5. Cal
Chapter five
Cal
Cal
S omehow, I’d missed it the first time. I’d known the matchmaker was beautiful the first time I’d seen her. I’d taken note of her gray-blue eyes with the ring of sunshine yellow around her irises that reminded me of sunflowers. I’d known she had curly, short hair, but I hadn’t realized how soft and springy it was, how it bounced with every little movement of her heart-shaped face. I hadn’t realized how captivating she was. Or, maybe I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge how strongly it affected me.
As she stared at me with half-lidded eyes and a dopey, confused expression pulling at her features, I found that I couldn’t look away. Her glasses were sliding down her straight little nose again, and her cheeks were flushed from intoxication in the most squishable way. I tried not to stare, but she was so drunk, she didn’t seem to notice anyway. She was staring back at me just as cluelessly.
“Home with you?” she echoed. Her lips were that shade of pink that brought to mind English roses and bubblegum, and she had them parted in question. I loved it when brainy types got drunk—they did the most random things. And I’d gotten drunk with a lot of smart people in medical school.
“Well,” I clarified, letting my eyes bounce all over her short frame. “Either you’re going home with me, or I’m going with you. I’m not going to send you out there on your own, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, home with you, ” she snickered suddenly, like she’d forgotten completely that she was sitting across from one of her dissatisfied clients. “I thought you meant, you know,” she rolled her eyes, smiling in a self-deprecating way, “ home with you.” Like it was absurdly funny that a man would want that.
I knew for a fact that the blond guy behind me would take her up on that second offer in a heartbeat. He’d been about to before I’d cut in. Annoyingly. My reaction to that didn’t make a lot of sense, especially having known her for all of thirty caustic seconds beforehand, but that look in his eye had kind of pissed me off. And it had spurred me on to ignore my speed date companion and sit with Dr. Coldwell instead.
Now I was glad I had. She was in a room full of slavering, single men, she was drunk as a skunk, and she looked tastier than a puff pastry in a room full of sugar addicts. “I think I have to change my mind,” I said to her, leaning my cheekbone on my fist. “We should be on a first-name basis. Since I’m taking you home and all.”
She snorted inelegantly before folding her torso over the table in an effort to reach her Long Island iced tea. “Sure, Cal . Whatever you say.” She flopped, stretching her fingers out for the glass, but her hilariously short arms didn’t come anywhere near reaching it.
I inched it away from her anyway. “And yours is?”
“Thas a long islan’ ice’ tea,” she slurred, turning her head to hook me with an irritated scowl.
“Not the drink. Your name.” I picked it up and took a sip. “Oh God.” I pulled a face, angling away from it. “Jesus Christ, did they put the entire stevia factory in this?”
She snorted again and then dissolved into a laugh. Still folded over the table with her round ass hanging off the edge, she let her head fall onto her arms. “That was funny. You’re nice. This is very nice.”
I peered at the glass. “What else did they put in this?”
She gasped, picking up her head suddenly. It sent her curls flying everywhere, and they settled over her cheeks. “I’m working.”
“So you said. No offense, but I don’t think you gave great dating advice sober,” I pointed out dryly. “You might need to abandon the effort.”
She rotated an irritated look my way. “That was offense… I take… I have offense. Is not hard. There’s jus’ one date, then two, then you run all the bases and,” she made an explosion sound and mimed it with her hand. “Homerun.”
“Wow, Shortstop, a baseball allegory. That was deep.” I half-stood, and putting a hand on her slight shoulder, I maneuvered her so she sat back in her chair. “Drink some water,” I suggested.
“You don’t understand,” she insisted, and her hands framed her face again like they had before. Her cheeks went cherry red, and her long fingers pressed her glasses against her eyes like she was going crazy. “They’ll fire me.”
“Who, you? The Love Doctor?” I teased ruthlessly. “No way.”
“I’m not a love doctor,” she whispered loudly, her long lashes batting in distress. She caught my gaze in a panicked kind of way. “And I don’ haf a husband.”
My brows puckered together. “A husband?”
She nodded solemnly and a little too exaggerated to pass as sober. “I told my boss I’m married.” She made a distressed little sound and then let her face fall into her hands. “I’m not married.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “So, let me get this straight, Dr. Love. You told your boss you had a husband to prove how good you are at relationships, but you’re both bad at relationships and single? And you got yourself trapped by your own lie?”
She nodded, moaning into her fingers. “Not even my bess’ friend wanted me. If he didn’t marry me, who would?”
Ouch. That didn’t sound great. “I’m sure you’re very, er, lovable. In your own way,” I assured her .
“I’m so fired,” she moaned. “I’m—I’ll lose my ‘parment. Oh my God.”
“There were a lot of ways I thought this conversation would go,” I said, mostly to myself. “But this was not one of them.”
Suddenly, the employee wearing a red floral dress sashayed up to us, and her interest ping-ponged between us. “Hello! I’m Scarlet, one of the Kiss-Met associates.”
I held out a hand. “Cal.”
She shook it. “I recognize you. You came in looking for Ruth earlier today, didn’t you?”
Ruth, huh? I cocked a look toward Ruth. “Sure was.”
Ruth made a strangled kind of squeaking sound. “Totally.”
A harebrained, ridiculous idea zinged through my mind suddenly. It was absurd, and sober Ruth likely would not thank me for it. But it occurred to me that whatever issues Dr. Coldwell was having might be solved in the same way my own would be. It was massively unethical, and I was cognizant, even in that lightning-quick moment I made the decision, that I was entrapping her into a scheme that leaned heavily in my favor. Still, I simply couldn’t pass this up. I’d never been accused of being a saint.
“Actually, I’m her husband,” I said easily. Ruth choked on air, covering her mouth and gasping for breath. I stood and went to stand next to her, patting her on the back. “She texted me and told me she hasn’t been feeling well.”
“Oh!” Scarlet’s eyes lit up with understanding. “So that’s why you were looking for her. ”
“Absolutely,” I lied, still patting Ruth on the back.
Ruth sat up straight, and even in my peripheral vision I saw her mouth opening like she might contradict me. I squeezed her shoulder hard. “Ow!” she growled.
“She doesn’t want to leave.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Doctors, am I right? Workaholics, all of them.” Straightening, I gave Scarlet my warmest, A+ bedside manner smile. “Do you think it would be alright if I got her home?”
“Oh, for sure,” Scarlet said with a wave of her hand. “I can handle things from here.”
“Thank you so much.” I leaned to the side, and with alarming ease, I was able to lift Ruth under her arms and out of her chair. She was so short. Like a pocket-sized nerd with cute hair. “Come on, sweetie.”
She let out another outraged sound, but Scarlet was already hurrying off to ring the bell after the timer on her phone went off. “Feel better, Dr. C!”
“ What ?” Ruth asked me, pulling against my hold and angling away from me. But whether she meant to or not, she was leaning against me the next second, and her legs wobbled beneath her like a newborn foal.
Judging by the rate she had gone from silly tipsy to fumbling drunk, I estimated she had maybe an hour where her alcohol levels would continue rising. Then they would fall, and the puking would start. I guided her past curious, askance glances from the talking couples. “Play along, Dr. C . I’m saving your job. Which is pretty nice of me,” I went on, helping her down the stairs to the lower level, “considering that you ruined my week.”
“I didn’ do it on purpose,” she mumbled, swerving and then apparently giving up and leaning against my side heavily.
“Did you even get this job on purpose?” I muttered, wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her along beside me.
She snorted out a laugh, and with her head resting on my arm, she rolled a dopey look up to me. “How d’you guess?”
“It’s my stunning intellect,” I replied wryly. “Whoa, watch that step. It goes down.” We reached the front door, and the concrete step fell away sharply. I hitched her up against me as she stumbled out. Before closing the door, I looked over my shoulder to find Harper, who had come with me to keep the male and female numbers even. But she was deep in conversation with a dude who had a man bun, so I figured I would text her later.
“It’s still light out?” Ruth demanded as we stumbled into the quiet historical street. The heady scent of magnolias and morning glories drifted through the thick, humid air, but the waning sun had sucked some of the heat from the day, and the shade from the mature trees along the sidewalk dispelled the worst of the lingering warmth.
“It’s like 7:30. Yeah, it’s still light out.” I guided her to the right where I’d parked my SUV. “What’ll it be, Shortstop? My house or yours?”
“Oh boy,” she groaned, grasping my shirt in her hands and pitching awkwardly against me as we walked. “Do you have aspirin?”
“Yeah, Ruth, I’m a doctor. I have aspirin.”
“Oh right ,” she patted my chest and nodded. “ Doctor doctor.”
“That is my name,” I replied seriously. “Dr. Doctor. At your service.”
“‘Do no harm,’ right? So, you won’ hurt me?” she asked with a pout of her pretty features and a finger pointed in my face.
I wrapped my fingers around her digit and lowered her arm like I was pointing the barrel of a gun down. “I’m mildly to moderately concerned by how little you’re fighting your kidnapping, but yes, ‘do no harm’ is a thing. You’re safe with me.”
“Sounds legit,” she mused.
We reached my black SUV, and my watch triggered it to unlock and start as I hauled her around to the passenger side. “Hey, don’t puke on my seats,” I said as I opened the door for her.
“I do not puke,” she declared primly. “I’m not like other drunk girls.”
“You’re a medical miracle,” I drawled. Her soft, curvy body had all but gone limp during the short walk from the pub to my car, and I had to wonder what the hell would have happened to her if anyone else had noticed how sloshed she was. I thought about the eagle eyes on that blond guy, and a slither of anger wrapped around my ribs. Fucking prick.
And stupid Ruth. How old was she? She had to know better than to get wasted without a designated friend or driver there with her.
Or at all.
I tried my best to ignore how warm and soft her body felt under my hands as I bent to help her into the car. Almost impossible. Her shape did that sexy, hourglass thing that made me want to bite something, and as I maneuvered her legs into the car, she leaned against me and pressed her full breasts against my bicep.
I gritted my teeth, willing my body to behave, and with deliberate care, I took her by the shoulders, pressed her into the black leather seat, and buckled the seatbelt around her. Her head lolled back, dimpled chin tilted to the side and pink lips parted. She ran her tongue along her lips, and I followed the motion with rapt attention. Jesus wept.
Maybe I wasn’t the safe choice for her after all. I closed her door and went around to the other side to slide into the driver’s seat. The air conditioning had kicked on as soon as the car had started, but I cranked it up and turned on the cooling function for both seats to combat the stifling heat. Ruth rolled her head to glance at me. “Where’re you taking me again?”
“Your call. Do you have a roommate you want to call?” I tapped my car’s display, fiddling with the volume on the podcast that had connected and started playing through the speakers.
“No,” she waved her hand.
“Okay,” I replied slowly, tapping the music app on the screen and looking for a song that might be neutral. “What’s your address, then? ”
“No way,” she scowled, pointing a finger. “Nice try.”
I rolled my eyes and tapped a “top hits” playlist. “Then, you’re coming home with me.”
“Are you a—a serial killer? Or foot fetish guy?”
I slowly rotated an incredulous look her way. “What exactly are you planning to do if I say yes to either of those?”
She considered that, her dark brown eyebrows tugging together and her mouth hanging open in thought. “Wear socks?”
“Yes, that should keep you from getting murdered. Good plan. For the record,” I put the car in reverse. “Don’t get into the cars of strangers when you’re drunk, Shortstop. They could have a foot fetish.”
“Oh,” she said distantly. Suddenly, she pointed to the silver logo on my dashboard. “Did you know they used to crush up dead people’s bones so the monks could make silverpoint paintings?”
I gave her a concerned side-eye. “I guess… it’s good they were dead people’s bones.”
She gave me a serious stare. “You can’t crush alive people’s bones.”
“I mean, you can ,” I muttered, leaning my mouth against my hand and smiling as I pulled out into the flow of traffic. I made my way through town, glancing now and then at the sleepy passenger who had decided to slump in her seat and close her eyes. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to do with this woman, but I knew I was glad I hadn’t left her there to her own devices. She could have ended up with someone actually creepy. Although, admittedly, kidnapping a woman I barely knew and taking her to my house probably still fell under that umbrella.
As I left town and headed into the mountainous hills, Ruth’s breathing grew deep and steady, accompanied by a soft snore as her head gradually fell back and her mouth hung open. I laughed softly to myself, smoothing my fingers over my lips. Whatever she’d drunk, she had clearly overestimated her tolerance level. The poor thing was going to be miserable in the morning. I could get some electrolytes in her system and give her whatever medicine I had on hand, but there wasn’t much I could do to keep those alcohol levels from plummeting and wreaking havoc on her body.
The road tilted up at a sharp incline, and finally, I made a right turn into my driveway. The house had been built up the hill, surrounded by thick, mature trees and crawling plants, and I opened the garage on the bottom level. I’d bought this house five years ago because it reminded me of a tree house. The nine-year-old boy inside of me had really loved that idea. Made of pine planks, walnut finishes, and wrought iron balconies, it crept up the hill and stood tall among the trees.
Which, I realized as I stared at the dark iron stairs that led up two stories to the front porch… would be interesting. I hadn’t bought the house with hauling drunk frenemies up the stairs in mind. I slid a look over to my passenger, and she inhaled with a snort before spreading her limbs out like she was hot.
I squinted one eye, looking up in thought. Well, nothing for it, really. I got out, went around to her side, and opened her door. She almost slumped out of the open door, so I caught her with one arm around her shoulders, undid her seatbelt, and wiggled my right arm under her knees. I lifted her out of the car—not without some difficulty—and managed to get the door closed with my foot. It was like carrying several armfuls of wet pasta. She slid down as I carried her to the open garage door, and I hefted her back up, adjusting my grip on her body.
At least she was short. She didn’t weigh much, either, but she started writhing around as I headed up the outside stairwell to my front door, and I had to stop several times to fix my grip on her jelly limbs. Whose idea had it been to buy a house that required a trek up thirty-two steps? The stairs also dipped back down before stretching out to a long balcony porch that really gave the house that treehouse feel high above the foliage.
I reached the front door, and carefully, I set her on her feet. “Hey, Shortstop. Can you stand?”
She mumbled something incoherent in response and slumped hard against me. Grunting, I kept my left arm wrapped around her tightly, trying in vain to ignore the fact that I basically had a palm full of her breasts, and I tapped in the code to my front door before swinging it open. I decided carrying her was easier than dragging her to the living room, so I swept her up again and maneuvered us both through the front entryway.
“Are you always this much of a pain?” I asked, my voice strained as I hefted her down a pine floor step and then down one more level as we went into the sunken living room.
“Mhm,” she sighed into my neck. Her breath tickled my skin and sent goosebumps rippling over my arms.
Windows surrounded the space, looking out over a rolling ocean of pines and leafy trees beyond it. The house wasn’t a normal configuration with one level and then stairs up to another. Because it had been built to follow the natural flow of the hill, the living room sat lower than the kitchen and dining room behind it.
It wasn’t huge, either, but I didn’t need huge. It was just me here, and I’d slowly acquired furnishings and decor that reflected how very little I cared about the practice. The couches were comfortable, overstuffed modular pieces that formed an L in the middle of the room, and across from it, my entertainment system took up the only wall that wasn’t made of windows. I’d mounted a few shelves to display odds and ends I’d picked up while traveling, and a basic rug I’d found in a home improvement store covered the light pine floors. With the sun setting behind the trees, I found the living room dark and swathed in shadows.
Figuring Dr. Love wouldn’t appreciate bright lights in her condition, I kept them off as I shuffled across the floors with her still in my arms. I lowered her carefully to the sofa, settling her head on a brocade pillow and making sure she stayed propped up on her side in case she did vomit. She huffed out a little sound of distress, and as I pulled away, she gripped the fabric on my sleeves. I paused, still bent over her. “Ruth? You okay?”
“Wassa door locked?” she mumbled.
“Usually,” I replied, smiling lightly. “That okay? ”
“S’locked?” she asked, sitting up in concern. She looked around, bewildered. “Where are we?”
“My house,” I said, keeping my tone even and low. “I’m going to get you some medicine and water. Lie down. You’re safe.”
Ruth groaned, pressing her forehead to my arm. “Who’re you again?”
“Admittedly, not anyone you like. Lean back. Relax. I’ll be back in a second with water, okay?” I helped her back down to the pillows, and she puffed out a pained breath.
“Are you—are you going to lock me out?” she asked in a small voice.
I paused, hands on her arms, and I took in her shadowed, worried features. Her eyes shimmered even in the darkness, and she gripped my sleeves like she could keep me from leaving. Slowly, I lowered myself to my knees so our eyes were almost level. “What do you mean?”
She pulled me closer, gaze unfocused but full of worry. “Don’t lock me out. Please?”
I massaged her upper arms, coaxing her to relax back against the pillows. “I’m not going to lock you out of my house, Ruth. You’re safe here. I promise.” What did she mean by getting locked out? Had she gotten drunk once and been locked out by a roommate by accident? If so, I could imagine that that would have been a bad experience. “Did you get locked out before?”
She nodded, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Please don’t, okay?”
“Okay,” I assured her quietly. My thumbs caressed her arms soothingly. “I won’t.”
Ruth sighed, letting her head fall back and her eyes close. “This couch is spinning.”
“I’ll bet,” I muttered with a dollop of amusement. “I know you’re not all there, but I’m going to get you some blankets and some water, and you can sleep here as long as you need to. I’ll ream you out for being a terrible matchmaker when you’re less drunk. Sound like a deal?”
She nodded, eyes still closed. “Imma verra bad matchmaker.”
“Self-awareness is important,” I agreed, rubbing her arms again before standing. I stared down at her as she melted back into sleep. She had one arm draped over the belt that divided her black blouse and flowy skirt, and she looked like a librarian who had passed out between the shelves. I reached back down to remove her glasses, folding the temples carefully before setting them on the low table beside the couch.
Somehow, I’d ended up with Dr. Love on my couch. Only, as I watched her frown in her sleep, her curls spread around her head like a chocolate halo, I had to wonder at how she’d ended up with that title. If I had to guess, I’d say that Ruth Coldwell didn’t know much about being loved. If what she’d said in the last hour or so was any indication, I might even go so far as to say that she had been badly hurt by someone.
But, strangely, it wasn’t the doctor in me that suddenly wanted to heal her. It was something else entirely.