Chapter 20 - Scarlett #2
I go to the living room window to peer through the curtains.
In the dark of night, lit only by the porch light, Dylan Brodie is standing there in the middle of the path in my front yard, in the rain, talking to me on his phone.
How am I supposed to say no to rain-soaked Dylan Brodie in gray sweatpants?
“I didn’t want to ring the doorbell and scare you. Is Noah at home?” he says into the phone just as I’m opening the front door.
I end the call and slip the phone into my pocket.
He puts his phone in his jacket pocket and takes the steps up to my covered porch. He combs his fingers through his wet hair and then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. His shoulders are a little hunched over and his head is tilted downward and he looks so vulnerable I could cry.
I shake my head and say quietly, “He’s not here.”
“What did you want to tell me?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
He nods, takes a deep breath, and then says, “Since I’m here, I could just show you what I’ve been wanting to do for you…” He isn’t being cocky, he’s just putting it out there. For me. He wants to do things for me.
I should be nominating him for some kind of award, but instead I’m standing here frozen in the doorway, staring at him.
If I track every thought that’s flooding my brain, I might be able to feel like I’m making a rational decision here…
Dylan Brodie is standing on my front porch.
He’s not my patient anymore. I’m home alone.
This is not a drill. Dylan Brodie followed me here and his clothes are wet and his hair is wet and he’s looking at me with sexy puppy bedroom eyes.
Do I believe in fate yet? Did I shave my legs this morning?
Which panties am I wearing? Do I take him up to my bedroom?
Did I make my bed this morning? I haven’t let the dogs out yet.
It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since this guy stopped being my patient.
Shit, I have to feed the fish and the hamster.
I should check the expiration date on the condoms in my bedside table.
Who am I kidding, he probably never leaves home without them.
Who am I kidding, this guy’s going to break my heart.
Maybe we won’t go all the way tonight. Do people still call it “going all the way”?
I watch too many eighties movies. Fuck, I feel old.
Fuck, he’s so young and hot. Fuck you, Adam.
Seriously though, if I have sex with him, I will surely have many, many intense orgasms which will cause my pituitary gland to release a lot of oxytocin.
That hormone will cause me to bond with this man.
My body and my brain will believe he’s my mate whether he is or not.
But the good news is—studies have shown that sex can stimulate the growth of new brain cells.
The orgasms will in fact sharpen my mind.
So I’ll actually be smarter and more clearheaded after having sex with him.
Which means I’ll be in a better position to decide how to deal with the fact that I just had sex with a recent patient who is an actor who’s six years younger than me.
Or, alternatively, the sex might not be very good and we’ll never want to see each other again.
But alas, as I stare into Dylan’s eyes, the mind is not the only part of me that’s flooded right now.
I’m going to put all of those thoughts into a box for tonight and unpack them in the morning.
There’s only one thought left up in there, and my professional advice to myself is to make it my mantra for the rest of the evening: Fuck it.
I take his hand and lead him across the threshold.
He takes a step inside the foyer, looks around. I shut the door and lean against it while he steps out of his sneakers. He turns to face me, slowly raises his hands. They hover on either side of my face, an inch away, waiting for me to give him permission to touch me. To show me what he wants.
Suddenly, he looks as scared as I’ve been, and I trust that his fear is real too.
I barely nod, but I am saying yes to so many things that I’ve been saying no to for years.
It feels good to say yes, but nothing has ever felt as good as Dylan Brodie’s hands on my face and his thumbs along my jaw and his fingers in my hair and his lips against mine.
He isn’t hesitant. He’s gentle and slow.
Breathing me in, tasting and savoring me.
It’s not a question or a dare or a demand.
It’s the most thoughtful, sensual statement.
It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m his whole universe in this moment, and I feel myself being drawn out, coming alive, wanting to be everything for him.
In some ways it seems like I’ve been waiting forever to feel his warm tongue explore the inside of my mouth, but it also seems impossible that this is the first time we’ve kissed.
The truth is, on some level, this beautiful man has been kissing me ever since he knelt before me three years ago.
And I am finally going to kiss him back.