Private Practice (7 page)

There was no point letting his attitude upset her. Years ago a sharp truth had lodged in the soft underbelly of her heart. Frank had never been interested in fatherhood. Her mom had wanted a child and he’d relented. But after she died, his bitterness over the loss left no room for anyone else, including his own grieving daughter.

Her father’s diabetes had been a major factor in her decision to return home to open her practice. She’d harbored a hope that by being here as an adult, helping him, she’d magically break through his barriers and turn them into a real family. But the last couple weeks had driven home a harsh fact. A grown daughter didn’t interest Frank either. If she wanted a happy, loving family, her best shot involved turning herself into Roger’s dream girl, and then showing him they were made for each other.

Her fingers finally closed over the glucose meter. Reviewing the log didn’t take long— one test today, one yesterday, and a handful over the past week. The numbers were high, but not horrible. She opened the kitchen cabinet and checked his supply of meds. He seemed to be taking them as directed.

She spent another five minutes using some of the fresh vegetables she’d bought to make a large salad and placed it in the nearly empty fridge, beside the diabetic-friendly Dijon vinaigrette. Considering her duty done, she washed up and headed to the front room. Her chances of getting so much as a thank-you from her father were nonexistent, but still, she paused at the open door. “I made you a salad. It’s in the fridge.”

“I hope you brought beer. I’m low.”

She pushed open the screen door. “Bye, Frank.”

The rickety metal door slammed shut behind her.

Back in her car, she pumped the air-conditioning as high as it would go and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Her flushed, sweaty reflection stared back, bitter eyes shimmering with unshed tears. A snippet from one of her favorite daydreams flashed through her mind. Roger, running behind a downy-haired Roger III astride a little red bicycle, cheering enthusiastically as the boy pedaled with all his might and slipped free of his father’s steadying hands for a first solo ride down the sidewalk.

She closed her eyes and tried to put herself in the picture somewhere, but the image kept fading. She didn’t subscribe to fate or destiny, but nonetheless wondered if her inability to visualize herself in her ideal future meant she wasn’t destined to be part of such an idyllic family scene. Sure, Roger was the man of
her
dreams, but if she didn’t get her lessons back on schedule, he’d be scooped up by some naturally sexy woman before she mastered chapter 3, much less the whole array of skills necessary to turn her into the woman of
his
dreams.

Cool air from the vent blasted her face hard enough to blow her hair off her forehead, revealing a raised red bump near her hairline. Terrific. A memento from the beer bottle.

No good deed went unpunished.

She finger-combed her hair so a frizzy wave covered the ugly spot. Then she backed out of her father’s driveway, turned onto the main road, and considered her meager options for Saturday night. Pay bills, catch up on her medical journals, or maybe indulge in her secret guilty pleasure—snuggling in with her DVR and watching the cute host of the home improvement show she recorded religiously? All her choices sounded pathetic. What she really wanted was a drink, but imbibing alone at home in front of the TV seemed a little too much like Frank for comfort.

Just then, the barrel-shaped sign for Rawley’s Pub came into view, and before her brain completely vetted the impulse, she pulled into the parking lot.

Chapter Eight

Tyler followed Junior into Rawley’s on Saturday night, ready to faithfully execute his role as wingman. Hopefully in the process, he’d get his brain off Ellie. She’d been taking up headspace ever since she’d unleashed her proposition on him. Not surprising. When an intelligent, attractive woman bartered with him for sex education, turns out he gave the arrangement some passing thought. But since yesterday evening, his thoughts weren’t just passing. They took a very specific path—namely, how many days, hours, and minutes until their next session. A week seemed way too long to wait.

This disturbed him for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that in her mind, their relationship had a specific purpose and timeline. Although she hadn’t admitted it, he still felt sure she aimed to impress someone particular with her new tricks. Who, he couldn’t say, but it wasn’t him. She’d selected him as her teacher, not her target. Both the timeline, and the fact that she had her sights set on someone else, rubbed him wrong.

They shouldn’t have. A friggin’ fantasy had dropped right into his lap—weeks of wild, five-star sex with a woman who could make his cock harder than reinforced steel simply by flashing her dimples at him. Nothing could be more straightforward. Easy in, easy out. He liked easy. He liked straightforward. Why overcomplicate this scenario with pride or some stupid notion about taking himself, and his relationships, more seriously?

Before he could start chewing on the question again, Junior drew up short and slapped his shoulder.

“There she is. Think she’s still pissed at me?”

He followed Junior’s sight line to the center table where tall, stacked Lou Ann held court in a low-cut black tank top that showed off the double-Ds like nobody’s business. Her eyes narrowed dangerously at the sight of Junior. Melody sat to Lou Ann’s left, wearing a peach sundress, looking calm, cool, and bored out of her mind. Flame-haired Ginny occupied the chair on Lou Ann’s right, predatory eyes flashing with interest.

He glanced over at Junior, a tugboat of a guy in a Wildcats jersey and baggy jeans. “
I’m
not still pissed at you, and you shot me. Talking Lou Ann out of her mad ought to be simple in comparison.”

“Right. You’re right.” Junior inhaled and let the breath out slowly. “Okay. I’m going in. Cover me.”

“I’ll be in the corner.” Self-preservation had him hanging back at his end of the bar as Ginny slid off her chair and headed toward him. Her tight, copper-colored cropped top and low-slung jeans advertised frighteningly toned abs. The little redhead was as pretty as a shiny new penny, but her reputation as a turbo gossip always turned him off—even more so now that he was trying to show Bluelick Savings and Loan what a responsible, respectable citizen he was. He turned to the bar and tried to make himself invisible, wondering for the billionth time what Ellie was up to tonight.

A throaty voice ambushed him. “Hey Tyler, what’s up?”

Resigned, he forced his shoulders to relax and turned back around. “Hey. Not much.”

The redhead’s grin turned conspiratorial and she tipped her head toward the table behind her. “Check it out. Melody’s back in circulation. You heard she and Roger called the engagement off, right?”

He nodded and signaled to Jeb Rawley behind the bar. “Yeah, I heard.”

Ginny reminded him of a cat—irresistibly drawn to those who showed the least interest. This maybe accounted for why, somewhere in his reply, she heard a request for details.

“But do you know why?” Before he could tell her he didn’t much care, she linked arms with him, snuggled in close and continued, “Roger and Melody were, shall we say, sexually incompatible.”

Damn him, but that caught his attention. For a girl born and bred to the prom queen crown, Melody was actually a nice person. Same went for star pitcher, star quarterback, star center Roger. Superficially, they made the perfect blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American couple, but the way their engagement had dragged out over ten years? The cynical voice in his head had called the wedding off a long time ago. “You don’t say.”

Jeb paused in front of them long enough to deliver Tyler’s regular order—a beer. Ginny waited until Jeb walked away and then dished up more dirt.

“I do,” she nodded solemnly, but her eyes practically danced with glee at the prospect of revealing someone else’s intimate secrets. “All those years Roger spent away turned him into some kind of wild, insatiable sex maniac. Melody told me he’s into a bunch of stuff she flat-out refuses to do. So she wished him luck finding his perfect nymphomaniac soul mate and they went their separate ways—far as any two people can in a town this size.”

Okay, that smelled more like bullshit than pay dirt. Ginny’s story didn’t add up. No way had it taken Melody and Roger a decade to figure out they had incompatible sexual appetites.

What
did
possibly add up was why Ellie suddenly wanted a crash course in Wild Woman 101. Rumors spread like wildfire around Bluelick. Had she heard this one already, taken it as gospel, and decided to learn the skills she thought she needed to satisfy Roger?

The notion left a strange hollow feeling in his stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

Straightforward, he reminded himself, and took a drink. Uncomplicated. Why make things messy? Speaking of messy…he checked on Junior’s progress with Lou Ann. He’d hunkered down in the chair Melody had wisely vacated and appeared to be meekly accepting the verbal whoop-ass Lou Ann was doling out. A good sign, Tyler decided, because Junior had it coming and she wasn’t likely to pick things up with him unless she got it out of her system.

His gaze wandered around the packed pub and stopped short. Ellie sat at the other end of the bar, dark waves framing her flawless profile as she smiled up at Jeb and accepted the glass of white wine he placed in front of her. Despite the thirsty crowd, Jeb lingered, wearing the shit-eating grin he insisted made him look like Tom Cruise.

“Something caught your eye, Tyler?”

Ginny’s question pulled his attention back to the redhead, who was now watching him with keen interest. He knew better than to give her anything to speculate on. “Just mulling over what you said about Melody and Roger. It sounds a little far-fetched to me. Those two have been joined at the hip since high school. I can’t believe it took this long for them to discover he wants triple-X action in the bedroom and she’s not willing to go a notch above PG-13. Where’d you get your information?”

“Straight from Melody,” she shot back. “You know I don’t spread rumors.”

“’Course you don’t.” Unable to stop himself, he let his gaze drift back to Ellie…and Jeb.

“Telling people I saw you and Ellie Swann cruising out to the river on your bike last night, saying y’all looked real snug—that would be spreading a rumor.”

It took some effort, but he kept his poker face in place…he hoped. “Good thing you’re not like that, huh?”

“I know. I mean, just ’cause something looks like a hookup doesn’t mean there isn’t some other explanation.”

“Exactly,” he agreed and took a drink of his beer.

“For all I know, you’re her patient. I mean, I’ve got eyewitnesses saying a week ago Junior stumbled in here at last call, saw Lou Ann cozying up to you, and shot your nuts off.”

He nearly choked on his beer. “Jesus, Ginny, where do you hear this crap? Your so-called eyewitnesses are worthless drunks.”

She laughed. “Talk is cheap, Tyler. You’ll have to do better than a verbal denial if you want to dispute my facts.” She turned away, and threw him a challenging smile from over her shoulder. “Any time you want to prove Junior didn’t turn you from a stud to a gelding with one well-placed bullet, I’m available for a demonstration.”

Not tempting. Elbows propped on the bar, he crossed his ankles and smiled back. “It’d take a much bigger caliber than Junior’s overblown BB gun to put a ding in my family jewels.”

Ginny merely shrugged and kept walking. Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the slight headache settling there and wondered how many people sitting in Rawley’s tonight seriously thought he couldn’t lay pipe anymore. What the hell. He really didn’t care, he decided, as he straightened and steered toward the one person in Bluelick who knew his equipment functioned just fine.

Jeb laughed at something Ellie said and slid his hand over her forearm. Tyler decided enough was enough and quickened his pace. He refused to believe Jeb Rawley had inspired her recent interest in sex education. Jeb had never done anything in his lazy life except practice his smirk and wait to inherit his daddy’s bar. And if she wanted to perfect the art of the barstool seduction, well, fine, but she already had a practice partner.

He drew up behind Ellie and placed a proprietary hand on her shoulder. One glance at Jeb confirmed the bartender got the message, because he straightened and removed his paw from her arm. Ellie turned those dark maple-and-molasses eyes on him, and for a moment, he simply fell into them.

“Tyler, hi.”

“Hey Ty,” Jeb echoed, far less enthusiastically. “Another beer?”

Tyler claimed the empty barstool beside Ellie, held up his mostly full bottle, and said, “I’m good,” keeping his eyes on her the entire time. Although it was a Saturday, she looked as if she’d come from her office, easily outclassing the jeans and T-shirt crowd at the pub. A sleeveless blouse the exact shade as her eyes left her arms and shoulders bare. A sleek, tan skirt stopped high enough to showcase her gorgeous legs. Ice-pick-thin heels suggested she didn’t plan to do a lot of running around.

“What brings you to Rawley’s, Doc? Looking to buy someone a drink, make small talk, and…?”

“No, I’ve seen how that turns out and I didn’t wear my Kevlar underwear.” Her lips curved, but the amusement didn’t reach her eyes, which looked shadowed and a little sad.

Before he could offer a snappy comeback, Melody walked up. “Imagine seeing the two of you here together.” The blonde nudged his shoulder playfully. He nudged back, but his playful feeling fizzled when Ellie immediately said, “Oh, we’re not together. We just ran into each other. Complete coincidence, right Tyler?”

Melody gave them a smile that made the Mona Lisa look like a grinning fool. “Interesting how that works sometimes, isn’t it? Y’all have a good night. I’ve got to…um…find Ginny.”

Ellie frowned as Melody sashayed away. “Sorry, I think she got the wrong idea after walking in on us the other day. I tried to set her straight, but I guess I didn’t quite get the message across.”

“What message?” He couldn’t care less what anybody thought about their relationship, but he wasn’t too flattered by Ellie rushing to correct Melody. What was “the wrong idea” anyway, damn it?

“I told her we’re not romantically involved, that our relationship is, well…” She lifted one slim shoulder and let it drop.

“Purely academic?” he suggested drily, realizing everything she said, while technically correct, bothered the hell out of him. And the fact that it bothered him bothered him even more.

“No! Of course not. I’d never tell her such a thing. But whatever I said, it fell short of convincing, because she obviously thinks you’re interested in me.”

He hadn’t quite worked out why that was such a horrible, unacceptable thing, when she laughed and nodded down the bar. “For someone in such a hurry to catch Ginny, Melody got easily sidetracked.”

Tyler looked over and saw Melody standing with Fire Chief Bradley, giggling prettily at something he said to her. The chief, one of Bluelick’s newest residents, had relocated a few months earlier after spending nearly a decade as a deputy chief in Cincinnati.

“She’s a free agent now.”

Ellie nodded, and the soft glow from the bar lights caught chestnut tones in her hair. “I don’t know him except to say hello, but he seems very different from Roger—more the strong, silent type.”

Did she like the strong, silent type? “Hmm.”

“I mean, I understand his appeal. According to Melody, he’s single, available, and gorgeous enough to have graced the pages of the Cincinnati firefighters’ fund-raiser calendar every year of his tenure in the department.” Holding fingers in front her, she added, “Three times as the cover.”

Jeez, listen to her rhapsodize over the guy. Maybe Chief Bradley was the inspiration for Ellie’s quest to enhance her sexual skills?

An unfamiliar sensation singed his gut like cheap whiskey. What the hell was wrong with him? One minute he’s convinced she’s after Roger, the next, Chief Bradley.
Jealousy
, a voice in his head whispered, but he immediately dismissed the notion. He didn’t do jealousy. He avoided volatile emotions of any kind. Having grown up with a front row seat to his father’s unstable temper, he didn’t plan on turning his own life into the same kind of freak show. So why was he suddenly ready to strangle the fire chief with his bare hands just because Ellie found the guy “appealing”? The humidity was making him edgy, that was all.

“Oh my, I guess Lou Ann and Junior made up.”

Happy for a distraction, Tyler followed her gaze to the alcove by the pool table and decided she had a gift for understatement. Lou Ann and Junior looked about halfway to make-up sex in their not-so-dark corner. Junior’s hands were all over the seat of Lou Ann’s painted-on jeans, and she’d plastered herself against his chest so tightly the double-Ds threatened to spill out of her tank top.

Ellie patted his hand. “Sorry.”

“What for, Doc?”

“I know you were, ah,
interested
in her. I guess you missed your window of opportunity.”

Tyler stared at his beer and shrugged. “I’m not
interested
in Lou Ann. The only reason we gave each other a second glance was because Junior managed to piss her off and I was too bored to question her motives when she started talking to me. I’m glad they’ve patched things up.”

“Well, for your butt’s sake, I hope you don’t get bored again anytime soon.”

“Honey, I haven’t been bored since you turned up.”

The comment earned him a smile, but it didn’t quite chase the wounded look from her eyes.