19

THE LITTLE THINGS

NORA

FOR SEVERAL WEEKS, I barely see Doc. He has two separate projects he’s coordinating at the moment, one of which is for a major studio. I’m so happy for him, but at the same time, the studio gig keeps him in New Mexico for almost three weeks. He offers to fly me out for a few days, but I decline, citing not only staying close to help out Margaret and Sophie with Cam if needed, but also that I require more hot phone sex in our relationship. A dirty laugh on the other end of the line accidentally amplifies my point—and my request, which is thereafter fulfilled in plenty.

Truth is I’m getting close to my savings goal, and while he’s gone, I can pick up extra shifts at the bar. I’m also enjoying myself, surprisingly—a nice byproduct of building up the financial padding I need to relax and figure out what’s next. I don’t know if I want to go back to PR. Sophie not-so-jokingly tells me I can be whatever I want “when I grow up.”

When Doc gets back, it is luckily on a three-day stretch that I happen to not be working. The entire first twenty-eight hours are spent in his bed. Kitchen. Pool. Bed. Pool. Hot tub. Shower. Laundry room (three times). And… yeah, he made me pay in full for all the sext teasing I’d been doing when we couldn’t hop on the phone or video chat.

After a good amount of sleep, food, and rehydration, Doc insists we venture out into the world of other people. I take this correctly to mean “go over to Fox and Sophie’s.” It hasn’t been too often, but we have been able to hang out all together several times, and I marvel at how nice it feels. How comfortable. That alone concerns me. I don’t want to be too comfortable. That’s when you’re most at risk of having the rug pulled out from under you.

“What are you thinking about?” Sophie’s amused question snaps me out of my reverie.

“Me?” I practically stutter.

“That doesn’t sound guilty or anything,” she says with a laugh.

“Sorry, no.” I shake my head as if to clear it. “I just spaced a little. Did you ask me something and I didn’t answer?”

She juts out her bottom lip and shakes her head. “I was just watching the expressions on your face morph from evil grin to ‘WTF?’ to ‘I’mma get laid’ to ‘What is that smell?’, and I couldn’t hold it in any more. I had to know.”

I turn to look at her. “Has baby brain ruined you entirely?”

“Harsh.” She sticks out her tongue and faces the ocean. Fox and Doc took their boards out for a few while we relaxed on the deck with baby Henry, who has hilariously been making random noises and holding his feet while we talk. “Just you wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Until you have a kid,” she says, as though she doesn’t know I’m on the fence about the idea entirely. “Hormones ravage your best brain parts while the baby destroys the rest.”

“You make it sound so tempting. Do they give you the caution tape before you leave the hospital?” I still crack up thinking about her waddling into their bedroom dressed as a crime scene.

“It was in the gift basket.” Fox pants as he falls to his knees, dripping seawater all over his soon-to-be wife and their baby boy. “That was so hot. One of the best jokes ever.”

They get lost in a kiss, and I threaten to throw sand until I remember Henry would be a casualty. But while I’m busy making faces and ew, gross! sorts of noises at them, Doc approaches. I see him from the corner of my eye, but don’t acknowledge until he’s crawling up the chair I’m lounging on.

“Can I help you?” I ask, fighting a torrent of giggles as his face closes in on mine. Before he can reply, I stop him. “If you dare to make some idiotic reference like straightening out your Longfellow, I will cut you.”

I hear Sophie’s laugh and turn my head, Doc’s lips missing their mark and landing on my cheek.

“Tease,” he says with a grumble, but kisses my neck. And shoulder. It’s when he kisses the top of my breast that I shove at him playfully.

“What the hell are you doing?” I laugh as he falls backward into the sand. “Ya freak.”

Everyone soon ends up filing up to the house to make food. Doc and Fox man the grill outside as Sophie and I mix up some salads and chop up crudité. As we all sit on the deck, waiting for the chicken and burgers to finish cooking, Sophie goes inside to nurse Henry into his “long evening nap,” as she puts it.

“He wakes up at five in the freaking morning, Nor,” she told me before. “Just because he’s technically sleeping through the night doesn’t mean he’s not waking up before dawn. Little shit.”

Left to supervise Dumb and Dumber, I sip my beer and wait for the entertainment. I mean, surely one of them will end up burning himself or smacking the other with a hot spatula. As if on cue, Doc slaps said spatula on Fox’s cheek. The latter yelps and shoves. A Vaudeville-worthy slap fight ensues until Fox gets Doc in a headlock, and they tumble off the deck into the sand. I’m so engrossed in the slapstick quality of the scene that I don’t even hear Sophie return.

“All right, that’s enough.” Her voice is stern, just loud enough, and a scary level of mom. “Get your asses back up here and serve my food. I’m hungry, as is my bitch over here.”

I shoot her a look, and she ignores it. Shocking.

“Chop chop, gentlemen, or you will be demoted to pool boys.”

I love my best friend. The shit works, too, because both our men hop to it and quickly finish up the grilling so we can eat.

***

In the car on the way home, Doc is quiet. I ask him a couple times if he’s all right, and he simply nods and throws me a smile. It’s not fake, but my hackles rise.

“Seriously, are you okay?” I ask. “Are you pissed off or something? What happened?”

He looks surprised as we pull up to a red light. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking,” he says. “I do that sometimes. Most people do. Not all, mind you, but most.”

I refrain from comment, but smirk. Another minute of silence, though, and I crack. “What were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about Ojai. Wondering when we could go.”

“Ojai? For what?”

“That resort I told you about. Massages, infinity pools, all that hot shit.”

What about my savings? I can’t afford a resort in Ojai. I think he wants to take me, but that is expensive, and that is very certainly not casual. Even though we’ve moved past casual. Would this be a good idea? No doubt it would be amazing.

As he pulls up to his house, I realize he’s assuming I’m staying over. I’m prepared to call him on it when the angel on one shoulder reminds me that he’s probably not wrong. I kind of thought I would when we stopped at the apartment to pack my day bag this morning. Though the devil on the other shoulder insists I could decide to be a pain in the ass by calling him on his assumption.

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

“Huh?” I find his eyes, which immediately close as he shakes his head.

He throws the car into park and gets out. The back door opens, and he yanks his bag from the floor, slamming it behind him. I scramble out my own door and run after him until I realize all my shit is in the back, too. The U-turn costs me. Once I get my bag and run back to the door, he’s closed it. And locked it.

“Fucker,” I curse at the tiny window. “Come on!”

“Who is it?” I hear from somewhere inside.

“I will walk home!” I slam a fist on the door to punctuate my threat. When no response follows after a reasonable amount of time, I hit it again. “Fine. I’m gone!”

I don’t actually leave, but move to the side of the porch so he won’t see me right away. Assuming he comes back to let me in. Which he will. I think. Yeah, no, he will. After a minute, though, I’m getting genuinely pissed.

“Doc,” I call. “This isn’t funny anymore. Would you just let me in? I’m sorry! I spaced out on something else and—”

My explanation is cut short by a forceful spray of cold water from behind. I emit a short scream and turn, my hands in defense position. “What the hell?!” I peek through my fingers to see Doc wielding a garden hose. No euphemism here, folks. “Oh, you’re dead.”

I drop my bags in a miniature puddle at my feet and lunge onto the lawn after him. I attempt to wrestle the hose away from him, but all I manage to do is get rolled around and sprayed in the face a few times. Thank God that is not a euphemism, either, though it does, in fact, sting my eyes something fierce.

The juvenile water fight continues until we’re both completely drenched, panting, and on our asses on the now-slick and fairly muddy grass. He holds me in his lap with one arm while the other hand holds the weapon in question up in the air away from me. Still.

“You’re a jackass.”

“Thank you.” He answers like it’s a celebrity interview before tossing the handle on the ground away from us. “Are you listening to me now, though?”

I turn my head to glare at him, but we end up cracking up. And wrestling a little more. When we stop, he carries me and my bags around back, where we strip and jump in the pool. Minutes later, he has me pinned against the side and agreeing to a short getaway to Ojai next week moments before I come.

***

The flight upstate is only an hour and change, but Doc splurges to upgrade us to business-class seats anyway. When I see this on our boarding passes, I can’t resist arguing. I mean, I want to contribute.

“Doc, I can’t afford all these upgrades.” I feel stupid, but I won’t be one of those twits who lets her boyfriend foot the bill for everything.

“Who said you’re paying for it? I asked you on this trip, and I intend to spoil you,” he says as we walk down the jet bridge.

I remind him that he’s an idiot, but he just grins all the way to our seats.

A thrill electrifies me when he smiles after we’ve settled in. The seats are so comfortable, and he looks so happy—like he’s done something right after a streak of wrong. A pang of guilt tampers my joy. He’s trying to get things right with me, but I’m the one who’s made him feel like so much has been wrong. A deep breath manages to clear the discomfort.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Amazing, thanks to you.”

He frowns. “That’s unexpected.”

“Why?”

The answer I get is a kiss. And then another kiss. And kissing. And pretty much just making out… until I hear someone snark under their breath about “the Mile-High Club.” Doc and I slow and stop, our eyes opening in unison. Our lips still touching, they stretch into smiles.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I say, though my grumble is unconvincing. I lean back in my seat.

The devil in his eyes sparkles.

It’s possible that we attempt to carry out such an idea, and it’s also possible that we get caught forty-five seconds before I was about to get off. Doc charms the flight attendant into not reporting it, so thankfully we avoid arrest, but absolutely do not avoid finishing where we left off as soon as we get into our rental car.