Chapter Thirty-Three Jeremy
Vanya stroking my hair is like being put under a spell. I’m still turned on, obviously, but there’s a blunted edge to my arousal. A feeling of tender affection that overtakes lust. My contentment under her care is so all-encompassing, it’s beyond physical. Something inside me quiets down as Vanya’s hand lays on my head, her thigh against my cheek.
But the spell is broken by Vanya’s frustrated exhale the second Sabrina leaves the room.
I’m still crumpled under the desk, my flexibility coming in handy. This right here is the real payoff of goalie training—the ability to fold myself in half so I can make Vanya crazy after she tied me up like a tease. New fantasy unlocked.
I kiss each knee before unfolding myself from under the desk. She stands as well, walking to put her ear against the door. She listens to the hallway chatter and presses the lock, so we don’t get any more surprises.
She looks so worried, I try to comfort her with a joke. “Good thing you’re bad at tying knots.” After all, Vanya needed me to adjust quickly when she didn’t hear the knock.
Chuckling while putting her hand over her mouth, Vanya shakes her head. “I can’t believe I did that. And I didn’t even ask for your consent before tying you up. Oh my god, Jeremy, I’m sor—”
“Don’t you dare.” I wrap an arm around her waist and lean down so our foreheads are touching. “No apologies. I would have told you if something didn’t sit right with me. But damn, Vanya. That felt good in so many ways. I loved it.”
“Me too,” she admits.
Before I can suggest we finish what we started, her eyes stray to the closed door.
“I’ll sneak out to check if we’re in the clear. Do not move until I give you the green light,” Vanya orders.
I put my hand on the doorknob to stop her from her ill-formed spy plan. “You’re going to look more suspicious darting around, beautiful.”
I tuck a stray black strand behind her ear and let my thumb linger on heated cheeks. Sabrina is the only one who greeted me when I first came in. Her office is at the end of the medical wing, closer to the fitness center.
“Don’t worry about Sabrina. She’s long gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Let’s straighten up and I’ll stroll out casually. It won’t be an issue.”
“You’re right,” Vanya says with relief. “There aren’t a lot of people who linger this late in the afternoon.”
“Before I go, let’s decide where to have dinner.”
“I figured my place? I could grab something on the way home. You’re always cooking for me. Let me take care of dinner this time.”
“Or maybe I can take you to a nice place for dinner. There’s a fusion restaurant that—”
“Jeremy.” Her mouth is in a stern line, the kind that exaggerates her dimples. It broadcasts No even if she doesn’t say it out loud.
Vanya’s eyes look up at me pleadingly. She’s sorry that we can’t have more, that we can’t have anything that resembles a date in public. Nothing can link us to each other beyond our connection as doctor and patient. We’ve had this discussion before. It isn’t the first time I’ve wanted to treat her to a romantic dinner. Each time I’m shot down.
Apparently, my type is a brilliant doctor with curves for days and adorable dimples who refuses to be seen with me in public.
“That’s fine,” I say, though it costs me a chunk of pride. “Text me when you’re back, OK?”
She bites down on her lower lip. “You’re upset at me.”
“I’m not.” It’s a partial lie. I could never be mad at Vanya, because she’s always been up front about her conditions. No games, no stringing me along. Our fling is forbidden and temporary.
I’m upset at myself for wanting more.
“Jeremy, I’m asking too much of you.” She reaches over to graze my hair again.
You’re not asking enough of me, Vanya.
This woman could ask me anything, dare me to risk any fallout, as long as she understands how hard I’m falling for her. But I know, in my heart, that asking for more is only going to shut her down.
Closing my eyes, I focus on the aroma of her wrist and the gentleness of her fingers. I recall laying at her feet and resting my cheek on her thigh. Ironically, that feeling of contentment, of permanence , is exactly what won’t last. I get fleeting moments and nothing more.
Her phone buzzes on the floor near her desk. It must have dropped when I switched our places. She stares at it without moving, like the name MOM on the screen is radioactive.
“I’ll, um, call her back later,” she mutters, bending to scoop it up. As she picks it up, her finger grazes the screen. Unexpectedly, the call connects.
“Smooth move,” I tease.
Vanya isn’t smiling, though. A sharp voice cuts through the speaker. “I know you’re there, Vanya. Don’t you dare hang up.”
She winces, holding the phone like it’s a bite of food she knows will make her puke.
“Mother,” she says finally, clipped and cold. She straightens, brushing imaginary dust off her blouse, trying to pull herself together. The shift in her mood isn’t subtle. The way her shoulders tighten, her jaw locks, and her brows crease, you’d think she’s preparing for a hostile ambush instead of a phone call.
I watch quietly, perched on the edge of her desk.
“Yes, I’m at work,” she says after a pause. “No, I, um, I have a patient with me right now.”
There’s another pause. “Yes, of course I have a few minutes for you,” Vanya says with a conciliatory tone. “What’s going on?”
There’s a long, insistent stream of words from the other end of the line. I can’t hear the speaker clearly, but I don’t need to because she sounds like she’s barking at the end of the line. The way Vanya slumps as if to make herself smaller tells me she’s received this one-sided scolding before.
“You’re visiting. Here?” She’s shrill, neck muscles strained. “But why ? I mean of course you can. But why wouldn’t you just tell me the big news now? What difference would it make to wait a few weeks?”
Her mother’s voice rises again, sharp enough that I catch the tail end of something along the lines of “not everything has to be convenient for you .”
Vanya presses her lips together like she’s holding back a retort. Finally, she exhales through her nose and says, “Yes, Mother, of course I’ll be happy to see you. Please send me the travel details.”
She ends the call without waiting for a response, tossing the phone onto her desk with more force than necessary.
“Whoa,” I say, standing up. “What was that about?”
She exhales sharply, then crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s my mom. She says she has ‘big news’ and is coming to visit but wouldn’t tell me what it’s about.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Vanya look this distressed. “I take it you’re not close?”
A chuckle devoid of humor escapes her tight lips. I recall something from the past, when she compared our mothers.
“Is this the woman foolish enough to think she could make a second version of herself with someone as unique and beautiful as you?”
“Jeremy, c’mon.” Her voice wavers for a second, but she pushes through. “I’m not looking for compliments, OK?”
“Doesn’t stop you from deserving them.”
“I should shore them up now, shouldn’t I? Like armor to stave off all the veiled insults about how I’m fat, or my hair isn’t done right, or whatever else I’m failing at this time.” The terrible words, although spoken softly, lash the air between us.
It’s ridiculous to think that the woman in front of me is a failure at anything . What the hell is her mother’s problem?
“She actually says that stuff?” There have been hints at Vanya’s insecurities but not with this level of distress.
“Yup. It’s a constant refrain from my childhood. Nowadays she doesn’t have to say it outright, she just has to look at me.” Vanya laughs bitterly. “I’m a disappointment she has to endure. It doesn’t help that she’s, you know, her .”
She opens up her mom’s social media profile to reveal a perfectly filtered photo. A beautiful woman who could be anywhere between thirty to forty looks over her shoulder like she’s on the cover of a fashion magazine. She has flawless skin, sleek hair, and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“She’s a social media influencer,” Vanya explains quietly. “Hundreds of thousands of followers. People think she’s perfect.”
I stare at the picture, then back at Vanya. “She’s not perfect.”
She blinks up at me. “Jeremy—”
“I’m serious,” I say firmly. “I don’t care how many followers she has, she’s not half as beautiful as you are.”
Her eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief breaking through her guarded expression. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I don’t have to, but it’s the truth.” I take her hand, gently pulling her closer. “She might have filters and followers, but you have something better. The kind of beauty that doesn’t need a glam up. You’re gorgeous inside and out.”
Her cheeks flush, and for a second, she looks like a child, unsure yet trusting. It’s a heartbreaking combination that makes me want to hold her tighter. So, I do. I engulf Vanya and rub her back.
“Your dad isn’t in the picture?” I whisper into her hair.
She shakes her head. “He passed away when I was a kid.”
I pull away so we can make eye contact. “I’m sorry, Vanya.”
She gives me a slight, grateful smile that makes my chest ache.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“Anytime,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Now, about dinner tonight.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, dinner. I’ll stop by that Italian place on Bryson.”
“Perfect. I love their lasagna. I’ll grab cookies for dessert.” I squeeze her hand. “And just so you know, no matter what your mom says or what this ‘big news’ is, you’re amazing. Don’t forget that.”
“I have you around to remind me, right?” she proclaims as a joke.
Unfortunately, Vanya has no idea how much I want to remind her how amazing she is all the time and every day.