Chapter 19 Theo
What the fuck am I doing? Did I really tell Lexie what I’d do with her beautiful, perfect cunt if she were my woman? My cock stayed hard for so long after I said that, picturing what she sounds and tastes like, that I thought I’d have to dump the ice water in my lap or jerk off in the bathroom.
I need to cut this shit out, immediately.
I’m fucking engaged, to a woman I love, with what feels like the weight of the world riding on our nuptials.
Not only that, Lexie clearly did not give a fuck.
Her face conveyed little more than boredom and she immediately brought up Anna.
What was I hoping for? That she’d realize what she was missing?
That she’d drop to her knees and wrap her lips around my cock?
Fuck.
As we eat our way through the last of the samples, the chef stops by periodically with his assistant to clear plates and check in. I’m only half listening as Lexie chatters on about all the endless wedding details still left to finalize.
“… and I got the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers last week, which reminds me that I need to check with Annabelle about what she’s thinking for the bouquet.”
Now, she has my attention. “You’ll have to give her the name of the person who sent them, so she can get their recommendation.”
“That’s a great idea!” she says, clearly not suspicious about my comment. “Justin has great taste. I’ll ask him.”
“Justin.” So he’s the guy that stole her attention away from me that night. “Your friend.”
“Yes.” She gives me a faintly puzzled look. How many guys does she have wrapped around her finger? Does she play with all of them like she does with me? “I’m lucky to have him. He just gets me. I was having a rough day recently and he sent me the flowers and a gift to cheer me up.”
Fuck. How can she always make me lose control? It’s like she knows talking about other men is my weakness and I fall into her goddamn trap every time.
I hate the way she makes me feel.
“Are you sure it’s not Justin’s way of trying to get in your pants?” I mumble to myself, but Lexie hears, and she bursts into laughter. My annoyance grows.
“Well, I think Justin’s husband wouldn’t like that very much. And trust me, neither would Justin.”
Relief floods through me. Christ. I need to get my head on straight. This is what happens when she gets inside my mind. I stop thinking clearly. I stop sleeping. I teeter on doing some really fucked-up shit. Thank God I didn’t have to kill that Justin guy.
“Well, now I’ve got to know what the gift was.”
“Do you, huh?” She lifts a brow and that little smirk of hers is doing something fierce to my insides.
“He sent a mug that said, ‘I love you so much I’d cut a bitch for you.’ I bet twenty bucks Justin picked out the mug and his husband picked the flowers.
They’ve been together since high school, like you and Annabelle. ”
Everything stills. I love Anna—I do. But every time I’m with Lexie, the rest of the world fades away.
It’s like being trapped in a cave: dark, wet, sometimes beautiful, sometimes suffocating.
I’m sitting here tasting cake for my own wedding and somehow forgetting my bride entirely again.
“Yeah,” I say at last. “Like me and Anna.”
There’s so much more tangled up with Anna than Lexie could ever know, and part of me wants to spill it all and see where I’d stand with her. But I can’t. Because even as we spend more time together and I begrudgingly enjoy her company, I still don’t trust her.
“Are your parents excited about the wedding?” she asks, the subject change throwing me.
My jaw tightens. “I don’t really talk to them.”
Her head snaps up. “You don’t talk to your family?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Even your dad?”
“Especially not my dad.”
Looking at Lexie now, a part of me wonders, again, if she knew back then what she was getting into. I know it’s been seven years, and it’s a long fucking time to hold a grudge, but she destroyed me. When she showed up on my father’s arm that night… my gut tightens.
Now is not the time to relive this. I need to deflect before I do or say something I regret.
Lexie has proven herself a formidable adversary—maybe even the best I’ve ever had.
I know that. And yet, nothing about these last few moments felt like a game.
The way she tugs that lip between her teeth, the way she tucks her hair back and slowly turns her wine glass—it doesn’t feel like she’s teasing.
The chef comes out, asks if we need anything else, and I think we both hold back a groan. After nearly two hours of cake testing, my glucose levels are probably so high they could take out a small army. We decline, and he says we are welcome to stay as long as we need.
Once he leaves, I set the fork on the plate and reach for the coffee. “Thank you for taking one for the team and trying the wine pairings.” I drum my fingers on the table, enjoying the softened buzzed look spreading on her freckles.
“You’re welcome. Although I’m so full, I’m not sure I can make it up the stairs to my apartment tonight. If you try to contact me later and don’t get a response, please call the paramedics and let them know the damage I’ve done.”
I smile. “You know I’m a doctor, right? You can just call me if you need.”
She chuckles. Fuck me, she has a beautiful smile.
The way her full, pillowy lips highlight those teeth with that same cute, slivered gap she had back when I first met her.
Usually, she uses that mouth for evil. She tests me, teases me, torments me, but tonight, she’s splintered her facade, and I shouldn’t fucking like what I see.
But I do.
“Can you do some sort of stomach-resuscitating thing? Is there gut defibrillator where you rub the paddles together, yell ‘clear!’ and shock some of this sugar out of my system?”
And now it’s my turn to laugh. “Sadly, no. Just hydrate, and if you can, move your body.”
Why did I say that? I mean, it’s sound medical advice. I give the same mindless advice dozens of times a day, but now all I can think about is her, in her home, moving her body, using her hands, writhing…
For a split-second, my eyes drop to her lips. And no. I can’t do this. We can’t do this.
But fuck I want to.
Buzz. Her goddamn phone shakes against the table, ruining whatever this moment is, and even though it needed to stop, a heat flares through me. “Shut off your pho—”
We both look at the screen at the same time. My clinic name is flashing on her screen.
“Why the hell is my clinic calling you?” I ask, and she clearly has the same question. She ignores me and taps it on.
“Hello?” she says and completely stills. “Yes, this is she. Wait, what? What happened? When?”
I know that voice. I work twice a month in the urgent care attached to my clinic and have heard that voice. “Put it on speaker,” I say but she’s not listening.
“Oh my God, what? Is she okay? Oh God, oh God, where are you located?” She gets up so fast that she bumps into the table and I snatch the wine glass before it smashes into her plate. Her fingers tremble as she grabs her purse and shoves the phone under her chin.
“Lexie, put the phone on speaker,” I say again, firm, trying to get her to focus on me but her eyes are frantic, dashing between me, the table, and the entrance. She yanks her jacket off the back of the chair and the chair thuds into the ground.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Where? Shit, shit, I don’t know how far that is from here! Oh God, okay, okay… I need a cab and—”
I rip the phone from her ear and put it on speaker. “This is Dr. Astor. Who am I speaking with?”
After the urgent care triage nurse identifies herself, I ask her to tell me what’s happening while Lexie stands in front of me, wobbling, and squeezing and shaking her fingers. “We have a patient, Elaina Welch, fifty-five, brought in here after fainting at work and hitting her head—”
“Is she responsive?” I ask, grabbing my jacket and leading Lexi to the entrance.
“Yes. The doctor is doing a concussion evaluation now, we’ll be running labs and controlling the bleeding with sutures…” Lexie gasps and covers her mouth as the nurse continues to give me this information.
We hang up, I hand Lexie her phone, and she bolts out of the bakery, stuffing her arms into her jacket as she runs to flag a cab. “I have to go. Theo, this is my mom… she told me she wasn’t feeling good and said she was all lethargic and dizzy, and I should’ve fucking made her go in…”
“Breathe, okay?” I say, grabbing her arm. “I need you to stop right now and take a breath.”
“I can’t!” she says, her chest rising in quick shallow breaths, and between the wine, sugar, and panic, she’s in danger of passing out herself if she doesn’t calm down. “Where are the goddamn cabs?”
I cup her face and drag her eyes to mine.
“I’ll drive you. I have my car.” Fuck, fuck her skin feels so good underneath my fingertips.
I’ve wondered all these years how soft it would be, but I push away the sensation.
Right now, Lexie not hyperventilating is more important than me absorbing the sensation of her skin.
Her eyes frantically flicker between mine. “I… no… that’s not a good idea. I need to go by myself, and…”
“You’ve been drinking. You need someone sober with you in case you need to make any decisions.”
It takes a moment, her forehead cutting with worry, when she nods. I grip her by the hand and drag her down the block to the parking garage.
Inside the garage, we run down several flights, with me right at her side as she grips the railing with one hand and me with the other. I open her door to my Audi A8, then hop in the driver’s seat and take off.
On the ride, I weave quick and sharp through traffic as she grips her phone to her chest. “They said she fell and hit her head. That’s bad, right? It’s so bad. Why does she keep falling?”
I pass a car and accelerate.
“What if it’s something terrible?” Her voice trembles as she speaks. “Or, or, what if this is it, or if she’s really sick and has cancer like my dad and—”
“Lexie.” I use my soothing, but firm, doctor tone. “There’s no point jumping to conclusions when we don’t have all the information. You said this has happened before?”
“Yes, at work. She got dizzy and passed out, and the doctor at the hotel where she works gave her an ice pack and said she might need to get on blood pressure medication.” She taps her finger on the back of the cell phone and stares out the window.
“For passing out?” Jesus Christ. “Did they check her blood sugar? EKG? Hydration levels?”
“I doubt it,” she says, her legs bouncing. “I told her to go in but with her shitty insurance, she knew she’d have to wait for months.”
Unreal. I grunt in response.
I roll to a stop at the light and look at her. Lexie looks so small and fragile sitting there that a fierce need to protect her overtakes me. “Tomorrow, call my office, and set up an appointment with me for your mom.”
For the first time since she got the call, she snaps from her trance, and her eyes bore into me, questioning.
Does she think this is a game? Does she really think that I’d do something to jeopardize someone’s health, to what…
get back at her for what she said to Justin that first day in her office?
As far as she knows—which I intend to keep that way—I first met her when Anna and I stepped into her office.
I wouldn’t exploit her mother’s health, or anyone’s for that matter, for something like this.
She bites her lip and exhales. “Thank you. But I’m almost positive that her insurance won’t cover the costs.”
“I don’t expect payment. Have her come to my office and I’ll take care of her, no charge, okay?” Her eyes turn soft at my words. “Reach out to my nurse Erica. She’ll take care of the arrangements.”
Tears spring to her eyes, but she quickly blinks them away. I should love this. This is what I want, right? To see little bits of her break?
But dammit. Not like this. A warm, almost tingling sensation swarms in my chest. I clear my throat and focus on the traffic.
She’s making me feel things again. I’m fucking Theo Astor and I don’t feel anything for Lexie Welch.
And yet, I want to hold her and kiss her forehead and tell her everything’s going to be okay. And I shouldn’t.
I really, really shouldn’t.