Garrett (4 page)

“No, casual is better. I’m not much for fancy.”

“Me either,” I tell her, and then bring my other hand up to tug on the end of one long braid. “And do me a favor…wear your hair just like it is now.”

Something flickers in her eyes…something a bit hot and knowing. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth briefly and then it pops free as she considers my request. That simple movement right there has my cock starting to swell with curiosity.

“I’ll consider it,” she says, then tugs her hand free of mine as she takes a small step back.

We stare at each other for a moment more, and I can see it’s easy to get lost in her eyes. She looks so young…so innocent…yet I see something in there that’s also laced with a bit of wisdom that maybe she knows something that I don’t.

Whatever the reason Olivia decided to change her mind and give me a chance, I’m not going to worry about it. I’m just glad she did.

Pulling my ponytail high and tight on top of my head, I give myself a critical stare in the mirror. I worked late at Fleurish and had time to get only a quick shower before my date, but I didn’t have time to wash my hair. So I unbraided the pigtails I had, satisfied with the gentle wave they had left in my hair, and opted for a quick ponytail so I’d have time to put on a little makeup. I know Garrett requested I wear my hair the same way, but I decide against it. I have no clue what the evening holds, but I want to keep the upper hand. So much is out of control in my life right now that I feel the need to make sure that whatever I do, I do it because I want it for myself. Besides, I don’t want him thinking I’m a sure bet, in any manner.

Garrett said
casual
tonight, so I put on a pair of white shorts that I know make my tanned legs look good—damned good—and throw on a kelly-green T-shirt that says
KISS ME, I’M IRISH
on it. I’m not sure what it says about me that I carefully chose a matching set of sexy lingerie to go under said casual clothes…pale pink silk, the prettiest underwear-and-bra set that I own. But I know that it’s within my control whether to keep them on or take them off, and we’ll just have to see how the evening goes.

Yes, my mind has gone there more than once since I said “yes” to Garrett’s invitation. After he left the shop this afternoon, Stevie was relentless with me, peppering our conversations throughout the afternoon with random opinions on how my date should go.

You should totally hook up with him tonight.

Girl…I’m telling you…that man is going to turn your bones into jelly…with his tongue, no doubt.

YOLO! Did you hear me? YOLO!

I ignored each comment, knowing that if I responded in any way, it would fuel him on. But just because I held my tongue didn’t mean that my mind wasn’t on overdrive thinking about what it was I was really hoping to accomplish by going out with Garrett tonight.

Every other first date I’ve ever been on in my life has been with the sole purpose of hoping to get to know someone and make a bit of a connection. Hoping that it would lead to something more, because as a woman, I wanted the romance and secure warmth of a solid relationship. I’ve never gone out with anyone with the idea in mind of having sex with him. Never thought about it once.

But God help me…it’s all I’ve been thinking about this afternoon.

All thanks to Stevie yammering at me to seize life by the horns, all while the cancer hammers at my body, maybe setting me on a collision course with a destiny that may make it impossible for me to do anything but clutch weakly and in vain at my life.

I don’t want to feel weak and powerless. I want to make this life my bitch and wring every bit of juicy goodness from it before it’s possibly taken away from me. Am I wrong to view Garrett Samuelson as “juicy goodness”? Am I a complete slut to even consider this?

There is one good thing about being obsessed with my date tonight with Garrett. It helped me keep my mind off everything I learned at my oncology appointment early this morning. I went in scared to death, almost sick to my stomach, and came out with at least a little bit more knowledge that helped me put things into better perspective. My head is swimming with information.

Dr. Yoffman was very kind and very cool. I’d guess he is in his late fifties, with longish dark salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee. He wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a Hawaiian-print shirt, and rather than put me off, his casual look and demeanor actually made me feel more calm. He gave me a full physical examination, prodding gently on the swollen lymph node on the right side of my neck. It had been there for weeks, my primary-care doctor thinking first it was some type of infection because I was also having fevers and general fatigue. He tried to treat it with various antibiotics, but when the symptoms wouldn’t subside, he ordered a biopsy on the lymph node.

Boom. Cancer!

Dr. Yoffman explained to me that follicular B-cell lymphoma is a slow-growing cancer, and had likely been in my body for a very long time. He said many people never even exhibit symptoms and sometimes even a wait-and-see approach is feasible. But because I had fevers, night sweats, fatigue, and even a ten-pound weight loss over the last few months, that could be an indication that my disease was more advanced. Those words felt like a slam to my stomach, and terrorlike fear coursed through my body. When I let out a stuttering breath with tears in my eyes, Dr. Yoffman patted me on the knee.

“The good news is that this is treatable. It’s generally not curable, but we have a good chance of getting you into remission.”

Those words sounded sweet to my ears. I chose to ignore the part where he said “not curable” and focused instead on the words “treatable” and “remission.”

“How do you treat it?”

Standing up, he started making some notes in my chart. “First things first…we need to determine your staging…how advanced the disease is. I need to order some blood work; CT scan of your chest, abdomen, and pelvis; a PET scan; as well as a bone-marrow aspiration and core biopsy.”

My head started swimming again and Sutton reached out to grab my hand. She turned to Dr. Yoffman. “Can you explain those tests to us?”

Setting my chart back down, Dr. Yoffman walked over to me and peered into my eyes. “Most of them are noninvasive, but the bone-marrow biopsy can be a little uncomfortable. I’ll give you a local anesthetic down here.” He reached one arm around me and pressed his fingers down on the right side of my lower back, almost over the top of my butt cheek. “I’ll have to make a very tiny incision, and then when I get down to the bone, I’ll numb the protective covering it has as well. I’ll use a needle to pull out an aspirate of bone marrow, then I’ll have to use another instrument to drill down into the bone. You shouldn’t feel any pain, and once I get in, I’ll pull out a bit of bone. Some patients say it feels like an electric shock when I aspirate the marrow, or a compressed feeling, but you won’t be in a lot of pain. The procedure takes about five to ten minutes.”

My stomach started rolling with nausea, and bile rose in my throat. All of a sudden, my confidence that Sutton and Stevie had worked so hard to build up took a big, fat nosedive. “I can’t,” I blurted. “I’m not ready for this.”

Dr. Yoffman’s eyes turned soft with understanding and he squeezed my shoulder. “It’s okay, Olivia. This is a lot to process and sounds very scary. It will take some time to absorb it all. I can also prescribe you something to help you relax and relieve the anxiety. How about today we at least get your blood work done and the CT scan, as I have that equipment here in the clinic. We’ll do the bone-marrow aspiration and biopsy tomorrow and the medication I’m going to prescribe will help you relax. And hopefully I’ll get your insurance approval for the PET scan soon. Sound like a plan?”

I swallowed hard and nodded at him gratefully that he wasn’t immersing me all the way in. I was also liking the sound of him prescribing me something for the anxiety, because I felt like my body was about ready to blow apart in a million pieces because it was trembling so badly.

Before he left, Dr. Yoffman asked if I had any other questions, and I felt foolish over what I was getting ready to ask. I didn’t have any experience with cancer, other than what I had seen on the news or through friends on social media. Here I was, faced with a life-threatening illness, and all I could think to ask was, “Am I going to lose my hair during the treatment?”

Dr. Yoffman smiled at me knowingly and said, “That’s actually a very good question, and there are many types of chemo and radiation that cause hair loss. Luckily for you, a drug called bendamustine has recently been approved that we’ve added to our protocol. We’ll talk about the details of the treatment at your next appointment, but this new drug has mild side effects and shouldn’t cause any hair loss.”

I felt giddy and relieved and shameful all at once that that was a concern of mine, but at least Dr. Yoffman didn’t make me feel stupid about it. Sutton further alleviated my guilt by quipping, “Thank God. I was so afraid I’d have to be one of those friends that shaved my head to show my support.”

My tension was immediately broken, and for the first time that day, I laughed. A real laugh. True, deep down in my belly.

I spent the next hour getting the CT scan and blood work done, and made an appointment to get the bone-marrow biopsy done the following day. Dr. Yoffman said his office would call with information on where to get the PET scan done after my insurance approved it, and then he said he would call me for another appointment to go over all the results and develop a treatment plan.

Then the shit was going to get real.

The knocking on my apartment door startles me, and I’m immediately giddy in relief to be slung out of my memories over what happened today. I’m excited to see Garrett because just like the other two times I’ve seen him, I’ve managed to forget that I’m sick. I give myself one last look in the mirror. The woman staring back at me doesn’t look like she has cancer. And I feel all right…sort of. I mean, outside of some fatigue that hits me here and there, a few night sweats, and a lymph node in my neck that is slightly swollen, I’m otherwise functioning okay physically.

For now.

But for how much longer?

I quickly slip on the silver bracelet that my mom made me for Christmas last year and walk out of my bedroom. My apartment is a compact two-bedroom, but it’s more than enough room for me, and I’ve filled it with comfortable furnishings, bright artwork, and several potted plants.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door to find over six feet of gorgeous hockey hunk staring at me. He has one hand raised and propped on the doorjamb, the other casually stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans. He has on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and I see a tattoo that looks like a blackbird peeking out on the underside of the arm that’s raised above his head.

“No braids,” he says in a disappointed voice as his eyes sweep my appearance. “But I’m very much digging the T-shirt,” he adds as his gaze hovers over the words written across my breast. “Please tell me you’re Irish.”

I snicker and step backward to let him in to my apartment so I can grab my purse. “I might have a little bit of Irish in my ancestry.”

“Thank God for little miracles,” he quips, and for a brief, mad, and dazzling moment, I wish he’d kiss me right here and now. He doesn’t, though—just lets his gaze sweep across my apartment.

“Your place is really nice,” he says. “I love all the plants you have in here.”

“I was blessed with a green thumb, so I figured I might as well make the most of it,” I tell him as I hitch my purse up over my shoulder.

“Hey,” Garrett says as he walks up to me with his eyes pinned to my wrist. Taking my hand in his, he lifts my arm up and peers at the silver bracelet I had just donned a few moments ago. “Where did you get this? It’s beautiful.”

“My mom made it for me. She designs jewelry in her free time away from her regular job,” I tell him, staring down at the silver links made of delicate vines and leaves with little purple grape clusters hanging at each joint.

“My sister would love something like this. Can I buy one from your mom?”

Smiling, I reach my own finger out and gently run it down one of the links. “This is a one-of-a-kind, but I’m sure she can do something similar.”

“So what does your mom do besides design jewelry?”

I give a light laugh and tell him, “She’s a massage therapist. At least for now. She changes careers as often as the seasons.”

Garrett smiles and then turns my hand over in his to look at the rest of the bracelet but gasps when he sees my wrist.

“Jesus, Olivia. What happened?” he asks as he stares at the deep purple bruise about the size of a quarter. It looks hideous, and I’m embarrassed he’s seen it.

Carefully pulling my hand free of his, I turn my wrist away and say, “Just banged it on my bathroom faucet the other day. It’s no biggie. Doesn’t even hurt.”

“It looks like it would hurt like a bitch. I’ve had bruises like that after getting hit with a slap shot, and let me tell you, they hurt like a mother.”

Dr. Yoffman today had made note of the fact that I was bruising easily, examining the dark mark on my wrist and another I had on my hip when I practically just grazed it against the corner of my dresser. He said he suspected I was anemic, but the blood work would confirm that.

“Well, this one doesn’t hurt,” I tell him as I walk toward the door. When I reach it, I grab ahold of the knob and turn to face him. “Just looks ugly. Now, what’s on the agenda tonight?”

Garrett follows me and then steps in close…really close to me…and backs me right up into the door until I’m forced to let go of the knob and my shoulder blades are pressing against the cool wood. He cages me in by placing his palms beside my head and peers down at me. “Well…you said no sex tonight, so I tried to think of something that would be at least half as entertaining. And…since you said you like dirty jokes, I thought we’d take in a comedy show, if that’s all right with you.”

I can’t help the grin that comes to my lips. “That sounds awesome. I’ve never been to one before.”

“Excellent,” he says as his gaze drops down to my lips. “But I think we should start the date off right, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask him in a husky voice, my body tightening with anticipation. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking we need to pay homage to your Irish roots,” he murmurs as he leans in closer, his lips hovering just above mine.

“They’ve been feeling neglected as of late,” I agree softly, swiping my tongue over my lower lip, which is already tingling in anticipation.

Garrett presses his mouth against mine and I open up to him slowly. He tastes like cinnamon and mint, and I don’t hesitate one second, pushing my tongue into his mouth to take a swipe against his. My hands immediately come up to wrap around his neck, and with a slight rumble in his chest, his arms come around my waist to pull me in closer to his body. He kisses me deeply…erotically, and the blood starts pounding in my head. Our tongues move against each other and I have to fight for control of my body not to press all the way in against him. Our heads naturally angle in opposition to allow more contact…more penetration.