Chapter 10 #2
“Yes. In case you were wondering, it was extremely out of character for me to leave you in the dark about how I knew you. But I kind of liked watching you stew.”
He laughs a little more at that. I lean against my car, feigning a casualness I don’t feel. A breeze touches my cheek. It’s finally blessedly cooler now that it’s September, over five weeks into Grant’s three-month rotation, though blazing heat will likely appear again like an uninvited guest.
“Before I make my request,” I say, “aren’t you ever going to ask me about the changes? About why I look so different you didn’t even recognize me?”
“You have changed,” he hedges, “but you seemed familiar. I just wasn’t expecting to see you in this setting. You have to admit, it’s a big coincidence.”
“You figured I was struggling, like my mom?”
“I knew you were smart. You had a lot working against you, though.” He shrugs. “And most of us have changed since high school. Not so much physically, for me, but in other ways.”
“Back then, you wondered how I managed to be poor and fat at the same time. It seemed to perplex you.”
He winces. “God, what an asshole. I know better now.”
He’s saying some of the right things, but I still have trouble letting it go. I’ve never really gotten to say my piece.
“I wasn’t trying to lose weight,” I say.
“I have an autoimmune condition I wasn’t treated for.
And once I had my own money, I started doing some of the activities that made me feel good, that brought me joy, like dance classes.
I have access to different food, and not so much anxiety about having to go without.
But it wouldn’t happen that way for everyone.
I’m sure they teach you it’s some moral failing, in med school, being fat. But that’s not true.”
“I know. I promise. We need to do better as a profession, that’s for sure.”
“Well, yeah,” I say. He’s taken the wind out of my sails a little bit. I expected to hear a lecture, but he seems sympathetic. I point to my hair. “Dyed.” Then my teeth. “Braces.” Then my body. “Better clothes.”
His eyes track my hand as I gesture to myself. He bites his lip, and even though I’m wearing scrubs, I feel naked the way he stares at me. A little flush creeps up his neck and into his face.
“Which brings me to my request,” I say.
His eyes flick to mine. “What’s that?”
I’m going to lose my nerve. I thought this would be fun, but now I’m not sure. I hesitate.
“Kendall,” he says, “I told you I would do anything you asked. I meant it.”
“Okay.” I inhale. “There’s a dress I want. It’s more than I usually pay for clothes, so I didn’t buy it.”
He stares at me, perhaps waiting for the punchline. His expression morphs into disbelief. “Wait. I made your life hell when we were teenagers, and in penance, you want . . . a few lunches and an article of clothing?”
I laugh. “Well, we wouldn’t be even, but maybe it would make you feel better. I’m taking pity on you, giving you this opportunity.”
“So what happened to never forgiving me?”
A horn honks from somewhere on the level below, startling me. I plant a hand on my car again. “This isn’t forgiveness. But I can’t help poking the bear, unfortunately.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
The scent of exhaust swirls as a car drives past us.
“Yes,” I say. “But I don’t know, I wouldn’t turn down some guilt gifts.”
He moves closer to me. My heart lifts into my throat.
“I absolutely terrorized you in high school, Kendall.” To my surprise, his voice cracks. “I’ll do more than a dress. I’ll give you more money. I can help your mom out. I know she struggles. You name it.”
My mouth drops open. “You’d do that? You’re just a resident. You don’t even make that much money.” I cock my head. “Unless your parents give you money? But that doesn’t sound like them, either. I always thought they wanted you to make your own way.”
“My grandfather left me some inheritance.”
“I’m sorry to hear that he passed,” I say. “I remember him. You were his golden child.”
He scoffs. “He didn’t know what I was really like.” His gaze finds me again. “He would be happy if I did something good with his money.”
I’m tempted. God, I’m tempted. People often ask about how to help the disadvantaged, and for me and Blaine when we were kids, the answer was straightforward: more money. My mom won’t take anything from me, but she might take something from an anonymous donor.
“Did you mean it?” Grant asks. “When I said I was sorry, and you said you believed me?”
“I do. At least, I think I do. I also meant what I said about forgiveness. I don’t hand that out so easily. But I can’t take your money.”
We study each other. His eyes trace over my collarbone.
I feel like I have the upper hand, and it’s a good feeling.
I want to revel in it. Maybe this is why I haven’t stuck to my dedication to be courteous but distant with him.
I actually crave this power. It’s a startling revelation, but I’m just going to own it.
“There’s something else I might want,” I say. My voice trembles. “You’re going to think it’s crazy.”
“I’m intrigued.” He shifts his weight to one leg, and a ripple of thigh muscle bulges against his scrub pants. “But I said I would do whatever you wanted. Even if it’s some kind of punishment. Lay it on me.”
I puff my cheeks out.
“You’re shaking,” he says. His frown pulls at his features.
“I’m not sure I should ask for this.”
“Kendall. I’m serious. Whatever you want. Anything.”
Am I really going to do this? I think I am.
“There’s something here,” I say. I gesture between us, and he watches my hand with the same small frown.
I look at him again. “I thought maybe we could act on it, only once, and only if I’m in control.
Just to see. And maybe to torment you, if I’m being honest.”
He jerks his head up, studying me intently.
“There’s also a tiny part of me,” I say, voice still trembling despite my best efforts, “that wants to indulge in a little fantasy. High school me hated you, but there was an ugly part of me that also wanted some different attention from you. I thought my life would be better if you thought I was hot.”
“You were,” he rushes to say. His voice lowers in register. “You are.”
The seconds expand. The stillness envelops us as he waits for me to talk. I clear my throat.
“Can I kiss you?” I murmur. “Just to see what it’s like?”
He stills. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t think I could have heard correctly. It sounded like you asked me to kiss you.”
“No, I asked if I could kiss you. There’s a difference,” I say.
“So, my punishment here is being nice, buying a dress, and kissing a gorgeous woman? That doesn’t seem like atonement for my crimes.”
I sigh. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.” He swallows. “Obviously.”
I inch closer to him, mindful of the fact that someone could walk, or drive, by.
Another gentle breeze blows, ruffling his hair.
He smells of cinnamon, like maybe he’s been chewing that flavor of gum.
His jawline tightens as I come near. I can’t believe what I’m about to do, but I’m dying to see what happens here.
I’ve always been a sucker for impulsive decisions.
I lay a hand on his shoulder and one on his hip.
He watches me, not speaking, like he’s afraid to puncture the tension.
His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.
A rush of desire spreads over me, warming my skin, and judging from the heated look on his face, he knows what I’m feeling.
My fingers tense at his waist. He doesn’t touch me, though. He’s waiting for me.
His huff of breath just before my lips touch his will remain stamped in my memory forever.
And oh God, now it’s real, we’re doing this.
My mouth moves against his, a gentle kiss, then another.
We’re soft, restrained, until I press harder, then he groans into my mouth before cupping my face with both hands.
I touch my tongue to his, savoring the delicious way he strokes mine with his own.
He’s tender. Reverent, like I’m a precious commodity.
I grip the back of his arm and tug him toward me. I want more. Our kisses turn hotter, rougher, more needy as I angle my head.
I roll my hips against his, and he breaks the kiss for a moment to stare at me.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes. He yanks me toward him again.
We’re feverish. Our heads rock back and forth to get at each other. He moans again, an obscene sound that lights me up from within. My hand slides up his back to grasp at his neck, then at a handful of his hair, and that spurs him on. We’re savage, on fire, licking and plundering.
It’s incendiary. An explosion of fireworks in my brain. My nerve endings sing with each new sensation—his hot lips, his strong hands, his erection where it presses against me. The restless sounds we make.
He hauls me into him as his hands rove over my back, down to my ass, and back up again.
I would chastise him, given my assertion about being in control, but I don’t have it in me to care at that moment.
My thumb grazes the skin at his waist where I’ve rucked his scrub top up, and he rewards me with a little shudder.
I might have taken the damn thing off if it wasn’t for the sound of an engine revving from the street below.
I tear my mouth away, and he starts to follow me until I push a palm against his chest.
We stare at each other. Our chests heave, and my mouth hangs open. That was the hottest kiss of my entire life.
And it was with Grant Wyndham. There are very few people I hate in my life, and he lives at the top of that list.
“That’s it,” I say, still a bit breathless. “I got what I wanted.”
Was that cruel? I don’t even know anymore.
He drops his hands, but his fists are clenched and his chest fills with his deep inhalations. His eyes track over my face, down my body, and back up again. He looks absolutely wrecked by lust. Longing. That’s how I would describe the expression on his face.
And God. My body thrums with wanting, but also with a heady sense of power. To have this man at my mercy produces a thrill I could get addicted to.
I need to cut it off at the root, though, or it will grow like a weed.
“That can’t happen again,” I say.
His face drops. “I understand.” His dark stare sends another bolt of awareness through me. He touches his mouth. “But damn. That was, uh . . .”
“Yes. But it doesn’t matter.”
He backs away and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Send me the link. To the dress you want, I mean.”
“I’m not doing that. I don’t have your number, anyway.”
He tugs his phone out of his pocket. “Tell me yours, then.” He sticks his bottom lip out. “Please? I won’t bother you. I just want to do this for you.”
“Fine.” I rattle off my number. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turn to get in the car. I sense him behind me still, wanting to say something, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t walk away until I’m behind the wheel.
He’s texted me. My stomach riots as my thumbs hover over the keys.
Before I can overthink it, I look up the dress I want, a beautiful green confection, and text it to him with my size. My head hits the headrest, and I drop my phone like it might be on fire.
But the more I think about it, the more I don’t feel too bad. I mean, he bullied me. He made me feel inadequate because of my class, something I struggle to make peace with even now.
And he wants me bad. That much is clear. I succeeded in taunting him with something he can never truly have.
The problem with this, of course, is that part of me wants him too.