I slide the pie into Luke's high-end Miele stainless-steel oven and search for a timer.

"How long?" Luke walks up behind me and presses my body into the oven, his front to my back. My hair is up in a bun while I bake, leaving my neck wide open, which he takes advantage of with his mouth. I lean into his touch, desire warming my skin.

"Forty-five minutes," I tell him and he punches the time into a digital panel on the stove before turning me to face him.

"You smell like nutmeg."

"Does that turn you on, Dr. Miller?"

He laughs. "Everything about you turns me on, Miss Tisdale." He's walking me backwards, hands on my waist until my butt hits the kitchen island before he picks me up and sits me on the counter. He spreads my legs and stands between them, then pins me in place by placing his hands on either side of me on the granite countertop.

"Sophie." He touches his forehead to mine then tilts his head and kisses me briefly before stepping back. "We need to talk."

What? My eyes fly to his and my heart races as I try to piece together what he wants to talk about. I thought we resolved everything yesterday at my dorm. After the awful day at his parents and the incredible dorm sex that followed, he told me to grab enough stuff for the weekend and took me back to his condo.

We went out this morning hand in hand for coffee and bagels before hitting the grocery story for pumpkin pie ingredients. Luke mentioned the store had pies already prepared, but quickly shut up at the look on my face.

Now he leans against the counter across from me and sighs, running a hand over his face before crossing his arms across his chest and looking at my feet dangling off his countertop. "What the hell are on your feet?"

"Turkey socks," I reply, wiggling my toes.

He shakes his head in response. Yeah, I don't think my socks are what he wants to talk about. What is it? Have I trashed his kitchen? Is he some kind of obsessive-compulsive about to flip out over dirty mixing bowls?

"Yesterday in your dorm room," he begins, slowly. I stare at him waiting, wanting him to spit it out already, but I sit silently, waiting for him to continue.

"I shouldn't have done that," he finishes.

Done what? The kinky roleplaying? I thought that was fun. Wait, did I initiate that or did he? Does he think I'm a freak? Or does he mean he shouldn't have come to my dorm at all?

"I shouldn't have…" He pauses, searching for how he wants to phrase this, and all I can do is stare at him and wait. "Entered you without a condom."

Oh. Okay. He's right, I guess. I want to tell him it's fine, no big deal, but I tread carefully, because I liked it. I liked that he lost control enough to want to. I liked that he'd trusted me enough to. And I damn well liked the feeling of him, sliding inside of me, knowing it was impossible to get any closer to him than that. Then when he came down my throat telling me to taste myself on him? I get a little wet remembering it and I shift on the countertop.

I want to tell him these things and remind him I'm on the pill and that he didn't come inside of me, but… gynecologist. I really want to avoid a safe-sex lecture from my lover.

"I'm taking the pill every day." I smile at him, wanting to lighten the mood. "And I don't have any STD's," I add in as a joke.

He doesn't look amused. At all. Instead he tells me to, "Stay," like a child and leaves the kitchen.

What is his problem? I fear he's going to whip out a pregnancy test and make me pee on it in front of him. He walks back into the room with a sheet of paper. Oh, shit. Does he have some kind of STD? Is that what he's so worried about? What the hell is on that paper?

"I had this done in October," he says, handing the sheet to me. I stare at it with no idea what I'm supposed to be looking for.

"Luke, I don't know what any of this means," I say, indicating the sheet. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I'm clean, you have nothing to worry about."

"Great." I smile, relieved.

"No, Sophie. It's not great." He looks annoyed. "You should always have this information prior to having unprotected sex." He runs a hand over his eyes. "I'm setting a really shit example for you. Promise me you'll never allow anyone to touch you without a condom before exchanging test results first."

"You want me to have all my future lovers hand over test results prior to ditching the condoms. Got it, Doctor," I say sarcastically because this conversation stings. I can't look at him right now. I cannot believe he's lecturing me about future lovers. Am I supposed to be touched by his concern? Creeped out by his authoritative decree? Or devastated that he's talking to me about other men touching me?

"Goddamn it." Luke mutters something about going to use the gym as he stalks out of the kitchen. I hear the front door slam two minutes after that and I still haven't moved from where he sat me on the counter.

What just happened? Is he mad at me or I at him?

I clean up the kitchen and take the pie out when the timer dings, then stare out the kitchen windows at the Philadelphia skyline, still confused about what set him off. Was I not taking his safe-sex talk seriously enough? Forgive me, but being lectured by my current lover about future lovers pisses me off.

Luke’s still not back from the gym. I know it’s in this building, but I'm not sure which floor so I couldn't go find him even if I wanted to. I'm bored, I'd like to go out for a walk and window-shop the cute stores along 18th Street, but I don't have a key to get back in and besides, I don't want to leave without talking to him.

I wander back into the kitchen and use my iPad to look up recipes on Pinterest. Determining Luke has all the necessary ingredients for pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies, I set to work on those to keep busy. This kitchen is a baker's dream. Tons of counter space and a big high-end oven. Plus a dishwasher to help clean it all up. I can't imagine Luke using any of it—I'm not sure why he even has mixing bowls and baking sheets. I don't want to think too hard about it either, because I don't want to imagine some previous girlfriend making herself at home like I am right now.

The front door clicks open a while later, while I'm peering into the oven checking on the two trays of cookies inside. Heels click-clack a second before a female voice calls out for Luke.

I shut the oven door.

"Luke, darling, where are you?" She sounds like she's crying. There's a strange crying woman in Luke's apartment? How did she get in? I step into the hallway but I don't see anyone. A moment later her heels click from the hallway that leads past the coat closet to the master bedroom, as if she's just checked the bedroom looking for Luke. Interesting. The heels click-clack towards me and then Gina rounds the corner and stops facing me.

She's dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, her face distraught, until she sees me. A flash of surprise crosses her face, but she quickly regains herself.

"Where is Luke?" she asks me, still sniffing into her tissue, tears welled up in her eyes. She looks down the hall that leads to his office as if she's about to walk past me in search of him.

Bitch.

I take in her appearance. Her hair and makeup are perfect, her clothing impeccable. It's the day after Thanksgiving, most of America is in jeans or sweatpants and this woman is wearing four-inch heels, a pencil skirt and a blouse neatly tucked in with a slim belt around her waist. A camel-colored wool coat is folded over her arm, as if she took it off in the elevator on the way up, planning on staying awhile.

"He's…" I'm about to tell her he's at the gym but she probably knows exactly which floor the gym is on. She managed to get past the front desk and into the condo just fine. In a moment of bitchiness I respond, "He's not here."

Her tears dry up in an instant. "Where is he?" she asks as she eyes me, standing in Luke's foyer in jeans and a sweater. My shoes are off, my hair up. I'm clearly comfortable in Luke's home, but then again, so is she. She walked right in the front door seeming to know exactly where to look for Luke in this giant place.

I'm saved from answering as the timer sounds on the oven. "He's not here," I repeat as I turn and head into the kitchen, hoping she will take the hint and see herself out the same way she saw herself in. "I'll tell him you stopped by," I add while silently begging her to get out.

I don't hear anything for a moment, then as I silence the oven timer she click-clacks… into the kitchen. I ignore her as I slide an oven mitt over my hand and remove the trays from the oven, placing them on the burners to cool.

"You're making cookies? And a pie?" She bursts out laughing, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. "Adorable. Are you doing arts and crafts too?" She looks around the kitchen as if she expects to see macaroni art in progress.

I'm not a fighter, so I remain quiet. There's really no response to that anyway. Jean would have put Gina in her place with a few well-said words. Everly would have jumped on her monkey-style and started ripping her hair out. I smirk a little at the thought, but I keep my mouth shut as I move the cookies to a cooling rack.

"So where's Luke?"

I don't feel like answering her. It's not normally in my nature to be unhelpful, but Gina brings out my inner bitch. "He's out." I look up at her and smile, trying my best to appear like she's not bothering me.

Gina eyes me for a moment before responding. "You don't know where he is, do you?" She seems smug. I'm not sure if she's smug thinking I don't know, or smug because she thinks by taunting me I'm going to answer her. I just smile and scoop balls of cookie dough onto the baking pans I just emptied.

"Aren't you going to offer me a coffee? That is what you do for a living, isn't it, Sophie?" Gina smiles at me. Evil. Bitch.

I look at her and flick my eyes to the Keurig on the counter. "You operate on hearts for a living, I'm sure you can figure out a single-serve coffeemaker."

"Luke's slumming it with a barista who won't even make coffee without being paid." She laughs. "You're cute, Sophie. I hope you're enjoying this time playing kinky Betty Crocker with Luke because it's not going to last. This infatuation he has with you will not last. You think a Miller marries a barista? It's never going to happen, sweetheart."

Marry? Wow. I've been with Luke for a month. No one is talking marriage, but Gina is threatened, that's for sure. I don't know why though. They broke up years ago based on what Luke said at Thanksgiving.

"And you think he wants you back?" I raise an eyebrow in her direction and place a sweet smile on my face.

She doesn't answer, instead runs her hands across the granite countertop and surveys the kitchen. "I think Luke is at a settling-down age and we have a history together. I'm a suitable match for him," she adds, stressing the last part.

I wish I knew who broke up with whom. I have no idea why things ended between them. As it is, I can't say much without revealing that I know nothing.

"Plus his hands." Gina sighs. "He's very good with his hands, isn't he? I bet he's a huge improvement over the boys you normally fuck. A little word of advice, Sophie, commit it to memory because Luke's a hard act to follow in bed."

My chest tightens and I feel both rage and fear. Rage that she's reminiscing about having sex with Luke right in front of me and fear for the same reasons. I'm not a confrontational girl and she's making me feel like I'm under attack. No, I am under attack.

"Has he taken you shopping yet for the gala?" She eyes me up and down. "I assume he's bringing you?"

I drop a ball of cookie dough onto the baking sheet. I don't know anything about a gala, but I know she's looking for a reaction.

"I was planning on wearing a dress from Target." I smile. "From last season's clearance rack, obviously."

"You probably would, wouldn't you?" She snorts. "I cannot wait to look back on this and laugh. When Luke and I are back together and you're nothing but a bad memory."

I cannot believe Luke was engaged to this person. She is nothing like me. What did he see in her? What does he see in me? My insecurities about being nothing more than a fuck toy for a rich man resurface. I'm graduating in a few months with a degree in corporate accounting. If I'm lucky I'll get a job offer from a mid-sized corporation. If I'm not lucky I'll be working in a strip mall preparing tax refunds.

In other words, not a heart surgeon.

The front door opens and Gina tosses me a smug look before rushing into the hall. "Luke!" Her voice is distraught and I can already hear the tears in her voice. I wonder if she double-majored in drama and pre-med.

"Where is Sophie?" Luke asks, and I clearly hear her reply about what a darling I am, inviting her in for coffee while she waited and keeping her distracted with stories from Thanksgiving.

Bitch. I cringe at the picture she just painted. I slide the last of the cookies into the oven as the door to Luke's office closes. So he's going to entertain her and listen to her fake tears. Gross.

I clean up the kitchen for the second time today and watch the oven timer. Nine minutes. Five minutes. Two minutes. The timer dings and I remove the last tray from the oven and transfer the cookies to a plate to cool before placing the cookie sheets in the dishwasher.

They're still in his office. I consider trying to eavesdrop from the adjoining room, I really do. But that's not my style, and truthfully Gina does not interest me enough to sneak around.

I grab my iPad off the counter with one hand and a cookie with the other and cut through the dining room to the great room. Luke never uses this room. He hasn't even fucked me in this room. I smile thinking about that, since we've made use of most of the condo. I love the views of Philadelphia from here and peering down on the treetops of Rittenhouse Square Park below.

The room itself is mammoth with two seating areas. I can't imagine Luke picking out sofas or lamps. I wonder if whoever stocked the kitchen with bakeware decorated this room, but quickly discount that idea. This room was professionally decorated. The entire condo was, minus those three empty bedrooms. I still find their complete emptiness a little odd. I imagine the decorator cried at not being able to create guest suites with mounds of fluffy comforters and expensive pillows plumped just so.

While beautiful, this room is not lived in. Looking around, I wonder if Luke's ever put a Christmas tree up in here. I giggle at the thought. There is no way, which is too bad, because there is an empty alcove in this room in front of a huge window with views of the park. I imagine the architect pictured a grand piano in this space, but it's perfect for a Christmas tree.

I sit in one of the armchairs and surf the internet on my iPad before the office door clicks open, finally. Luke tells Gina to call his office on Monday if she needs anything as he walks her to the front door. I'd rather hear him tell her to call him never, but at least she's leaving. I stay put in the chair.

The front door closes and the house is quiet. I know Luke didn't leave with her, but I don't hear him. A few minutes later Luke walks into the room with a handful of cookies.

"You made cookies?" He winks at me as he stuffs one in his mouth. He's in athletic pants and a short-sleeved tee shirt. His hair is tousled, like he ran a towel through it after his workout. I hate that Gina saw him like this.

"I did," I reply, not sure what to make of him right now. I guess we're not fighting about condoms anymore.

"What are you doing in here?" he asks, inhaling another cookie and glancing around the unused room. "I couldn't find you."

I shrug. "I didn't know what to do with myself while I was waiting for you to finish with your ex-fiancée."

"Miss Tisdale, is that sarcasm I'm hearing?" He leans over me and places his now empty hands on the chair arms, pinning me in place. "I'm very finished with my ex-fiancée, Sophie." He leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips.

"Why is she always around then?" I ask before I can think better of it. I trust Luke. I'm not even going to say it's because I don't trust Gina, because she's irrelevant. She can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do. I simply don't like her, or her intentions, but it's none of my business.

"It's just… work stuff, Sophie," he says, straightening. "I'm going to take a shower. Do you want to go shopping? Gina said something about you wanting to go to Target?"

I laugh then. She's such a bitch. "Yeah, Luke, let's go to Target."