6. Ruth
Chapter six
Ruth
Ruth
A caress of cold A/C air washed over my exposed legs, and I groaned, tucking them back under a plush blanket. When had I turned up the A/C so high? That was going to cost me a fortune. I ran my dry tongue over sandpaper lips and reluctantly forced one eye open. Bright sunlight stabbed my retina, and I immediately closed it again.
Wait, fuck. Am I hungover? I don’t remember going out with Gemma. When did I drink? Better yet, why would I do that?
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted under my nose, and that blipped on my “weird meter.” I didn’t live with anyone who made me coffee in the morning. I took stock of my body, and as a piercing headache beat against my temples, my memories suddenly caught up with my awareness.
I was not in my own house.
With a sharp intake of breath, I forced my eyes open and sat up. On a couch. A stranger’s couch because I didn’t recognize the nice, forest-green fabric. Or the rug. Or the wood slab coffee table. I looked around with sunlight poking holes in my brain and making my head slam in tune with my pulse. There were windows everywhere, and wherever I was, it looked like a nice, if slightly unused, living room.
“She’s alive,” a deep, male voice said from behind me.
I turned to my right, twisting around to look behind the couch. A familiar figure leaned against a wall two levels up and in front of what looked like a modern kitchen. Cal-the-angry-mismatched-doctor took a sip of his coffee from a black mug and watched me with quiet amusement over the rim. The morning light glinted off his dark hair, illuminating the copper strands that gave him a uniquely sun-kissed appearance.
I looked around the elegant living room, bewildered. “What…?”
Cal crossed the polished pine floors, stepping down two of the levels and coming toward me with another black mug in his hand. “How much do you remember, Shortstop?”
“Shortstop?” I echoed. I glanced down at myself and saw that I was still wearing the same clothing I’d put on last evening, belt and all. An ultra fluffy, soft blanket in shades of gray and white had been tucked around me, and there were definite drool spots on his fancy-looking couch cushions.
“Yeah, you were babbling about bases and home runs, and it earned you a stupid nickname.” Cal handed me the steaming mug with his eyebrows raised a fraction.
I took the mug, my brain sprinting and tripping all over itself to catch up to what the hell was going on here. I let my eyes dance all over Cal’s tall, chiseled body. He was wearing a plain, white button-down shirt and dark blue tie with white specks that made it look like the night sky. He took another sip of his coffee, eyes watching me with quiet, expectant humor.
I dropped a look down to the coffee and then back to him. “Did you… did I make you so mad, that you kidnapped me?”
He choked on his coffee, spitting some of it back into the mug and coughing down the rest. “Ruth,” he laughed, still coughing.
“Because I know I goofed up, and I’m really sorry, but I really don’t think that’s a reason to break the la—”
“You think I kidnapped you ?” he clarified, coughing again and wiping his incredulous smile.
“Well, how else did I get here?” I demanded, glancing around, and this time with sharper eyes. My clothing was still intact, right down to my faded, fraying leather sandals. I did have a killer headache, though, and my mouth was impossibly dry. I sipped in a shocked breath. “Wait, did I… did we…?” I stared at him in wide-eyed horror.
He gestured with his free hand, holding his dripping coffee away from his white shirt. “Did we what?”
I couldn’t even say the words. There was no way. No. Think. Come on, Ruth, don’t be an idiot. The handsome—admittedly pissy—doctor didn’t kidnap you so he could give you a cup of coffee in the morning. And he definitely didn’t sleep with you, you radish-brain. Think, think. What happened?
Cal’s pine-green eyes shimmered with mirth. “I didn’t sleep with you, Dr. Coldwell. You really can’t remember anything from last night?”
Right, we definitely hadn’t slept together. Shame, that. I dared another head-to-toe, one-second perusal of Dr. Reed’s kissable lips, wide shoulders, and trim waistline where he wore a black belt over charcoal gray dress pants that accentuated his perfect ass. I shook myself out of those thoughts. Focus. I tried to remember what had happened the night before. I’d had that speed dating thing. I thought I remembered that going well. But… then what?
“Drink your coffee,” Cal suggested, and half his mouth pulled up in amusement again.
Why was this guy always looking at me like I was so fucking funny? He’d done that when he’d… Oh. Memories plunked across my brain like a sped-up game of Tiddlywinks. Ping, ping, ping . Every embarrassing thing I’d done, every stupid thing I’d said… all of it returned to me in a painful cascade of awkwardness. “Oh,” I breathed.
His smile widened, revealing straight, white teeth. “There it is.”
“Oh,” I groaned, closing my eyes.
“I’m not sure if you remember the part where I made you drink like half a gallon of electrolytes, but I did try. How’s your head?” Cal sat on the coffee table across from me, and his spring green eyes took on an assessing look.
“Uhm,” I gusted out, looking down at my coffee and not daring to meet his gaze directly. I remember a lot. None of them are great. I’m pretty sure I told him the thing about bone dust in silverpoint paintings. And accused him of having a foot fetish.
“Hey,” his voice took on a breathy laugh. “Ruth, it’s fine. The only reason I took you home is because I was worried about your, er, state of being.”
I screwed up my features in a grimace. “Yeah. Appreciate it.”
“Look at me,” he ordered gently.
Like my eyes were connected to his mouth, I couldn’t help but obey. I peeked up reluctantly, only to find him considering me with a gentle smile. “It’s fine,” he reiterated. “Don’t get me wrong; you’re still a terrible matchmaker, but I wasn’t going to abandon you in a bar with no one there to take you home.”
I bit my lower lip. Hard. “Yeah.”
“How’s your head?” he asked again.
I took stock for a moment. “It hurts, but it’s not the end of the world.”
Cal nodded, like that was exactly what he’d expected. “I’ve got another tumbler in there with an electrolyte drink, but caffeine does sometimes help.” He gestured to my mug with his. “So off you go.”
I took a sip of the coffee and then blinked at it in surprise. “Oh, this is really good.”
“You had a ton of stevia in your drink last night.” Cal shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. “I made an educated guess.”
I tried not to feel some kind of way about that, but it was so… God. So cute. I drank another mouthful of coffee and then lowered it back to my lap, cupping the warm ceramic between my hands. “Well, uh,” I looked around, searching for any thread of something that might make this less awkward. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do all this.”
He shrugged again, standing. “Seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Honestly, I thought you’d be a lot more pissed,” he admitted ruefully.
“I assure you,” I said with a flare of my eyes, “I’m a lot more preoccupied with the horror of getting sloppy drunk all over a complete stranger.”
He made a sound like he was unsure. “I’m going to give you thirty seconds to remember the rest of what I said in the pub.” He went back to the kitchen, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Don’t hit me in the face. I have to see patients today.”
I frowned, watching him go and wondering what the hell he was talking about. I thought back, sifting through memories like an old-school Rolodex and cataloging each one. I’d introduced myself and started the speed dating. Then, I’d watched the couples for a bit, and that was when my tipsy spiral had gone into a tailspin. Things got pretty fuzzy after that. Dr. Hotpants had sat down in front of me and taken my drink away. I realized then how lucky I was that he’d even noticed I was debilitatingly drunk. Scarlet hadn’t even noticed.
“You came looking for Ruth earlier today, didn’t you? ”
“Actually, I’m her husband.”
I gasped audibly, dropping my jaw and rounding a horrified stare to Cal. He returned my look with a chagrined half-smile. “And now we’ve caught up.”
I couldn’t seem to make my mouth close. A choked sound escaped my throat, and I turned to look forward, hoping my memory would change or correct itself. I had to be mistaken. He hadn’t actually claimed to be my husband, had he? “You—” I sputtered finally, looking back to the doctor who was coming my way again with a red drink tumbler in his hands. “Tell me I’m remembering wrong.”
“About claiming to be your husband?” he clarified with a placid eyebrow raise. He reached me and held out the tumbler with the handle facing me.
“Please tell me you were joking.” I took the tumbler, glancing down at my coffee and realizing I now had two drinks I was in no mood to consume.
Cal bent down close to me, and his coconut shampoo wafted around us in a summery swirl. He plucked up my mug but stayed bent, so his bright green eyes stayed level with mine. “I was not.”
I tightened my hold on the tumbler, and my chin jutted out in an enraged tilt. “Are you kidding me right now? You told that to one of my coworkers?”
“I did,” he replied with unflappable calm. Straightening, he added, “because I’m a selfish bastard and I need you to play along with it. ”
“You— what? ” I shoved the blankets aside, struggling to untangle myself and put myself on—almost—equal footing with this psychopath. “You can’t just claim to be married to someone when they’re too drunk to argue. That’s,” I paused, almost too incensed to formulate coherent thoughts. “That’s unethical.”
“I like to think of it as opportunistic,” he replied before sipping his almost-empty coffee mug. “And you presented me with an opportunity I really couldn’t pass up.”
I finally won the war with my fluffy blankets and staggered to my feet. “You have to fix this.” I tipped too far to the side, and my vision swirled.
Cal whipped out a hand. He grasped my forearm and steadied me, pulling me closer to him. Warmth from his body lined the front of mine suddenly, seeping through the thin layer of my blouse. He held onto me, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “And how do you suggest I do that?”
I went brain-dead. Those freckles across his nose were mesmerizing. Like paint splatter made of bronze. And why did he have such long, light eyelashes? What guy had a razor-sharp jawline and feathery eyelashes like that? “Um.” I swallowed, glancing down at where his hand had wrapped around my forearm. My body drifted into his, and I lifted my eyes back to his. “I don’t know,” I admitted finally.
His lips twitched, and he skittered a look up and down my facial features. “Here’s the opportunity part. I need a girlfriend. You need a husband.”
“Oh God,” I said, curling my lip. “This sounds horrible already.”
Cal didn’t release me, but he shifted his grip, his hand cupping my elbow and pulling me an inch closer, so we were just a breath away from being pressed up against each other. “Mine is short-term. I promise. Then you can do whatever you want with your fake husband when we’re done. Besides,” he angled a challenging look down to me. “You already had yourself in a pickle regardless.”
I had. It was true. I pursed my lips, pressed the cold tumbler to his chest, and pushed him two inches back. He leaned back, grinning as I tilted my chin up. “I had things handled, thanks.”
“Oh, well,” he shrugged, releasing me and lifting his hand in surrender. “If you have it handled.”
“However,” I went on, holding his gaze steadily. “Since you already irreparably mired me in the muck pool of my own making,” I stepped away haughtily. “What did you have in mind, exactly?”
His answering smile could have put mischievous Hermes to shame. “I’m so glad you asked.”