Chapter Seventeen
You know what’s super weird? To be suddenly forced to regret a good night out—especially for a birthday celebration with my hubby. But the Monday following our Friday night date, I was doing just that. Friday night had been a short shift day, which meant that I’d left the hospital hours ahead of those on the long shift. And they’d all seen me leave the shower and dressing room in a lovely designer dress and met the handsome white knight who had whisked me away on a dream date.
Jealousy abounded.
And I could detect a certainly chilly bent on some of my resident colleagues.
Or it may be that they’d gotten wind of just how wealthy he was and wondering why I was even here trying to eke out a medical license after four grueling years of medical school.
Even my neighbors had taken bets that I’d quit school ten minutes after marrying Adam.
There was no mistaking the weird vibe when I walked into the residents’ lounge after grabbing my white coat and stethoscope from my locker. Several other residents were there—some looking worse for wear after nearly sixteen hours of long call.
They stared, bleary-eyed, and some had the decency to ask how my hot birthday date had gone. They were good-natured enough about it but there was a thread of tension in their words.
And while I liked to congratulate myself for being so fucking lucky as to have Adam as my partner in life, saying anything about it, even when asked, felt like rubbing peoples’ faces in my good fortune.
Luckily, Dr. Iverson wasn’t here this morning.
However, later that afternoon, as he was assisting while I took care of an IV on a pre-op patient the snark started.
“How’d the hot date go on Friday?”
I shrugged, sent a sideways glance to the patient as if giving her presence as my excuse for not wanting to talk about it.
But just outside her room, as I found the nearest station to rest my tablet to enter notes into her chart, he gravitated to me like a white blood cell toward an invading virus.
“I’m serious, that was quite a show on Friday. Your guy likes that kind of thing, huh?”
I blinked without looking at him. “My husband, you mean? He just wanted to do something nice for my birthday.”
“So how long have you been married?”
“Three years.”
“Huh, did you know that most divorces happen within the first five years of marriage on average?”
I rolled my eyes. “Wow, quoting statistics. How generically predictable of you.” I focused on the chart notes, pulling out my folding portable keyboard and laying it flat in front of my tablet.
He was, unfortunately, unfazed. “When you think about it, our whole job is statistics. That’s how medical studies are done.”
“Last I checked, neither I nor my spouse are lab rats.”
He shrugged. “I’ve made it a sound policy—and advise anyone I know who’s going into medical school—not to get married until after residency at the very earliest.”
“Interesting. Saves date money, in any case.” He was trying to rile me up and visibly getting more annoyed the more chill I was with his prodding.
“I mean, why even get married at such a young age? Unless...maybe you had to?”
I pulled my hands off the keyboard and turned fully to him, resting an elbow on the counter. I sent him a withering glare that he could not possibly miss and when I spoke, it was in the sternest voice I could muster. “Not sure what you’re insinuating, but I’m quite sure I’m not comfortable with it. You should definitely change the subject.”
He shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. “Fair enough. I gotta say that it must be nice, though...”
I most definitely did not have time for his bullshit. I turned back to my chart, determined to blow him off.
“I mean...” he continued when I’d given him zero indication of wanting to hear what else he had to say. “If the doctor thing doesn’t work out, you have a billionaire to fall back on.”
I stiffened. So word had gotten out. I figured it must have. Adam was a semi-public personality that someone could easily discover by doing one google search and reading his Wikipedia article or a write-up from Forbes magazine. My co-workers already knew I lived in Newport Beach, and that wasn’t exactly the low-rent—or even medium-rent—district of Orange County. But when we walked through the hospital doors every morning, we were all equals—medical doctors working under supervision of attending physicians to help people.
Which...I was currently being impeded from doing by my own senior resident.
“I don’t fall back on anyone,” I said curtly. “Now I’ve got a lot of—”
“Well, I mean, not necessarily to quit, but...if you screw up you could always get him to donate a new wing to the hospital or something.”
My eyebrow arched and shoulders locked. “Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Iverson. I have work to do, and so do you. I’m politely asking you to stop this. Now. You’ll save us both a lot of time if I don’t have to go to human resources about it.”
His eyes widened and he looked honestly taken aback, like he couldn’t even fathom where my offense had come from. “Whoa, whoa. No need to be so touchy. You know, as colleagues, we can joke around a little. Guess we all have different senses of humor. I’ll let you be.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling my temples bulge. I’d had plenty of fun times joking around with colleagues. Sometimes the jokes bordered on the not-so-appropriate, but within reason. But I wasn’t going to argue. Fuck this guy. “Sounds great. Thank you.”
He threw up his hands dramatically, as if my reaction was way over the top and out of nowhere. I didn’t care. My patience had run out, especially since other people were starting to notice. When Adam had asked about him during our drive to dinner, it had officially become the last straw.
I was done playing Dr. Nice Girl.
“What was all that about?” Louisa showed up at my shoulder just as I was finishing my notes and folding my keyboard back into my pocket.
“Oh, hey.” I turned to her and smiled, taking up my tablet. She was at the stage of her pregnancy where she was taking extra care to prevent infection, so half her face was covered by a surgical mask. “How’s your cards rotation going?” I had zero desire to go into Iverson’s bullshit, especially where a nurse might overhear my complaints. “And how’s baby doing?” I pointed to her heavily rounded belly.
“Cards is fine. Just working on some stress EKGs right now. I’m wrapping up the rotation next week before maternity leave. And this little tyke can come any time after that, please and thank you. I need to post an eviction notice for him or something—feels like I’m bigger than a swollen woolly mammoth.” That twinge of envy I felt was only a dull pinch this morning. Probably smothered by all the lingering irritation at Dr. Fuckhead.
“So are you going to tell me why Craig just walked away looking so cartoonishly butthurt that I laughed a little behind my mask when he wasn’t looking my way?”
With a sharp look toward the nurse’s station, I hugged my tablet and ushered her toward a nearby hallway—and near where my next patient was waiting.
In a low voice, I addressed her question. “I told him point blank to knock off his bullshit. He was hinting that I’m just going to quit any time now because my husband is rich. I told him that wasn’t appropriate.”
Her eyes widened above her mask. “Damn, girl. You go. He was a year ahead of me in pre-med at ‘SC and he honestly has always intimidated me.”
“He likes to think he’s imposing and all-knowing, but he’s just a socially awkward dickhead who apparently hates women.”
“He most certainly does the opposite of hating you, Mia. You have to know that.”
My next two steps came hesitantly, then I stopped in the middle of the hallway, moving next to the wall to allow others to pass. “It doesn’t matter what his motivation is. Saying that kind of stuff is not appropriate. Ever.”
She nodded, quickly agreeing.
“I have to get a move on. Everyone on pedes rotation has a staff meeting in forty-five minutes and I have three newborns to visit before that.” I pulled my surgical mask out of my pocket and looped it around my ears.
“Aww,” she said in a singsong voice, rubbing a hand over her belly. “Hopefully in two weeks, that will be my little guy, too.”
“I won’t be on pedes anymore, unless your little guy makes an early appearance. But you can bet I’ll be visiting you every single damn day you’re in maternity.” We shared a grin and I silently fought the urge to reach out and rub her belly.
Her eyes crinkled above her mask. “I’m counting on that. In the meantime, good going with Senior Resident Dickhead,” she whispered. I snickered, gave her a fistbump and moved on about my day.
Fortunately, Dr. Dickhead got the message. I only prayed it would last. His residency was up in a little over a year. Unless he chose to apply for a fellowship here.
The only thing worse than Senior Resident Dickhead would be Fellow Dickhead.
A week later, I started a cards rotation, which meant dealing with patients who had heart emergencies—myocardial infarctions, angina, general chest pains. I was in the ER a lot and things were fast moving.
And though we were once again on the same rotation, I saw a lot less of Dr. Dickhead.
But things felt lonelier with Louisa on maternity leave.
A few weeks after that, it was Adam’s birthday, and as I had two whole days off in a row, a few days before he would turn thirty-two, I decided to snag a reservation at a cute bed-and-breakfast up in Arrowhead, in the San Bernardino mountains about an hour and a half drive from where we lived.
It was just far enough away to catch some peace and quiet, enjoy some relaxing walks in nature, some good food and a lot of quality time. We sadly didn’t get much of that these days.
And though I didn’t make a plan of it, we ended up having a lot of sex. A lot and a lot of it, like we were using those two days to somehow catch up on weeks of not having had any at all.
Because in order to have sex—hot or otherwise—you had to be in the same room and conscious long enough to do it. Go figure.
We slept in our first morning, missing breakfast hours, but neither of us cared. We might have gone at it last night until we passed out but when he pulled me against him first thing in the morning after waking up, he pressed his morning wood up against me. And that was enough to seduce me yet again. So, I hit the bathroom right after he did, quickly brushing my teeth and running a brush through my hair.
When I reappeared in the bedroom, he was on his back, hands under his head, staring up at the ceiling.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
“About how glad I am that I decided to take time off work to be up here with you.”
I bit my lip. “Aww. You’re so incredibly sweet.”
A wicked grin slid over his astonishingly sexy lips. “Well, if you knew about the dirty stuff I was thinking, you wouldn’t think I was so sweet.”
“Oh, there’s dirty stuff? That’s even better.” And with that, I pulled off my night shirt and brazenly tossed it to the floor. “I am now taunting you with my naked body.”
His dark eyes hungrily skated over my bare skin, devouring every inch.
“Come here,” he said in a husky, quiet voice. A commanding voice.
“I thought I wore you out last night. You are a year older now, after all.”
His eyes narrowed at the taunt. “Don’t make me chase you down, sugar baby.”
I pushed my breasts together to make fake cleavage and topped it with a prominent lower lip pout. “You want some of my sugar? Do you deserve it?”
A wicked smile spread across his face. “You know I do.”
I took a playful step toward him. Then another, until my legs came up against the edge of the bed. He sat up and, lightning-fast, grabbed me around the waist and pulled me on top of him.
I shrieked in surprise before laughing. “You ain’t messing around, old man.”
“Oh, I will be messing around plenty in this room, with you.”
I bent and our lips locked in a ferocious, passionate kiss. Our tongues entwined and his hands came up to hold my head steady against his mouth. No need, really because I was in it as much as he was.
I pulled the covers off him and our naked bodies fused against each other, softened and melting against each other like two chemical compounds predestined to bond whenever they were mixed.
I had to agree with him. Sex when you weren’t actively trying to make a baby was good stuff.
And in spite of our sexcapades last night, this morning it was on. I pulled back, opening my legs to straddle him. He grabbed my hips, squeezing tightly and with one quick shift, he slid inside me, letting out a long, pent breath.
“Why do you always feel so fucking good?”
I moved my hips over his slowly once, smiling. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“You are the sexiest woman on the planet, and I’m the luckiest bastard in the solar system.” He said tightly as I shifted over him once again. We both let out a long sigh in unison.
His hands slid from my hips to cup my breasts as I continued to move, my eyes fluttering closed, savoring the feel of him, his hands, his skin against my skin, his hard cock inside me.
For long moments, I couldn’t focus on anything else. Adam was a storm—a raging force of nature that couldn’t be ignored—and never forgotten. His touch was thunder and his presence, lightning. His force of will was the wind and the rain. Soon I was happily sandwiched between him and the bed as he rolled me over claiming full control that I was happy to cede for now.
I weathered and relished and savored him—his hot breath against my skin, the hard muscular body shifting against my own. The furious tempest slowly calmed to a steady, if determined, downpour. And I was the parched earth gratefully soaking up every single drop.
My legs curled around his hips, holding him close to me, even when he wanted to shift away and keep his rhythm. For a few playful minutes, we wrestled each other before he expelled a resolute breath, wrapped his fingers around my ankle and flung my leg away, freeing his movements once more.
I would have laughed but I soon forgot whatever it was I’d found funny as his rhythm changed in earnest. Unrelentingly, he bore down on me and I was gasping for air, eyes rolling back into my head and savoring that quick ascent to orgasm. The storm kept pounding as I found my climax and soon, he stilled, plunging deep and holding his breath as I felt him reach the same crisis only minutes later.
My legs curled around him protectively once more, holding him there until he drew breath again—and inhaled my exhales.
His eyes fluttered open and our gazes locked.
“Fuck,” he uttered on a harsh breath. “You are incredible.”
I smiled and ran my fingers through his thick dark hair as my legs tightened around his hips. “Hmm. You’re not so bad yourself, mister.” I leaned up and pecked his lips. “Happy birthday.”
“Yeah, happy indeed.”
And the rest of the day—most of it spent inside that bedroom until we emerged, bleary-eyed at dusk to finally get some dinner and breathe a little fresh air.
But neither of us complained. Not one single bit.