Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Leena
Turning up the resistance, I pedal harder. As my heart rate climbs, I can feel the stress melt away. I may be working my body into an exhaustion that rivals my overworked mind, but I’m already feeling better.
After my spiral this morning, I doubled down on work and spent most of the day locked in my office.
My single-minded focus was doubly rewarding.
I accomplished more work in a day than I usually do, and I successfully avoided dwelling on Julian’s distant attitude.
However, when I got home, I knew another distraction was needed. So I hopped on my Peloton.
My home gym is the flex space over the garage, so I can hear when Charlie gets home.
Not ready to share my recent spiraling, I force myself to act as if nothing is amiss. But let’s face it, she’ll see right through me.
One of the things I love about Charlie is she doesn’t force me to talk about all my feelings.
She may wheedle me, but if I don’t give up whatever’s on my mind easily, she’ll back off.
She respects my need for privacy, knowing I’ll share when I’m ready, because she can be pretty private too and appreciates when I let her work through her emotions in her own time.
Toweling away the sweat on my face, I gulp water down before the next interval.
“Mama!” Charlie sing-songs up the stairs before she pops her head in the room.
Huffing out a “hey,” I keep my eyes focused on the instructor on the monitor.
“Ahh, what ride are you taking?”
With a sharp exhale of breath, I answer, “Forty-five minute Sweat Steady.”
“Nice. So . . .” She lingers, tapping a finger on the doorframe. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.” Using my wrist, I wipe at the perspiration along my upper lip.
With a speculative nod, she turns to head back downstairs.
To the sound of her fading footsteps, I give another twist of the resistance knob.
For the rest of the week, I text Connor at exactly 5:30 a.m. on the dot. I have no desire for either of the ortho surgeons to hunt me down.
I keep my eye on the schedule as normal, but I do pay a little extra attention to the status of the ortho room.
When they start closing, I take an extra long bathroom break or busy myself in a conversation with anyone I can happen upon.
These maneuvers have prevented any accidental run-ins with Julian when I’m on my own.
Refusing to read any of the messages he has sent since Wednesday evening has proven extremely difficult.
Late at night when I’m alone in bed with the constant throb of pressure between my thighs, I try—unsuccessfully—to resist the temptation of finding a semblance of relief with thoughts of his talented hands.
Even with less-than-satisfying orgasms, I nevertheless fantasize about him each night.
Wondering if his tongue is as skilled as his hands or how big that bulge he had pressed against me really is.
These fantasies are usually spurred on by the ever-increasing number in the little red icon indicating the still unread daily texts.
It’s sort of had a Pavlovian effect on me.
When I see the notification that he’s texted, there is a clenching low in my abdomen.
Like right now, the short vibration has me looking over at the night stand, my phone screen lit up with the notification of another text message from Julian.
Groaning and closing my eyes, I attempt to breathe away the ache between my legs. My hand unconsciously drifts down my stomach. Feeling the heat radiating from my core, my eyes snap open when I realize my fingers are lazily drifting over my clit.
Huffing, I decide to go with it, instead of reading his text. Avoiding him yet again. Sorta.
I slip my hand inside my sleep shorts and wet panties. With slow and light movements, I apply pressure to my clit. But the warm up is not needed, so I dip my middle finger inside, shallowly thrusting.
Imagining Julian breathing heavily in my ear and feeling the phantom heat of his breath along my neck ramps up my tempo. Plunging two fingers inside my pussy, I curl them against my inner wall. Combined with the pressure from my palm, I know my release is getting closer.
Biting my lip to contain my own panting breath, I roll over and press my face to my pillow. Moving my hips in rhythm with my hands, my release courses through my body. I clamp my thighs together, hoping it will intensify my orgasm and bring me more than a fleeting release.
However, once my heart rate settles, my core continues to ache and clench. I growl and kick my feet in frustration, but I refuse to let the tears come. Or check the unread message.
“I’ve left you to your sulking, but I’m going to be so real with you right now.”
My cranky mood and irritable preoccupation had Charlie steering clear of me for most of the weekend.
Even with her relaying what Julian said about his name, I haven’t been able to shake my petulant attitude.
As she drives us home from my family’s weekly Sunday dinner, I curse myself for not scheduling Charlie on-call this weekend.
Apparently, she’s ready to give it to me straight now that I’m unable to evade her.
Staring down into my lap, I wipe my damp palms over my thighs, not ready for this conversation.
“You, my friend, are this amazing woman with so much love to give. It's a gift you should bestow only on someone truly deserving. You just have to be willing to accept the love you deserve, too. Now, you aren’t going to like what I have to say.” Pausing, she reaches across the console and grabs one of my hands.
Lowering her voice, she continues. “You have closed yourself off to that possibility. Granted, your douche of an ex did a real number on you.”
Pulling back, I am about to protest, but she silences me with a squeeze of her hand.
“Let me finish. I know he hurt you and made you feel like you couldn’t ask for what you wanted or needed.
He put his issues on you and it made you feel like you weren’t enough.
And deep down, that had you questioning what you deserve.
He was a selfish, insecure, lazy prick.”
Flinching at the reminder, I look at the window. “He was definitely all those things, especially at the end. But that was so long ago,” I say dismissively.
“Yeah, and I know you’ve dated some since. But you shut down when there is even a hint it could be serious. I get it, you’re trying to protect yourself from that hurt again. And those guys obviously weren’t right for you because they let you go.”
“So, you think I should give Julian a chance?”
“He is pursuing you.”
“Yeah . . . but what if it’s all lovebombing?” I mumble.
“Is that really what you think?” she asks me, her solemn look making me pout.
With a chuckle, she turns her eyes back to the road.
“Could he be lovebombing you? Maybe, but I think he’s legit.
And Walsh has spoken highly of him. Yeah, he wants good surgeons on his team, but he also seems to surround himself with good people. ”
Reluctantly, I nod in agreement. I’ve always trusted Charlie’s judgement and respected Walsh’s integrity.
“Either read the messages and give him a real chance, or delete them—all of them—and tell him straight up to leave you alone. Because, babe, the back and forth is going to eat you alive. You can’t want him to chase you, but then run away when he does.
That will make an uncomfortable working environment.
And, ultimately, that’s what you don’t want. ”
I don’t have a reply, so I stay silent. It hurts to hear, but I know it’s the truth. I need to woman up and deal with this situation, one way or the other.