Hitched (11 page)

He turns to me, smiling, all shadows gone from his eyes as he kisses me deeply, before directing his focus back to breakfast. He has two pans going, one with bacon and one with omelets filled with peppers and onions and cheese. My stomach grumbles again, and he laughs. "Hungry?"

"Last night did work up an appetite," I admit, helping myself to a cup of coffee. I inhale the scent before adding sugar and cream, then sit on a barstool and watch him cook. "I'd offer to help, but you look really sexy doing this all by yourself. I don't want to ruin the experience."

He puts a plate in front of me and piles bacon and an omelet onto it. "I wouldn't let you anyways. I enjoy cooking, especially for a beautiful woman."

Every time he calls me beautiful, my heart does a happy dance. I'm absurd, I know.

He takes a seat next to me, and we eat in silence for a moment. The breakfast is perfect, and I finish the plate, not even a little bit self-conscious of eating so much in front of him. Fuck that, I worked off this and more last night in bed and in the pool. The memory makes me smile, until I get to the part where the Wicked Witch of Las Vegas interrupted us. Maybe I should feel more kindly about her, given what I learned last night, but she's still a bitch.

"We know very little about each other," I tell him as I sip my coffee.

He looks at me, his eyes clear and beautiful. "There are many kinds of knowing, Kacie. There's the knowledge of random facts. I'll admit that we're short on those, but that's actually the easiest kind of knowledge to come by. Consider how much most Americans know about popular celebrities, without really knowing them at all. But there's also another kind of knowing. A recognition of the heart. That's what we have. My heart knows you. Your heart knows me. This summer is just a chance to get our minds caught up."

He places a hand on my thigh, caressing me. "And obviously our bodies are quite intimate with each other already."

His words stir something deep in me, but I shut it down, not ready to examine those feelings too closely. "Do you want to have a family? Children?"

His hand falls away, and I miss the warmth, but I don't say anything, waiting for him to answer me.

"I don't know. I'm scared to feel that kind of loss again. When Hope died, a part of me died too. And every day I'm reminded of her death as I try to save children too sick to walk, children with horrible illnesses who often don’t make it. I don't know if I can go through that again with my own child."

I'm not sure how I feel about that. I haven't decided if I ever want kids, though I always assumed I'd have a few eventually. But do I really want them, or do I just think that because it's still the expected trajectory for a woman's life in our society? I haven't figured that out.

He stands and takes our plates to the sink to wash.

"Do you ever miss Celene?" I'm not sure I want to know the answer to this, but I ask it anyways.

"It was a long time ago. That relationship is dead and buried."

"It didn't seem very dead last night. At least not for her." I go to him, taking a hand towel from the counter, and dry as he washes. It's so domestic and feels so right.

"That may be true, but it's definitely over for me." His voice is hard when he says that.

"What about you?" he asks as we take our coffee to the backyard to enjoy the sun. "Anyone serious? Besides me, of course." He grins, and I melt a little.

"I had a boyfriend in college," I say. "It didn't go very far. I broke up with him before it could. Since then I've kept it casual. Tate and I knew we were meant for a life elsewhere. Out of Ohio. And even in college and grad school, I knew I wouldn't stay in those areas after graduation, and I didn't want the hassle of falling in love and having to negotiate where we would live. We knew we'd come to Las Vegas, as unorthodox as that choice was. Staying single made all of that easier."

He nods as if he understands, but I wonder if he really does. Men have long believed they could do anything, be anything, live anywhere, whereas women are often expected to sacrifice for their families, their husbands, their children. Men have a freedom of thought, a freedom of expectation to life that women have never had. Women have to constantly negotiate—with themselves, with others—for a semblance of those choices, those inalienable rights that men take for granted.

My phone beeps, distracting me from my thoughts. I pull it out of my pocket and check it, then smile and reply. Sebastian waits patiently until I'm done. "Anyone I should be jealous of?" he asks, teasing.

"Nope, just my brother. We have a date to jog this morning, so I have to get going. Are you working today?" I stand, finishing off my coffee and setting in on the table between us.

"I'm checking on some patients later. But I'd like to see you tonight. I have an idea to aid in us getting to know each other better. To put your mind at ease. I'll text you later with instructions."

I lift an eyebrow. "Instructions?"

He grins, then kisses me. "Trust me, you'll enjoy it."

He leaves to get dressed and drive me home, and I wander his house while I wait, my mind cataloging each of his belongings and wondering how many Celene picked out. The thoughts do not make me happy.

On the drive home, I ask him about his music. "Where did you learn to play the piano?"

"My parents insisted on piano lessons once I was old enough to reach the keys. I resisted for a long time, but then fell in love with music and drove them nuts, practicing day and night. At one point, I actually considered Julliard over medical school, but I knew I couldn't give up my dream of savings lives. "

It's not the answer I expected, and my heart softens even more to this amazing man next to me. Spending time with him so far has not helped in my plan to get sick of him, I realize. It's still early, though. Surely he has more faults that will eventually tip the scale and make it easier to let go.

But as I look at him, at his strong profile and his talented hands, as I reflect on the kind of person I've seen him to be thus far, my confidence waivers, and I worry I've gotten myself into something I may not be able to get out of without breaking both of our hearts.

"It's fucking hot," I say as Tate and I take another hill, our feet pounding the pavement in a familiar rhythm.

"If someone had come home last night, we could have gone running earlier, when it was cooler," he teases, nudging me in the shoulder.

Running isn't my favorite thing in the world to do, but it keeps me in shape when I can't get to a pool to do laps. Thinking of pools draws my thoughts back to last night, to Sebastian and his cock and fucking him in the cool water and the feel of his hands.

Now I'm even hotter. Great.

"Looks like you and lover-boy are getting serious," Tate says, probing for more.

"I told you, it's just a summer thing. I'm still filing the annulment papers first thing Monday morning."

He snickers. "I'm sure that's true, at least the filing part. The 'just a summer thing' part? Not so much. I've never seen you like this, sis. It's not just a fling."

The light ahead of us turns red, and we stop. I bend over, breathing hard, and take a swig of my water. Sweat is dripping down my face, stinging my eyes. I wipe it away and stretch, thinking about Tate's words. "You know I'm not going to get serious with him. And you know why. Now can we please change the subject?"

He rolls his eyes but doesn't push. "Fine, what do you want to talk about?"

I'm about to bring up our schedule for the next few weeks when he stops me with a look. "Except work. Anything but work."

We start running again. "Okay, what's going on with you and the girl from the bar. What was her name?"

"Stephanie," he says. "I'm not seeing her anymore. It didn't work out."

This time I snicker. "Let me guess. It didn't work out because you slipped, and your dick fell into someone else's vagina?"

He clasps a hand over his heart dramatically. "You wound me, sister, to think so little of me."

"So you didn't fuck someone else?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that. But I broke up with Stephanie before the actual penetration occurred. I'm not a total sleaze."

"Right. Bummer really, she seemed… nice."

He laughs. "Are you judging her by her choice of men or her attire, since you never actually spoke to her."

"I could go Mom on you and ask when you're going to settle down with a nice girl and have babies."

He swats at me, then runs ahead to avoid payback. "Hey, I could throw that right back at ya. Speaking of, Mom called last night while you were with Romeo. She wanted to talk to both of us together."

That's news. She hasn't called in a while. "What did you tell her?"

"That you were out fucking your new husband and wouldn't be home all night."

I nearly choke on another sip of water. "You didn't."

"No, I didn't. I told her you were out with Vi, and I wasn't sure when you'd be home."

"You'd better not tell them shit about this mess I'm in. They would freak."

A car swerves onto the sidewalk, nearly hitting us. I jump to the side and narrowly avoid the bumper. "Watch where you're going, asswipe."

"With such a lady-like demeanor, I'm honestly shocked you don't have more suitors," Tate teases, but I punch him, my heart still thumping in my chest from the near-collision.

"What did mom want?" I ask when I'm recovered enough to keep running. We're on the route back to our house, and my legs and ribs are burning, my lungs are dying, and I need a bath and a cold drink. God, I hate running sometimes.

"She said Grandma Gladys isn't doing well. She's back in the hospital. She wants us to come visit."

I make a very unladylike sound. "I'm not going back to Ohio just so that old nag can berate me for my life choices. Remember how she threatened to remove us from her will if we didn't move back to the country and do the whole family and kids thing?"

Tate nods. "Yeah, I remember. She was always a mean bitch. I can still feel the snap of the belt from her spankings when we were kids, and mom and dad forced us to spend a week of each summer with her."

"Where's social services when you need them?" I ask as we jog into our house, and I collapse into a sweaty mess on the couch. "So what did you tell mom?"

"That we are booked all summer, and we'll try to get out there, but no promises."

I nod in approval. "That should keep her off our backs for a while."

Tate presses the button on our answering machine to play the messages and then ambles into the kitchen and grabs two beers, tossing me one. I can't stand beer usually, but after a run, it's possibly the best thing in the world.

The first message is a telemarketer. I'd delete it, but I don't want to move that far, so we both just listen to the woman blabber on about the price of car insurance. The next message has me sitting up, hands clutching the couch anxiously.

"Ms. Michaels, this is David Melton's assistant. I'm calling to let you know that we received your gift basket and considered your ideas carefully. Mr. Melton was impressed and has asked that Hitched be put on the short list of companies we're considering for his bachelor party. We'll be in touch either way to let you know, but Mr. Melton was very excited by your proposal."

I'm clutching a throw pillow so hard it's about to burst, and once the message ends, I scream into it then jump up and start dancing around the house like a maniac. "I told you!" I tell Tate. "I told you my idea would work. We're a shoe-in!"

Tate smiles at me. "It's good news, but it's not a done deal. Don't count the chickens before they hatch."

"Okay, Mom. Look, he wouldn't have called us like that if it wasn't basically decided. Who else in town can provide what we're suggesting? I just know it's going to be us. Hitched is about to be famous!"

I'm still dancing around with my throw pillow, unwilling to let Tate's negative attitude pull me down, when the doorbell rings. Tate rolls his eyes and gets up to get the door, since I'm clearly not going to.

"Hey sis, I think it's for you." He comes back into the living room carrying a white box with a red ribbon.

I grin like the fool I am as he hands it to me, my energy climbing even higher. I eagerly open it, knowing it's from Sebastian.

Inside are some very sexy lingerie and a card.

A car will arrive to pick you up at 9 p.m.

Wear this under your clothes.

Bring an overnight bag.

Looking forward to “getting to know you better” tonight, Ms. Michaels.

Forever Yours,

Sebastian

I won't lie. Keeping my mind on work today has been hard. But I'm at least trying. Give me some credit, will ya?