Bend (13 page)

Because it’s
too
right. Too good. And I wasn’t supposed to care that all of this comes with an expiration date, that all too soon he’ll be leaving for a new life without me.

But I do.

S
o. That happened.

I’m lying spent and sated on Mia’s bed. Above us her ceiling fan spins on high, quickly cooling down my sweat-slicked body, and the glare from its lightbulbs blends with the muted daylight peeping in between the closed blinds to create a glow that seems cloudy and artificial. And that just adds to my sense of having come untethered, of having only a vague idea of what day or time it is—or where I am and why.

I slant a sideways look at Mia where she’s resting an arm’s distance from me. She’s on her stomach with one arm folded under her head and her injured hand on the pillow, and she’s watching me with eyes that are unblinking, unfathomable, and glassy with afterglow. Her half-dry hair is tangled and mussed, her cheeks flushed.

Naked and uncovered, she seems entirely unselfconscious. And that—more so than all that porcelain flesh and round ass and long, shapely legs—is the most attractive thing about her. How comfortable she is in her own skin. How little she cares about being measured and judged.

She’s so beautiful it makes my bones ache. Pretty and perfect, like one of those dolls people might keep in curios and on high shelves, there to be admired but never touched—and definitely never to be played with.

Maybe that’s why it felt so good to play with her.

Now, though. Now there’s definitely regret. Regret mixed with a healthy dose of despair, because I know I’d do it again. It’s a sensation similar to having overindulged—on food, alcohol, or whatever—and hating yourself afterward because you feel like shit but know it’s pointless to swear you’ll never do it again. Because it felt too fucking good. And it was worth it.

I’m not even mad at her. Yeah, she started this. She pushed and pushed, taunted and teased, ignoring my emphatic objections. But I’m a goddamned adult. There was a point when I could’ve made myself walk away. Not sure when that was exactly, because I definitely tried…and failed spectacularly.

Shit.

Focusing my gaze on her again, I find myself wanting to reach out and touch her. Cup her cheek, brush my thumb along the contours of her face, bury my fingers in her hair. Something stops me, though. It’s as if there’s a barrier that separates me and some hidden danger, and I don’t even want to know what it is. Actually facing it is unthinkable right now.

So instead I ask, “How’s your hand?”

Her forehead puckers, and her eyes go squinty, like she’s considering it. “Achy.”

“More or less than before?”

“A little more, I think,” she answers, sounding hesitant. “I really don’t want any more hydrocodone, though.”

Probably a smart choice, but I don’t like that she’s in pain. “Got any over-the-counter stuff?”

“In my medicine cabinet,” she replies with a nod.

I vault out of bed and pad across the carpet to her bathroom. First thing I do is pluck my boxers off the floor and pull them on, and then I look in the mirror-covered cabinet. It’s well-stocked with medications for a variety of minor ailments, which isn’t surprising. Mia doesn’t like being uncomfortable, not when she can help it.

Grabbing her bottle of ibuprofen and a small tube of antibiotic ointment, I set them on the sink while I thoroughly scrub my hands under the faucet. As I return to the bedroom, I find that she hasn’t moved at all. Silently, I edge around the bed to where she’s lying, twist the cap off the small container, and shake a couple of pills out into my hand.

While I open the water bottle on her nightstand, she rolls over, visibly shivers, and pulls her sheet over herself as she pushes up on her elbows, which is really too bad. The sight of naked Mia definitely threatens my sanity, but it’s kind of hard to remember why that’s a problem right now.

She thanks me and washes the pills down quickly, and when I pick up the antibiotic cream, she shoves her pillow up against the headboard and sits upright.

“You need to use this three times a day,” I tell her as I toss the tube down on the bed.

With a smirk and dancing eyes, she replies, “Thank you, Dr. B. I know that.”

Of course she does. My lips twitch but don’t split into a smile.

Her gaze lowers, raking slowly down my body and back up again, and she’s not even trying to disguise the appreciation that’s glittering in her eyes. Heat flares in my stomach and flows down to my crotch.

Goddamn.
Has she looked at me like that before and I just missed it, or is this a new thing? Because I’m pretty sure if she doesn’t stop, I’ll have no choice about fucking her again. Right now.

Reaching out my slightly unsteady hand, I wait for her to offer me her bandaged one. She does, and then I start to peel away the tape holding in place the gauze bandage between her thumb and forefinger.

“We’re gonna do that again at some point, right?” she says suddenly, her voice husky…and cautiously hopeful.

My lungs constrict, but I don’t look at her, concentrating on my task—or at least pretending to. “I don’t know. Are we going to be more responsible about it?”

“What?” She sounds confused, and then she lets out a sigh and says, “Ooh. I’ve got an IUD
and
I’m on the pill. It’s like Fort Knox down there.”

I glance up and see her pointing a finger down the front of her body, her cheeks dimpling mischievously. She’s trying to be funny and disarming. It’s not really working on me right now.

“And when was the last time you took the pill?” I ask, arching my eyebrows.

Her expression looks blank at first. Then her eyes go wide, and she yanks her hand out of my grasp and scoots off the bed. “Be right back.”

Jesus.
She’s exhausting. Maddening. As she disappears into the bathroom, I reach up and rub my eyes, way more disgusted with myself than with her. It hadn’t even occurred to me to ask if she had a condom—which she most likely does. Making me forget such a basic thing…how does she do it?

She comes back out of the bathroom. Still naked. Her breasts bounce as she hurries back to the bed, and my dick stirs. All rested and ready to go again.

God-fucking-damn it.

After crawling back under the sheet and sitting up under it with her knees bent, she thrusts her hand back out at me.

“Not sure why I’m having to explain this to you of all people,” I say as I loosen the bandage enough to fold it back, exposing her stitches and the angry, red skin underneath, “but pregnancy is hardly the only risk.”

She blinks at me, and then her eyes shift from confused to incredulous. “Seriously?” she exclaims, a high-pitched squeal. “I don’t have any STDs, Jay. For Pete’s sake.”

She says
for Pete’s sake
a lot, just like her grandmother does. I’ve always thought it was cute. A part of what makes her
her.

“How many of your patients who test positive for something are surprised by it?” I ask her while picking up the antibiotic, satisfied that I’m making a good point here.

For a while she only stares at me, tight-lipped. Then, in a strained tone, she asks, “Exactly how many guys do you think I’ve fucked?”

Aw, shit.
I really would rather not answer that question. Since I’ve known her, she’s dated four guys…that I’m aware of. And I’d probably know if there were more, because, unlike me, she’s not big on keeping secrets. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t hooked up with other men. So I have no idea, really, and it’s something I’ve never wanted to dwell on.

“I don’t know, Mia. You told me you like sex.” I uncap the tube and squeeze a dollop of ointment onto my finger. “Well, I really like sunflower seeds, and I eat them at least once a week.”

She scoffs, a sound overloaded with disgust. “Okay. My ob-gyn recommends STD testing for all single women who are sexually active. I had my annual a couple of months ago, and I’m clean. How about you?”

Yeah. No. Not going there. No way am I telling her that shortly after starting my residency, I decided having a girlfriend was an extra stressor that I absolutely did not need and that casual hookups aren’t my thing. She’ll just think that’s something we have in common, and then I’d have to say, sure, but
I
didn’t decide the solution was to
start screwing my best friend.

“All right,” I’m muttering. “Never mind.”

Gingerly, I spread the medicated salve over her sutures, bracing myself for her flinch of pain, but she stays still and quiet as I finish and cover the wound again.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she says then, her voice carrying more of an edge. “Is this just a one-time thing or what?”

Heaving a sigh, it takes me a second to assemble my scrambled thoughts on the topic. “Is there any way it can be a one-time thing and we’ll be okay?”

When she falls silent, I drag my eyes reluctantly back to her face, which looks solemn.

“I wouldn’t be okay with it,” she says quietly. “That was fucking amazing, Jay. I’ll never forget about it, and I can’t pretend it never happened.”

It was amazing.
My pulse kicks into a gallop, and another surge of arousal shoots straight to my groin. Amazing. Yeah, that about sums up what it was like to fuck Mia. To kiss her. To run my hands all over her smooth, soft skin. To taste her pussy. To be inside her.

I swallow the sudden excess of saliva in my mouth and say, “Then I guess you just answered your own question.”

“No, that’s how
I
feel about it.” Her gaze is direct, questioning.

I look away. The urge to tell her exactly how much I want her again builds in my gut and swells up into my throat, threatening to burst out of me.

Drawing in a calming breath, I answer, “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

After a moment’s silence, her voice sounds flat as she states, “So…it’s not going to happen again then.”

“I didn’t say that.” I give her a glance, gesturing into the air. “You know how in courtroom dramas on TV, a lawyer will jump up and yell, ‘Objection, Your Honor!’ and the judge says, ‘Noted’? It’s like that. I’m letting you know my opinion. For the record.”

She lets out a half-amused snort. “Okay, then. Noted.”

We fall silent again and stay that way for a long time. My mind jumps from one unrelated topic to another: going down on Mia, work, fucking Mia, hitting the gym later, the sounds Mia makes when she comes, and do I need to go grocery shopping today?

Her yawn disrupts my thoughts, and I look back at her just as she lays herself and her pillow back down on the bed.

“Hand hurting less yet?” I ask.

“Not really,” she replies, her eyes dropping. “Still waiting for the drugs to kick in.”

“You won’t know until you’re ready to start using it again if there’s any nerve or muscle damage. I think you’ll be fine, though.”

“That’s good,” she mumbles sleepily, eyes drifting shut.

“Do you need me to do anything before I leave?” It’s kind of a roundabout way of telling her I’m taking off, but it’s not like she’s paying attention anyway.

“Nuh,” is her garbled response. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

No shit. I almost smile. Instead I realize I should point out one more thing. “I’m on night shift starting tonight, for the next two weeks.”