– Whitney
I’m not one to usually propose toasts, or even one to drink to them. I’m usually a bit too cynical for such superstitious nonsense. But there is just something about this guy— Harlow Bradford, the best physical therapy patient I’ve ever had and an in-between SEAL who really should be back with his team— that has me doing everything differently than I normally do. It’s probably as much about those facts as it is about the fact that he’s so fucking hot, and sweet, and fun to hang out with.
I have to admit I’m impressed with the location he chose. This has got to be a date, right? And is that a good thing or a bad thing? I still can’t decide.
I’d waited an hour to text him my address, unsure whether I should actually go through with it. I don’t want to jeopardize my career before it’s even gotten started. But it was just too tempting.
So, then I’d spent an hour trying to figure out the perfect thing to wear. I’d finally decided that there is no such thing, and I’d thrown on something cute enough to be date-like but hopefully casual enough to be… whatever the opposite of date-like is. Just in case I was not actually going on a date with the guy who had pretty much asked me out on a date… I think?
Holy crap. I need to make my brain settle down. I look at Harlow and realize that he revs up an entirely different body part. I feel wetness in my panties, and I really wish he would just take them off me already.
I have a feeling based on our obviously strong attraction for each other that us having sex is inevitable, and when I let myself think about it instead of all the mental gymnastics my mind goes through in trying not to think about, I really get carried away with how turned on he makes me feel.
I try to focus on the here and now, so I’m not driven crazy with lust and desire. I’m pleased that Harlow clearly liked the clothes I’d chosen. He was practically salivating when I came to the door, which was my intention of course. But I’m still trying to maintain the difficult balance between date-like and professional-like, if there even is such a thing.
Just as I’m trying to think of something to say that won’t reveal my crazy feelings for Harlow, I spot someone at a table near by.
Oh great.
Angela Metford. She was a mutual friend of Tony’s and mine, but more his friend than mine. I used to think she had a crush on him because she’d flirt with him and call him all the time.
She sees me looking at her, and gives me a prissy wave of her perfectly manicured hand. As she does so, she looks Harlow up and down and nods her head, eyebrows very obviously raised, as if to say, Good job.
I give her a “it’s not what you think” look but I know it doesn’t matter. Tony already thought I was cheating on him and now he’s going to hear that I was out to dinner with my patient.
Great.
I guess my ex now will officially know I’ve moved on. He seemed so angry at me before but I hope he can just let bygones be bygones when he finds out. I don’t want any more drama.
I nod my head at Angela and mouth, “hello,” and then turn my attention back to Harlow. I hope that suffices for a polite “nice to see you,” because I don’t want her coming over to my table and flirting with Harlow the way she always flirted with Tony. My cat claws would come out, for sure.
“You must come here often,” Harlow jokes, noticing that I’ve said hello to Angela. “You know all the guests.”
“I do not,” I tell him, blushing. “Just her.”
It is rather strange that she’s here. The few times I’ve come here, she was never interested and this really isn’t her kind of place. She’s more likely to be at Anodyne, shooting pool downtown, or maybe at Sister Bar or a brewery. Not a fancy place like this.
She’s with a couple girlfriends I don’t know. I suppose they could be having a bachelorette party. It’s not that weird that she’s here. Albuquerque is a medium sized city but in many ways it feels like a small town, with everyone knowing everyone somehow, and always running into people while out on the town.
I shrug, telling myself to forget about. I don’t mention how I know her to Harlow, or—as I see her get out her phone—how she’s probably texting Tony right now to fill him in. The last thing we need is more boyfriend drama.
I try to concentrate on the moment at hand, and get back to the head space I was in before I noticed Angela. Oh yes. What to talk about with Harlow next, that isn’t getting too personal too soon?
I had figured that as long as we talk about neutral things like our careers, we should be fine. But I wasn’t expecting things to delve into the serious so soon.
“And what about you?” Harlow asks, leaning over to brush a stray hair that had fallen over one of my eyes.
I suppose I didn’t have to come up with something to say, because he has plenty of his own questions he wants to talk about. And he seems genuinely interested in finding out the answers.
The wind is picking up a bit while the sun is going down. I have to admit that it’s quite… romantic. “How did you decide to become a physical therapist?”
“Process of elimination, I guess.” I shrug. “Within the medical field, at least.”
“Yes?”
He obviously wants me to go on, but I suddenly feel vulnerable. I don’t usually talk to people about things like this. My idea of being social is joining a book club or asking my cat what his day was like.
“I set out to be a doctor. Pre-med and all that.”
I look up at him to see if he’ll think this is funny. Most people do. Me, a doctor?
But he looks as serious and as nonplussed as if I had just told him I brush my teeth every day. So, that’s a relief.
“But…?” he asks.
The waiter brings our food, and I bite into a delicious calamari ring before continuing.
“Mmmm, this is so good,” I say, sincerely. “Good choice!”
He shrugs. “I try.”
After a pause, he asks, “So what happened to the pre-med plans?”
“It’s just… difficult. I didn’t think I could do it. Physical therapy made more sense. It’s easier, yet still fulfilling.”
“I see.”
He bites into his cheese and crackers but doesn’t say anything for a minute. And then he says, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a great physical therapist.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying hard to suppress my laughter. “But you haven’t really gotten to see me in action. You’re too easy of a case.”
“Not enough of a challenge for you, huh?” he asks. “Well, you just wait.”
Oh I’m waiting, I want to tell him, but don’t. I just take another bite of calamari that tastes as delicious as I bet his lips do.