18. Cal
Chapter eighteen
Cal
Cal
I faced off with Ruth at her front door, scowling down at her short frame as she stood with her hands planted on her hips. She had on a pair of flowy, blue-patterned pants that wrapped around her waist with a wide band, and above it, an indecently enticing white blouse that cupped her breasts and puffed out from the shoulders like cotton buds. She held her weight gingerly on her left leg because I knew for a fact that her right knee had to be screaming. “Give yourself the weekend,” I argued.
“I’ve never missed this many days of anything, Reed,” she glared. “Let alone work. I’m going.”
“You missed two days,” I pointed out.
“And a half,” she added, lifting one dainty finger. “And I’m making progress. I have to go in and check on my clients.”
I tightened my lips. “Ruth.”
She pressed her tortoiseshell glasses more firmly against her face with a wide-eyed look. “What are you going to do? Tie me to a chair?”
My lips twitched. “Or the bed.”
Ruth’s neck suddenly glowed pink. “That’s not very practical.”
“No, but it would be fun.”
She leveled a down-tilted look my way. “I’m going.”
“I can see that,” I sighed. I reached over to the kitchen counter and picked up her leather knapsack. “I’ll drive you, then.”
She glanced away. “I guess that’s okay.”
“You bet your cute ass it is,” I muttered, reaching over to her front door and opening it for her. “You’re not driving with stitches in your knee and pain meds in your system.”
“ You made me take those,” she reminded me. She limped past me, and the scent of her apple shampoo and all the random products she’d put in her curly hair wafted around me in a delicious swirl. It took a massive effort on my end not to drag her back in and bury my face in the curve of her neck.
As I followed her out, Ruth paused just beyond her threshold, and her head swiveled left, and then right. I followed her gaze, taking in the quiet apartment complex with the sidewalk that ran between the two buildings, and the thick trees that lined each side. She hesitated, her body tensing, and then she turned to me with a stiff expression. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Just… don’t know where your car is. ”
I cinched my eyelids together in suspicion. “You sure?”
She nodded in a jerky motion. “I’m sure.”
I wasn’t sure. Not at all. There were little pieces of Ruth I hadn’t gathered together yet, and they surfaced on her expressive features from time to time. It was all part of getting to know someone new, but I wished she would trust me. I thought back to what I’d blithely said to her boss last Friday. “It just makes it all the sweeter when you earn them.” I’d had a sense of that even then, but it was even more true now. The problem was, I wasn’t gathering anything. I was wrenching them slowly from Ruth’s ironclad defenses one millimeter at a time.
I led her to my car after remote starting it and getting the A/C going. At eight in the morning, heat hung heavy and humid in the air, and the rain the last two days hadn’t done much to cool it down. I handed Ruth her bag after she awkwardly wiggled into the passenger seat with her leg stiff and stretched out in front of her. I hadn’t wanted to say anything in case I caused her to overthink our night, but sex had likely been a bit hard on her.
She sighed in relief as she sat back, and I gave her a suspicious glance. She met it with a side-bounce of her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what? I’m super glad you’re putting life and limb on the line to help the single folks of Eugene, Oregon,” I muttered testily.
Ruth snorted. “‘ Life and limb’ is a little dramatic.” She paused, as if unsure about herself, but then she blurted, “Plus, you need me tomorrow, don’t you?” She zipped and unzipped her bag nervously. “For your award thing.”
I tried to temper my smile, but it curved up in a steady arc anyway. “Are you asking me on a date, Dr. Coldwell?”
“No,” she mumbled, sitting up straighter. “It’s just that I already agreed and everything.”
I leaned my elbow against the window and tapped my lips. “So, you still want to go on a fake date with me tomorrow?”
Ruth cleared her throat. “Sure.”
I sighed loudly. “I don’t know. The last time I fake-dated you, you ditched me.”
Ruth brought her bag up to her face and pressed it against her features. “I already regret this.” But as she lowered her bag, she fought a smile of her own, and my heart gave a happy clench at the thought that I had put it there. “I promise I won’t ditch you.”
“Ruth,” I chuckled, “I’d be honored to have you with me tomorrow. As long as you’re feeling up to it.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said with quiet confidence.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up to Ruth’s building first, parking along the curb in front of a meter and putting the car into park. She gave me a confused frown. “You’re parking here?”
“I can walk a few blocks to work,” I shrugged. With a devious glint, I added, “Plus, I’m your husband. I should walk you up to your office.”
“You are way too enthusiastic about that,” she replied with a soft huff .
I kind of was. Disconcertingly, in fact. I got Ruth’s door for her, and then we went into the historical downtown building where the blast of A/C sent a chill down my neck. Ruth went for the elevator, and I glanced around the lobby. My eyes landed on the black and white sign that listed business names, suite numbers, and floors. My brows drew together as I read the only doctor on the list. “Dr. Rook, Floor 2, Suite 2A.”
I turned the scowl on Ruth as the elevator doors opened. “Did you list Dr. Rook as your PCP because you saw his name in your building?”
She sucked her cheeks in guiltily. “Maybe.”
“Oh my God. You don’t have a PCP?” I followed her into the elevator with an accusatory frown.
“I don’t need one,” she replied pertly.
My thumb mashed the third-floor button a little too hard. “Sure you don’t.”
Ruth folded her arms, and it pushed her breasts up so her cleavage nearly spilled out of her eyelet lace top. “Are you starting a fight over this?”
“Nope.” I drew in a breath for patience. “It’s your body.”
She gave me a dubious look. “Yes, it is.”
I jammed my molars together to keep from listing off the statistics that said seven out of ten deaths are caused by chronic health problems that could be caught in routine exams, or the fact that preventative care would literally add years of longevity to her life. I didn’t point out that her knee was a perfect example of why immediate health care was so important because what could have been a visit with my tweezers and some ibuprofen had become a life-threatening infection and surgical procedure in a matter of days.
“I can hear you stewing,” she drawled.
I pressed my lips together hard. The elevator beeped, and I glanced down at Ruth with a silent look of censure. I took in her still-damp curls and the way her gray eyes watched me with uncertainty like I might blow a gasket. The doors opened, and I hooked my arm around her waist, fitting her to my side. “Relax, wifey,” I said low, glancing through the open doors at the lobby of her office. I tilted her chin up to me, bending down to bring my lips to hers. “It is your body… until it’s mine. And then you’re getting what you deserve.” I kissed her softly. “Make of that what you will.”
I felt her ribs halt, and she froze in my arms. Her hands came up and curled around my dress shirt, but instead of pushing me away, she pulled me in. She deepened our kiss, breathing in deeply, and it was only when the doors began to close, and I had to whip out an arm to stop them, that she finally stepped away. The receptionist behind the desk gawked. Ruth put a hand to her lips, glancing up at me, and then back down. “I should object to that.”
“But you don’t?” I guessed with a smile, leading her out of the elevator.
Her hand moved to the base of her throat. “No. And don’t you dare gloat.”
I grinned. “Sorry, I’m gloating. ”
“Of course you are.” Ruth shook her head, scattering her curls down her shoulders, and she walked stiffly up to the front desk. “Good morning, Olivia.”
“Hi, Dr. C!” Olivia beamed at us both, her round cheeks dimpled with a smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She glanced between us as I came to stand by Ruth again and wrapped my arm casually around her hips. “Y’all are so cute.”
Ruth’s face went tomato red. “Yeah.”
I pinched her hip. “She has a knee injury, so tell me if she gets up and runs around the building.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “Oh no! I’m sorry to hear that. I guess that means you won’t be participating in the volleyball tournament at the block party next weekend.”
Ruth gritted her teeth, clearly irritated at the mention of the party. “Probably not.”
“Block party?” I asked, rotating a significant look her way.
Ruth refused to look at me. “I’ll be there, though. Of course.”
Sneaky little minx. What was the point of having a fake husband if she wasn’t going to use me? Olivia turned a silent look of question my way, so I said easily, “We will be there. Naturally.”
“Oh!” Olivia turned in her chair, and with perfectly manicured red nails, she picked up three sheaves of paper. “You got some client feedback forms, Ruth.”
Ruth looked surprised but took them from Olivia with such timid care, as if they might have been rigged with explosives. “Are they… bad? ”
“Oh, no,” Olivia said, like that was the last thing possible. “Your new three-choice system has gone over really well with the clients. They loved it, and two of them have had back-to-back dates already.”
Ruth put her fingers to her mouth, and her eyes danced down the page before she looked up with happiness lifting her features. “Wow. That’s so great.”
“Three-choice system?” I led Ruth away from the counter and waved to Olivia. “Nice to see you.”
“Same!” Olivia smiled brightly.
Ruth’s eyes stayed on her papers as she walked slowly down the hallway. “Yeah, I… I looked at the data and discovered that the three most common criteria for perceived successful matches were astrological signs, physical traits, and shared interests. So, I’ve been curating match profiles for my clients with these three choices and three different candidates that match each of them. That’s not to say that those criteria make for lasting or statistically significant matches long-term, but those are the criteria clients think they want.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Ruth, that’s brilliant.”
“Oh, well,” Ruth looked up finally, and her misty blue eyes locked onto mine. “It was just… data.”
“You’re using your strengths,” I pointed out, following her down the hall to where I knew her tiny office was, tucked in the back.
She limped stiffly and shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose I am. I’m really glad to see it' s working.”
I hooked my arm around her waist, letting her put some of her weight against me as she made her way slowly past glass-paneled meeting rooms and offices. “Determination and perseverance are definitely a turn-on.”
“Because I’m your type?” Ruth taunted with a side glance.
Cheeky. “Yes, you are,” I said with a half-smile.
She sighed, stiffening. “Sure.”
I opened the door for her, but as soon as she was inside, I trapped her against the wall. She sucked in a surprised breath as I bent to whisper a kiss along her jaw. I flattened my hand against the small of her back, pressing her to my body. “Is there a reason you’re keeping me at arms-length?”
She melted into me, angling her head to give me better access. With some difficulty, she admitted, “I think there is a reason, but I don’t know what it is.”
I smiled as I moved my lips from her jaw to her mouth. “That was a very scientific answer.”
She groaned, fisting my already wrinkled shirt in her hands. “There’s nothing scientific about what you’re doing to me.”
“There is,” I disagreed seriously. “It’s called hormones.”
She laughed softly. With a shy glance from my lips to my eyes, she pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed me softly. I pulled her closer, wrapping both my arms around her soft body and feeling the same sense of satisfaction I got from an early morning cup of coffee. I wanted to consume every delicious drop of Ruth she was willing to feed me.
When she pulled away, I skimmed the curve of her neck with my knuckles. “What’s with the block party?”
She groaned, and leaning away from me, she let her head fall back against the cream-colored wall. “It’s a summer company party, but we invited the whole building to ‘collaborate’ and make it a bigger event. We rented the park across the street.”
“And is this something you might have asked your husband to attend?” I asked softly.
Ruth refused to meet my gaze. “Maybe.”
“You are so stubborn , Coldwell. It’s okay to ask for favors, you know.” I cupped her face with both my hands until she met my stare. “And besides, I want to go. If you’re there, then I’m in.”
“Really?” She covered my hands with hers like she didn’t want me to move them. “You’re not just saying that because you—because I’m going with you tomorrow night?”
“No,” I assured her honestly. “I’m not. I want to go.” I kissed her forehead. “Stop worrying so much. Do you remember when I brought you home from the bar that first time?”
She grimaced. “You keep reminding me. How could I forget?”
I moved my hands to her bare arms, skimming them up and down soothingly. “You told me about a time someone shut the door on you and locked you out. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I’m not going to do that. I’m an open door, and you can walk right in and get comfy, Shortstop.”
Her lips trembled, and she pushed at her glasses, looking down. “Oh.”
“Oh,” I echoed with another smile before pulling her into a bear hug that let her bury her face in my chest. “What happened to caring about my ego, hm?’
“You’re fantastic,” she grumbled into my chest.
I chuckled, releasing her. “Thank you. I feel so much better.”
Ruth stepped away, pulling her backpack off her shoulders to set it on her tidy desk. With an uncertain glance, she asked, “So, you’re going to this party thing, huh? It’s next weekend.”
“Definitely,” I said with a dip of my chin.
“Okay.” She blew a sigh out of the side of her mouth, flicking one of her curls aside. She looked around her office. “Then… I guess we’re still fake married. For a while at least.”
Fake married. I had no idea when I’d blurted that two weeks ago that I would find myself really enamored with my enigmatic humanities doctor. The word “fake” in front of anything that had to do with Ruth Coldwell sat in my gut like a stone-cold weight. There wasn’t anything fake about the way I wanted to throw her over my shoulder, lock her in my bedroom, and have my way with her for the rest of the weekend. And there definitely wasn’t anything fake about the way I lost my breath over her sharp wit or got sore cheeks from smiling around her. I could tell she was reluctant to accept the way I felt about her. I knew what it was like to feel that heavy impossibility that someone might care for you when the past had presented nothing but evidence to the contrary.
But I’d be damned if I let those insecurities win. I hadn’t lied when I’d told Ruth I was competitive. She just didn’t know that I was competing for her . I moved to the doorway, putting a hand on the door jam, and then I gave her a glance with raised brows. “Correction, Shortstop. We’re real dating.” Then I left her with her mouth hanging open.