Chapter Two
THATCH
“I’m sorry, what the hell did you just say? You were mumbling.”
Lucas covered his mouth with his hand and said something under his breath about being drunk and a turkey.
“You did what with a turkey?” I shook my head. “Because you really don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now.”
With a sigh, Lucas dropped his hand and took a long sip of coffee. We’d been sitting at Starbucks for the last five minutes while he mumbled about needing to tell me something important.
I checked my watch. “Look, I have surgery in an hour, so if you could just”—I lifted my hands in the air—“be normal, for one second, that would be fantastic.”
He’d been my best friend for four years, and the best wingman a single guy could ask for. Until he put a collar on his dick and gave his girlfriend, Avery, the leash.
Pain sliced through my chest.
I ignored it.
Heartburn.
Regret.
Really it was all the same.
“I may have gotten drunk,” Lucas finally said. His dark eyes darted between me and the coffee cup, then back at me. “And . . . said stuff.”
“Lucas Thorn.” A woman, probably one of his many exes, walked up.
“Not now,” he said in a bored voice. “I don’t have a list anymore.” He was referring to the list of women he picked from—women he used to date and cheat on, all the while telling them it wasn’t cheating if they were aware it was happening.
So basically, on a scale of one to ten, Satan would have been a ten, Lucas would have been a nine point five—ask any of the scorned ones.
One hissed in our direction once—I half expected her to throw holy water in his face and demand he burn in hell.
The woman looked between us, said under her breath, “Still a bastard,” and stomped off.
“You got drunk,” I repeated, completely unfazed since the man would always have women falling all over themselves for his attention. It was his thing. It would always be his thing. “And said stuff.”
“Important stuff.” He winced. “Shit, I’m just going to come out and say it.”
“Thank God.”
“I told Avery about you.”
I froze, opened my mouth, then froze again. “And when you say you told her about me, I’m assuming you don’t mean you told her that I used to have a pet pony and a fish named Spike?”
“I thought your dog was Spike?”
“Spike died. You mean Muggles.”
“Ah!” Lucas snapped his fingers. “And yup, that’s it, that’s the confession, she knows things.” His nervous expression said a hell of a lot more, but I didn’t have time to question him about whatever the hell type of drug he was taking to force him to admit he told Avery I had pets when I was young.
If anything, all my past revealed to anyone was that I wasn’t a complete jackass, since I actually knew how to take care of animals when I was a small child; ergo, I was capable of taking care of actual human beings.
Not that I wanted to.
“I’m not completely comfortable with the way you just lowered your voice and then pointed at me like you were Harry Potter casting an unforgivable curse,” I mumbled to my shifty friend.
“I would never Harry Potter you,” he said in a calm voice. We both took Harry Potter very seriously.
“Thanks, man. Good talk.” I stood and yawned. I would do anything—illegal even—for more sleep, but lately, a certain woman haunted my dreams, and business had been good, not that I was complaining, but it was causing me to burn the candle at both ends. “God, why does every woman want implants that can cause severe back issues?”
“Are you seriously complaining about touching breasts all day?” Lucas gave me a completely shocked look, one that made me doubt my own sanity.
“Yeah.” I slapped my face with my free hand in order to wake myself up. “It’s boring as hell, I’d rather do a rhinoplasty.”
“A nose.” Lucas rolled his eyes. “You’d rather do a nose than breasts. Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine,” I snapped at him. I rarely snapped. “Was that it? You just felt bad for telling Avery stuff about me?”
“Yeah. That was it.” He rocked back on his heels. His shifty eyes did not make me feel good about our conversation, yet I had no choice but to ignore the tingling feeling in my gut that warned me, somehow, the universe had shifted.
The tingling continued all the way to my office.
And started again when I punched the button for the third floor and waited for the elevator to ascend.
When the lights flickered above me as the elevator came to a jarring halt, I muttered out, “This is bullshit.”
I refused to be superstitious because my best friend was having an off day and decided to include me in it. I stepped over the cracks in the slate floor as I made my way past my office and into the OR. Before I washed my hands, I kissed the hammer necklace on my neck and tucked it into my scrubs.
Everything was fine.
It was going to be completely and totally fine.
Holy shit.
It wasn’t fine.
It was far from fine.
The patient didn’t die—thank God. But the procedure that should have taken ninety minutes took three hours. It would have been helpful if she had let me know she was on blood thinners.
She could have bled out.
For breasts.
We typically never risked surgery if the patient had a history of blood clots and was on a blood thinner—but apparently, she wanted to risk her life just so she could look better in a swimsuit. I was being harsh. But by not telling me about her medical history, the patient had put her life in jeopardy.
I pulled off my scrubs, opened the door, tossed them into the laundry bin outside of my office, and shut the door again.
Something felt wrong, weird. I was still on edge after talking with Lucas and I had no idea why, though I had a suspicion of what the cause probably was.
Miserable. I was miserable. And I knew the misery was of my own making, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
I swore and blindly reached into my office closet for my clothes.
And reached again.
And one more time, because in the last two years since leaving residency, my clothes were always in the same spot.
Always.
I turned around to actually face the closet. The wooden hanger was empty.
Completely empty.
“Son of a bitch!” I yelled. Where were my clothes? I’d changed in my office like I always did before surgery and had hung them up. I glanced around the room for something to cover up with.
And came up empty.
Whatever. I’d just put my scrubs back on.
But when I opened the office door and poked my head out, the bin was gone.
They never took the bin until the end of the day.
Shit, I was losing my mind.
Okay, Thatch, think.
Exhausted, I rubbed my face with my hands and tried to come up with an option where I didn’t have to walk down the hall completely naked.
Because I was.
Naked.
I refused to wear underwear during surgery.
It was one of my rituals.
I liked to be as comfortable as possible. I listened to rap music while I gave people nose jobs and breasts, and I free-balled.
“Shit.”
I called the receptionist. At least someone could bring me a new set of scrubs.
It went to voice mail.
When I looked down the hall again, it was empty. Like my entire office was in a cult and had been suddenly taken to the mother ship.
I quietly closed the door and prayed that I’d left my gym bag in the closet. I pulled open the door to find no gym bag. But folded neatly on the ground were a pair of spandex bicycle shorts and a yellow biking competition jersey.
They sure as hell weren’t mine, but what choice did I have?
Biting back a curse, I pulled the shorts up to my knees and winced—they were so tight around my thighs, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my dick suffered severe blood loss. Hah, wouldn’t Austin just love that! The cheater, her words not mine, could no longer get it up because he put on bicycle shorts that didn’t fit because someone stole his damn clothes!
Maybe my clothes disappeared because I was new around the office; so far, unlike the other new surgeon who joined the practice at the same time, I hadn’t undergone a hazing ritual. My reputation for doing the best breast augmentations in the city made me highly sought after, and I fielded a lot of offers before picking this practice, which promised to fast-track my partnership. It helped that I was young and, according to the other partners, “easy to market”—thus our clinic’s ad campaign featuring my face splashed all over park benches and buses in the Greater Seattle area.
“Damn it!” I shimmied into the shorts with a snap, the spandex molded against my dick like a second skin—it wasn’t a good look.
Next, I pulled the jersey over my head and grimaced at myself in the mirror. Well, at least I wasn’t naked anymore! Though on second thought, naked would probably have been better than the skintight competition gear. I was going to have a hell of a time taking this shit off.
I tugged at my long blond hair in irritation. I really needed to cut it, especially now that Austin was out of the picture. She’d been obsessed with my hair. Just another reminder of what I lost. Though can you really say you lost something when you’re the one who refused to find it? I smoothed down my hair one last time, then opened the door and poked my head out to confirm that no one was around to witness my walk of shame.
I quickly left my office and prayed that the storage closet where we kept extra scrubs would be open.
Locked.
The one across from it was locked too.
Ten minutes later.
And I’d tried every damn closet in the place.
And I was still dressed like fucking Lance Armstrong.
Parts of me were clearly trying to break free.
As if on cue, my dick twitched painfully.
People wore this shit? For real? And sired children?
I slammed my fist against the wall in anger. I was exhausted from surgery, still panicked that it had almost gone so wrong, and all I wanted was to finish out my day and go. I quickly snatched a nearby clipboard to cover my crotch and continued trying doors down the hall. Where the hell was everyone?
Finally the conference room door opened—I knew there would at least be someone in there who could hint at where one of the partners must have hidden my clothes—jackasses.
“SURPRISE!” The room erupted into laughter and cheers, scaring the shit out of me and forcing me to walk into the room—in my Lance Armstrong drag. Only I was twice the guy’s size, so it was like stuffing a sausage into a miniature hot dog bun.
I had to grit my teeth to keep from swearing. Making matters worse were the crotch stares I was getting from two of the nurses—both of whom had made it painfully clear on more than one occasion that they wanted a quick screw.
“Well, it looks like someone doesn’t need a penile enlargement after all,” a familiar voice called out with a chuckle.
And then the crowd parted.
“Austin.” I said her name with venom, not longing. I refused to show weakness when it came to the girl with pale skin and dark brown hair with golden highlights.
The girl I destroyed.
The girl I still wanted.
The girl who had the brass balls to try to make me into someone I would never be.
The girl who got away.
She was a brilliant and terrifying woman in expensive clothing; she looked innocent enough—she wasn’t.
Then again, neither was I.
Austin stood, cake in hand. “We just thought it would be fun to surprise you on your special day.”
The hell? “My special day,” I repeated at an utter loss. Why was she in my office building?
“You’ve been recognized by the city of Seattle for your exceptional work in plastic surgery.” She grinned, waving a plaque in front of my face. “I came by myself to deliver it.” She winked. “Daddy wanted to, but you know how busy he gets.”
Even though she was smiling, her eyes looked empty. I knew that smile. I just never thought I would ever be on the receiving end of it. Was it me? Or was it lingering sadness that her father was once again too busy for her—but never for free publicity? Wait. That made no sense. Why the hell wasn’t he the one bringing me the award rather than his daughter, the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about? “So, on behalf of the mayor of Seattle, I present to you . . .” Oh hell, cell phones stood at attention, taking pictures of me with the plaque. In spandex. “The Best of 2016 Award for you and your staff!”
My body twitched.
I couldn’t help it.
She’d said “staff.”
“What an honor.” I kept my voice even, because it was rare for someone my age to receive an award of this caliber, but she was ruining it with her presence. Ruining what should by all means be a huge moment for a plastic surgeon.
“And how cool is it that the picture going into the newspaper will have you in your gear for the big race!” she said loudly as a camera flashed.
I stepped away from her while my staff began to chatter about the award and how great it was to get one at such a young age, and just out of residency. As excited as I was about the award, I knew it would put more of a target on my back—which just meant more stress.
“Big race?” Apparently, all I was capable of was repeating everything she said. “Big race for what?”
Austin pointed to my shirt. “The Seattle to Portland Classic, of course. I mean at least that’s what it says on your sleeve here.” Her fingertips grazed the shirt and then fell to my skin before she pulled away and smirked. “I bet you’re just dying to get on that bike.” She drew out the word “bike” while a cold sweat started trickling down my neck and into my spandex shorts, which meant I was going to have to be buried in them since it would be nearly impossible to get too-tight sweaty spandex off my body without chopping off my legs.
I stared her down. Hoping my glare would get her to shut the hell up about my clothing or the fact that she’d said “bike.”
“You’re doing the classic too?” Troy, one of the doctors I worked with, walked into the room and grinned. “Hey, we should train together!”
Shit.
“I uh—” Was it hot in there? I tugged the tight jersey, irritated that it made a sucking noise as it plastered itself against my chest again, and I tried to think of an excuse.
“Oh, that’s such a great idea! My father’s going to be doing the race as well—maybe all of you guys could go on a few long rides together.” Austin winked at me. “Some of those rides can be brutal. Why, I’ve even heard of cyclists getting hit by cars.”
Troy laughed.
I felt myself pale as a choking fear wrapped around my neck in the form of visions of dismemberment by a semi.
“That’s not common,” he said reassuringly as he patted my back. “Had I known you were into cycling, we could have trained for the race this week together. Eh, next time, right?”
“Yeah,” I croaked, flashing him a fake smile. “That sounds fun.”
Death? Getting hit by a car? Sign me up.
He left me alone with Austin.
Her eyebrows arched as she gave me a mocking smile. “Gee, Thatch, you think they’re going to let you keep your training wheels on?”
She kept staring and smiling.
And then it occurred to me.
That tingling feeling.
Lucas’s confession.
Son of a bitch!
Lucas told her!
She burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, Thatch, just wear a helmet!”
“That’s it.” I gripped her by the elbow and tugged her away from the party. The hall was silent except for the click-clack of her high heels against the slate.
Once we were in the safety of my office, I slammed the door and glared. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She lifted her chin.
God, I’d always loved how pretty she was when she was angry.
“And how the hell do you know about”—I coughed and averted my eyes—“that?”
“That,” she repeated as she advanced on me. Damn it, I hated how tall she was—it made it hard to antagonize her. “Meaning the fact that you can’t ride a bike?”
“Fucking hell.” I tugged at the ends of my hair again, my one and only nervous habit. “What else did Lucas tell you?”
“Ribbit, ribbit.”
I stumbled back against my desk. “You bitch!”
“It’s not like I’m an actual frog. No need to get your panties in a twist, or in your case, really, really tight spandex.” She scrunched up her nose. “Those shorts really don’t do the little man downstairs any favors, do they? Maybe I should have gotten them in a bigger size, but wouldn’t you know? They were completely out of extra-large.”
“Wait, what?” I ignored her insult and held her gaze, my heart thundering in my chest while anger pounded through my blood. “You? You did this to me? You set me up!”
“Gee, I wonder why I would do that.” She tapped her chin. “And no, it’s not like I planned on seeing you. Trust me, if I could avoid you forever, I would, but considering our best friends can’t keep their hands off each other, we’re stuck together.” Her smile was cruel; hurt laced her features. “Besides, you know how my dad sometimes makes me do these things for the press. Plus, he’s been really busy lately, so . . .” She straightened, but I didn’t miss the hurt flash across her face. “An opportunity presented itself, and I took it.”
Yeah, I just bet he was busy.
“Just like an opportunity presented itself for you to slit the tires on my car?” I countered.
Her lips twitched.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny.”
“Do you even realize how expensive that was? The towing? The new tires?” I roared.
Her façade broke as she sucked in a breath and looked down. I knew I’d hit my mark; she knew I was paying off student loans while she was still living at home with her rich dad, who had the city at his fingertips.
My guilty conscience reminded me that even though she seemed to have it all, at home, she was lonely—and ignored. I pushed the irritating emotion away and hung my head.
Besides, there was so much she didn’t know.
I was too tired to deal with her.
Too exhausted to attempt to figure out the mess I’d created for both of us. We were in that weird stage when you slept together, broke up, and still had the same friends, making it impossible to ignore each other.
“I’ve done nothing to earn this level of”—I waved my hands in the air—“crazy, even from you.”
Austin’s pretty head jerked to attention. “You insulted me. Embarrassed me. Humiliated me. Kissed another woman, and then dumped me. After cheating on me!” She yelled “cheating” so loud, I was sure people could hear her from space.
I refused to feel guilty. It was for the best. That’s the lie I told myself, and it was the lie I was going to stick with. “What the hell do you want, Austin?”
“Revenge.” She grinned. “But I thought it would only be fair if I warned you first . . . Gives you more of a fighting chance.” She rose up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around my neck. “And I’m always fair.”
I kept my arms pinned at my side even though all I wanted to do was press my mouth to that sweet spot on her neck and wrap my arms around her waist.
She’d been an addiction.
One that nearly destroyed us both.
One that threw me off the path I’d sworn to stay on for years.
“Revenge, hmm?” I whispered, almost grazing her soft lips and trying to act calm when my brain was going a million miles a minute. “Sounds dirty, and if I remember correctly—you’re all vanilla.”
Her eyes widened with hurt.
“Plain,” I repeated, hating myself even more. “Young.” She jerked back. “Inexperienced.” She backed away as if I were firing actual shots at her. I pursued her, pinning her against the wall. That’s it, keep her angry. It’s the only way. “Immature . . . and without any sort of direction. Try your damnedest to get your revenge, Austin. Hell, what else would I expect from a girl who’s only twenty-two? Because that’s what you are, Austin, a girl.” I deserved to be slapped. “And here I thought I made myself so clear. I want a woman.”
Tears filled her eyes. “What happened to us?”
I refused to answer that loaded question. What happened to us, indeed? Every time I wanted something out of my reach, I had a sinking feeling I was going to get burned. And this time, I was right. But I wasn’t just burned, I was wrecked, completely destroyed. I just never expected the fire to be so hot—or the ramifications to be so life-altering. “Have fun with your little revenge plan, just leave my car alone next time.”
“I’ll try, but you know I love the soft leather seats.”
The memory of us kissing in my car slammed into me, her hungry lips as she pressed her body against mine, my obsessive need as I tasted her skin, stripping her clothes as fast as my hands would let me. It was always that way with her. The leather seats were nothing compared to the way she felt beneath my fingertips, and then she’d pressed her ass against the horn by accident, causing us to erupt in laughter just as someone shouted at us to get a room. I’d never experienced the type of relationship that held laughter, sex, and friendship—until Austin.
“We had fun,” I finally said in a detached voice.
“Tell me why we broke up, and I won’t do it,” she answered, crossing her arms.
She only thinks she wants to know.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say something.
To end her misery.
To make her smile at me again—not with the empty one reserved for banquets and ribbon cuttings, but the smile she used to give me when it was just us. God I hated the hurt in her eyes more than I hated the emptiness.
“The ‘why’ won’t make you feel better,” I said as the silence between us stretched for miles, making me feel older than my thirty-two years. Did she see the slight twitch of my hand? The intense need my body had to touch her? Did she know that my heart, stupid messed-up thing that it was, still beat for her?
No.
And she never would.
“Fine, your funeral.” She was back to being saucy and dangerously close to making me want to kiss her again.
I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, okay.” Austin wouldn’t hurt a fly, though a small part of me was slightly worried about just how drunk Lucas had gotten. It wasn’t like I had a lot of secrets. Another part of my brain alerted me that yes, she had in fact slit my tires, but she’d been pissed; this was different.
It’s not like Lucas got drunk and confessed anything worthwhile, right?
My hand twitched at my side.
She knew about the biking and the frogs.
Did that mean he told her about my . . . phobias?
No. Impossible.
With a sigh, she dug into her purse and tossed me a key. “Locker number six, bottom floor.”
“Bottom floor?”
“Your clothes.” She gave me another empty smile. “They might be wrinkled, though, and before I forget—” She launched herself at me, fusing her mouth to mine. “Congratulations on the award.”
I was too stunned to do anything but lick my lips like a masochistic bastard—and let out a moan at how good she still tasted—better than I remembered.
Like candy.
If she hated me? Wanted revenge? Then why the hell would she kiss me?
I only had to wonder for a few seconds.
Until I opened the door to head down to the bottom floor for my clothes and felt my mouth start to itch and my throat tighten.