Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (33 page)

My fork paused just in front of my mouth, mid-shovel, and I blinked at him. “I . . . I uh . . .”

He was watching me intently, his face and gaze focused. I noted that his chest wasn’
t moving. He was sitting remarkably still as though he were holding his breath.

Do I want kids?

I placed my fork on the plate then reached for the wine and took a big gulp.

Do I want kids?

The answer was no. I didn’t want kids. They were time consuming and emotion consuming and sticky and required constant maintenance. They were little disease vectors, coughing and picking their nose and wiping it everywhere. They were house guests that stayed for eighteen years and broke your stuff and put peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in your shoes. They talked too much and needed too much and expected too much.

Kids, as a concept, held no allure for me.

Also not helping matters was the fact that I’d spent the last ten years reminding myself of how awful it would be to have kids. I reminded myself frequently because I didn’t think, even if I did want them, there was a white picket fence in my future. I didn’t think I could ever love someone like I loved Garrett. I didn’t think I ever wanted to.

Plus, there’s the whole falling in hopeless love with your kids thing; and that kind of love scared the poo out of me.

I realized the answer was more complicated than a
yes
or
no
. The answer was more like:
I decided a long time ago that, since I’ll likely never meet the Mr. Dad to my Dr. Mom, and the since idea of having no control over the intensity of my love for a child doesn’t really sit well, I don’t want kids. Lucky me.

I cleared my throat, preparing to speak, but then chickened out and took another gulp of wine.

A small, knowing smile gently curved over Nico’s features, and he released the breath he’d been holding. “You don’t want kids.”

I swallowed the last of the wine.

His smile turned sad. “Why not?”

“Because
,” I couldn’t look at him. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“Explain.”

“Okay.” I moved a piece of apple around the plate with my fork. “I decided a long time ago that I was never going to have children. Once I made the decision, coming up with reasons against having kids became very easy.” My eyes flickered to his then back to my plate. “I’ve been in school for a really long time. The thought of not being in school and what comes after school is . . . hard to think about.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that my residency ends in August and it will be the first time since I was five that I won’t be in academia. It means I’ve never thought about answers to these grown-up issues without the assumption that I was going to be alone.”

I set my jaw and resolved to meet his gaze. He was studying me through narrowed eyes, as though truly considering my words, trying to understand. “You don’t want kids because you assumed you were always going to be alone?”

I nodded. “Something like that. And also, they’re a pain in the ass.”

He grinned. “What about Angelica? Is she a pain in the ass?”

I answered without thinking. “No! She’s adorable, and smart. She’s also a funny kid. When we were making those ravioli she kept putting them on her nose and barking, like she was a dog. Did I tell you she used my shirt as though it were a napkin?” I smiled at the memory. “I think she inherited some of the Mang-nan-genello funny.”

He shook his head. “Are you ever going to learn how to say my last name?”

“Nope.” I took another bite of the fruit.

N
ico sighed. “If your kids were like Angelica would you want kids?”

I nodded automatically
, again not really thinking through all the ramifications of my response. “Hell yes.”

“
Hmm . . .” He leaned back, peered at me as though assessing a possibility. “Let me ask you this question a different way, but understand that this is purely hypothetical, there is no double meaning here, I’m not proposing anything, okay?”

“Ok
ay.”

“I
f the children were yours and mine, if we had children together, would you want kids?”

My eyebrows lifted then lowered then lifted again; finally they settled into
a knot, a deep V between my eyes.

Kids with Nico.

My gaze unconsciously swept over him. I thought about how funny they would be, how sweet, smart, and kind. They might have his eyes and eye-twinkle me into submission. I thought about taking little girls to baseball games and little boys to music lessons.

My heart was behaving erratically. It
hurt, then it felt warm, then it twisted, then it felt full.

Do
I want to have children with Nico?

For some inexplicable reason, adding Nico into the equation changed everything.

Our children.

“I don’t know.”
I answered honestly and sounded as confused as I felt.

This time his smile was huge and split his face. “
Okay. Good. No need to decide now.”

I frowned at him, lightly huffed. “I’m—”

He waved my words away as though anxious to change the subject. “I talked to Dan today.”

“Dan?” I was still caught in a web of confusion, my brain not quite ready to switch topics.

“Your usual guard? Stocky guy with neck tattoos? From Boston?”

“Ah. Yes. He’s nice.”

“Yeah, well, he said there hasn’t been any further issues or sightings of Menayda.”

“Menayda?”

“The woman you refer to as
Fancy
Stalker
.”

“
Oh. No. Last time I saw her was Monday. I told you about that.”

“I also had a discussion with Detective Long about pursuing a restraining order. I think you should file for one.”
Nico stacked our plates and moved them to his dresser, effectively clearing the bed.

I nodded absentmindedly,
stared unseeingly at his comforter. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Elizabeth?”

I met his gaze. He stood at the edge of the bed, hovered over me. He was watching me, his eyes sober.

“Yes?”

“I’m asking you to get a restraining order.” His voice and eyes were steel.

I shrugged.
“Okay.”

“Ok
ay?”

“Yes. Ok
ay. I’ll call Detective Long tomorrow.”

“Good.” He frowned
, then said mostly to himself, “That was easy.”

“Hey! You make me sound like I’m difficult! I’m not difficult, I’m just always right.”

“Not always.” His grin was teasing as he reached for the hem of my shirt.

I couldn’t help but say, “Mostly always.”

~*~

That night
Nico and I slept together as he held me in his arms.

Let me repeat that:
Nico and I slept together as he held me in his arms.

In some ways it felt like coming home, familiar. In other ways it was frightening, risky. In still other ways
it was just difficult to comprehend.

He spooned me, my back against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. Just before I fell asleep I thought
I heard him whisper, “Finally.”

I woke up
when it was still dark to Nico lavishing my skin with sloppy, wet kisses. At first I thought it was a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up. Then, when I realized wet sloppy kisses from Nico’s mouth were my reality I pinched myself so I would wake up faster. Furthermore, when he leisurely scaled down the length of my body I almost died. Instead I reached maximum mindless bliss with embarrassing speed and intensity; I clasped my hands over my mouth to keep from yodeling his praises to the walls and the inhabitants beyond.

I felt
boneless. I couldn’t seem to move my limbs with any coordination. But before I could form a complete thought, Nico apparently decided that once was not enough and this time he was going to come along for the rodeo.

Again,
I had to turn my head into the pillow to keep from waking up the entire floor of the building.

Afterward, he lay
on top of me with unsteady limbs, wrapped his arms around my torso, held me pinned. He nearly crushed me with his weight. I loved it. I loved him. I loved waking up in his arms.

It was like
Christmas and Easter and my birthday and winning the lottery and learning that I could live inside a rainbow without the tradeoff of being a leprechaun. My mind was blown. This was real. He was real.

When our breathing normalized from approximately six minutes of love making, Nico nuzzled my ear and whispered, “Good morning.”

I smiled, pressed my cheek against his. “Yes. Good morning indeed.”

He shifted to the side, one arm still around me
; the other hand petting my skin. “Will you stay with me every night?”

I nodded. “If you wake me up like that every morning.”

“Deal. We should shake on it, maybe get some papers drawn up, in front of some lawyers, have a notary sign . . .maybe a priest . . .”

I laughed
lightly. But, then, when I noticed his expression was serious I immediately sobered. “Nico.”

“Elizabeth.”

“What . . . what are you saying?” I was having a hard time concentrating as his big hand was currently meandering over my body in all the right places.

“You should think about it.”

“What? Think about what?”

I watched as he hesitated, swallowed, his
Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I don’t want to rush you.”

My eyebrows lifted
; I stilled his hand on my chest. “Rush me how?”

“
I need you. I want us to be together.”

“We are together.”

“No. I mean . . .” He sucked in a large breath and released it. He smelled like me and mint toothpaste. “I mean I want us to make it official. I want us to get married.”

Then t
ime stopped or sped up or did something.

One minute I was laying in Nico’s arms, having a conversation
, and the next minute I was out of the bed locked in the bathroom, alone. I didn’t know how long I’d been standing in front of the sink with the water running. All I knew was I hadn’t responded to Nico’s statement. In fact, I hadn’t said anything at all.

My mind couldn’t seem to settle on one thought for any length of time
; it was like being showered in fortune cookie slips and trying to read them all at once. I shut off the faucet, apparently having brushed my teeth at some point, and turned on the shower. When the shower was over I must have dried myself off and gotten dressed because I was suddenly sitting on the edge of Nico’s bed, in my scrubs, in my shoes and socks.

“Elizabeth?”

I started, searched for the owner of the voice. It was Nico. He hovered in the doorway to his room. He wasn’t smiling.

“Are you
all right?”

I nodded. But I knew my eyes—wide and
alarmed—betrayed me.

He watched me for a moment then sighed,
slowly crossed to the bed and sat beside me. “Look. Forget I said anything. Call it temporary insanity.”

“Ok
ay.”

His eyes searched mine, narrowed a little; I was struck suddenly that he was looking for something. I didn’t know what it was or how to give it to him so I just met his gaze and allowed him to stare. After a long moment he gripped my braid at the back of my head and pulled me forward, his lips pressed against my forehead.

“I’m sorry. Can we forget I said anything?”

I nodded again. “Ok
ay.” If I was confused before I was now downright muddled.

His arms slipped around me
, and he dipped me back to the bed, held me tightly as he kissed me. It was a nice kiss that quickly turned into a very nice kiss. Then it drove right past extremely nice kiss into the land of smokin’ hot kiss.

Before things could escalate he pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth and
pulled away, held me at an arms distance.

“Are you
sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. I’m just
 . . . I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. Maybe a bit confused.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. Please.” I moved my palm to cup his face, and he leaned against it, closed his eyes. “Just . . . give me a minute to find my bearings, okay?”

He swallowed again, his eyes still closed. “
I think I can do that.”

“I need to play some catch up.”

“I’ll wait as long as you need.” His voice was gruff. It broke my heart. His eyes were still closed.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. There was no way to segue this conversation into something benign without feeling false and fake. Instead I pulled him to me, hugged him, held him, until I left him.

~*~

The fact that I’d spent the night wasn’t awkward because Rose pretended like I hadn’t spent the night.

So, in other words, it was extremely awkward.

She smiled at me in a very
foxlike way, asked about my plans for the weekend, grinned and gloated into her coffee. No verbal mention of the fact that I’d slept over, just knowing looks and approving smiles.

I was unnerved.

Regardless, Angelica’s morning treatment was seamless until she motioned for me to come closer with her little index finger. I bent so that she could whisper something to me.

She said, “Are you my best friend?”

I leaned back, looked into her twinkling green eyes, and I choked on my feelings. First Nico, now Angelica. It’s like they’d planned it, this emotional attack on the fortress around my heart. Even though I couldn’t answer Nico, not yet, I instantly knew how to respond to Angelica.

“Yes. I’m your best friend. We’re best friends.” I smiled at her
, and my chin wobbled.

This family was going to be the death of me.
I decided I needed to knit her more sweaters, maybe some matching hats, as well as some dolls. I also resolved to buy her a doll house . . . and a real pony. Basically, all my future plans included spoiling her rotten.

Her smile was brilliant
, and it wrinkled her nose. The fortress was officially leveled, burned to the ground, incinerated by a four year old.

She was
also holding up like a champ. A sudden sadness seized my heart. Angelica’s fearlessness and lack of concern about needles and infusions and poking and prodding was unacceptable. No four-year-old should be comfortable in an infusion chair.

After the treatment was over Rose offered me coffee and apple fritters. I declined. My shift officially started at eight
, but I wanted to get to the hospital early to finish up charting and have some time with my thoughts, seriously consider the possibility of Nico’s pseudo marriage proposal.

I hadn’t dismissed it. I found myself
earnestly thinking about it, and I was coming up short on reasons to say no.

I found Nico reading the paper in the dining room and wordlessly kissed him goodbye. He smiled at me when I left. His eyes were cloudy
, but warm with unassuming affection. For a fleeting moment I almost said:
Yes, you sweet, sexy man. Yes, I will marry you
.

But then
nay-saying sense and fear gripped my throat. I couldn’t speak. So, instead, I tried to return his smile with a bright one of my own.

My drive to work was unre
markable. I fretted in the backseat. Dan, my guard, didn’t have any problem finding a door free of paparazzi. It appeared that the attention was finally starting to wane. We made a plan to meet outside the doctors’ lounge in the ER. He dropped me off and left to find parking. I walked to my locker, encumbered by only my thoughts.

Marry
Nico.

Elizabeth
Finney and Nico Manganiello, married.

The entire concept felt surreal. In fact, everything that had occurred over the last
half-day felt impossible. I still couldn’t even pronounce his last name correctly.

We’d just found each other
, and I felt like he was slipping away. I wondered if this was
the thing
that would take him away from me. Like the thing that took him away from girl B. He said he had always loved me, but he loved her too.

I knew I was being
melodramatic and self-defeating, irritating myself with doomish, obsessive thoughts, but I couldn’t help it. I had an ingrained bitterness, a defense against happiness and the eventual hurt that followed.

Maybe my hesitation would cause him to realize that my earlier protestations had been correct, that he’d been in love with an idea of me and not the current, broken, pathetic version—the real me.

I avoided this vein of thought—again avoiding—and cursed at myself for being a feckless, thankless, hopeless, exasperating twit. Mid-curse I opened my locker to grab my lab coat, but then I stopped, gasped, and backed up into the bench running the length of the room. I nearly fell over it in my attempt to escape the contents of my locker.

My lab coat hung from its hanger, as I left it, except someone had taken a knife and sliced it until it shredded.
Additionally, my knitting project bag—where I stored the baby hat that was in progress—had also been destroyed. I averted my eyes from the tattered white coat and yarn and glanced around the room.

I was
n’t alone. I didn’t immediately see anyone else, but I knew I wasn’t alone.

A chill raced up my spine
, and I bolted from the locker room and ran for the ER doctors’ lounge. I didn’t pause to see if anyone followed or look over my shoulder. My only thoughts were of escape.

Dan wa
s already there, waiting for me. His face creased into a stiff frown of concern when he met my gaze and he sprinted, intercepted me and grabbed my arms.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” He wasn’t looking at me
, but instead up and down the length of the hallway.

“My coat. My lab coat. Someone
 . . .” I pressed my back against the wall and struggled for breath.

“Dr. Finney? Are you ok
ay?”

I nodded. I glanced at Dan’s brown eyes then hovered on the swirling tattoos that peaked out from under the neck of his business shirt. He had a scar running from his jaw to the center of his cheek. He wasn’t terribly tall
, but he was thick, muscular, imposing in that
I can and will kick your ass
kind of way. He was a scary looking guy. His presence and scariness made me feel better.

“I’m ok
ay.” I finally ceased gulping air and took a long steadying breath. “My lab coat. Someone cut up my lab coat. I was in the locker room and opened my locker. It’s hanging up, completely shredded.”

Dan absorbed this information then ushered me into the doctors’ longue. “Stay here. Call the police. I’ll go check it out.”

I nodded, happy to find the lounge busy and occupied. I grabbed a cup of coffee with shaking hands, sat in a couch at the far end of the room and dialed the number for Detective Long. I kept my voice low as I left her a voicemail to tell her about the coat.

As I was finishing my coffee Dan peaked into the room and motioned for me to come into the hall. He was holding a lab coat, my name
embroidered on the pocket. It was completely fine, untouched, normal.

I blinked at it, stared, incredulous. “But
 . . . but I—but it was cut up.” I gazed at Dan imploringly. “I swear. I was just there and it was in tatters, like someone had taken a knife and—”

“Shh, I believe you.
Your craft bag, the knitting stuff and yarn, was still there, all torn up.” He pulled me a little ways down the hall, but withheld the coat. “Did you call the police? Detective Long?”

“Yes. I left a message.”

“Good. I think whoever did it must have been in the locker room with you. They waited until you saw the shredded coat then replaced it with this one. They were long gone when I arrived.”

I chewed on the inside of me cheek, studied my big guard. Abruptly I blurted, “Nico wants me to get a restraining order.”