find a new hiding place, Ryan.”