Authors: Stephanie Fournet
“Okay,” she said, pressing down the last piece of tape and pulling her hands away. “Get dressed, and I’ll ring you up.”
She turned away, and, in matter of seconds, she put the distance of the whole shop between them. But even while she keyed in his purchase behind the counter on the company iPad, she managed to watch him dress out of the corner of her eye.
And the sight of him pulling on his button-down blue dress shirt made her breath stutter. Because — for now anyway — she was the only one who knew his secret. He would go to the hospital, and no one would suspect what was hidden right over his heart. The thought of her tattoo hiding beneath that dress shirt and tie was just about the sexiest thing Wren could imagine.
“That will be $125.00,” she said, congratulating herself on how cool and aloof she sounded, even as he stalked up to her, straightening his silk tie.
Lee handed over his Visa card, and she read his name across the front:
Leland T. Hawthorne.
“What’s the
T
stand for?” she heard herself asking.
So much for sounding cool and aloof.
But this question earned her a look of surprise before he answered. “Thomas… after my father.”
“I should have known,” she mumbled under her breath, swiping his card through the Square reader.
Lee narrowed his eyes at her, but even this look couldn’t dim the way they twinkled.
“What’s
your
middle name?” he asked.
“Is that really the question you want to ask me?”
He raised an eyebrow at her, looking hopeful but cautious. “No. I don’t care if your middle name is Elephant.”
In spite of herself, she laughed, and Lee picked up one of her business cards from the counter and swiped a pen. “What’s your phone number?”
Sure she would regret the decision, Wren took the card and pen from him and wrote down her cell number.
“Here.”
He snatched back the card and read her number, beaming. It was hard not to smile in return. Then he pinned her with his gaze.
“What time do you wake up in the morning?”
She frowned. “What?”
Somehow, his heart-stopping smile only grew. “What time?”
Wren gave him the look she reserved for crazy people. The one where she made her eyebrows draw up together like an arrow. “Uh… I don’t know. Six-thirty or so? Whenever Agnes insists I feed her?”
Lee nodded as if this information pleased him. “Okay. Good to know.”
She added a chin tuck to the crazy look. “Don’t you dare call me at six-thirty in the morning.”
He ignored her and came around the side of the counter.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, stepping back.
Lee stopped. “I’m leaving.”
Wren blinked. “The door’s that way.” She pointed behind him.
“I know. I want to kiss you first.”
Her jaw fell. “You’re unbelievable.” But her heart hammered faster in her chest. She knew what it was to kiss him, and Wren wanted it again.
Lee stepped into her space. “Say no if you don’t want me to." He hesitated a moment as her mouth worked, but no words came out.
“I-I won’t kiss back.” She meant to sound stern, but it came out ridiculous instead.
Lee leaned in and stopped just before his mouth met hers. “I’ll live.”
And then he closed the distance… slowly… until his lips pressed against hers in the sweetest greeting. Despite her words, her lips moved to answer, greeting them back.
“Mmm.” His groan was the sound of hunger meeting restraint, and it came just as his hands cupped her cheeks. He pushed himself away.
The kiss left her blinking and off guard, practically hanging onto him for more.
It was hardly a kiss at all. Wren had to concentrate on not looking disappointed. And not concentrate on the heat that swept up her body.
But the look on his face consoled her. Lee, his eyes ablaze and his breath sharp, looked like a man with a fever.
“Bye, beautiful Wren,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll call you.”
She bit her tongue before the words could escape.
You damn well better!
LEE’S NIGHT STARTED
with a C-section and twin boys. Their mother had wanted to avoid surgery, and Dr. Yeng had been hopeful since both babies were head-down, but, after the first was born, his little brother started showing signs of distress.
For Lee, emergency C-sections always seemed to take longer than scheduled ones — even if the baby was born in a matter of minutes. The mother’s fear and the tension in the room could make time stretch.
But when he pulled Belinda Bailey’s second son from her womb, Lee allowed himself to draw in a deeper breath, and time resumed its usual flow.
As he and Dr. Yeng scrubbed out, the older doctor gave Lee a smile. “Soon,
you’ll
be the lead doc in the room, and you’ll have to pretend not to be nervous in front of
your
resident.”
Lee blinked in surprise. “You were nervous in there?”
Dr. Yeng chuckled. “I’m nervous every time. The day you stop being nervous is the day you start making mistakes.”
Lee let go a huge sigh. “I thought it meant I wasn’t ready.”
Jem Yeng tilted his head back and laughed openly. “No, Lee. You’re ready. And one of the reasons I want you around is because I know your nerves keep you sharp." He wore a look of approval that made Lee’s awesome day even better. “It means I don’t have to be nervous about you.”
It was after ten o’clock once Lee got back to making rounds. He had two mothers laboring, but both were in the early stages, and babies might not arrive until morning. Yeng had done a hysterectomy that afternoon, and after the Chief of Obstetrics left for the evening, Lee made rounds for both of their patients, but he kept checking his watch and wondering if it was too early — or too late — to call Wren.
The electricity from their afternoon had carried him for hours. He could still feel it arching over his muscles. It had taken her nearly an hour to complete his tattoo, and the whole time, she’d been within reach, teasing him with her touch… maddening him with her patchouli vanilla scent.
And then there was the tattoo itself.
The heady cocktail of adrenalin, lust, and the sting of her needles had nearly overloaded his circuits. No wonder people with tattoos didn’t stop at one. The experience left its mark on more than just his skin.
He loved the lingering soreness in his chest. He’d caught himself running a knuckle over it several times during his shift. Nothing in his memory compared to the experience.
And he’d meant every word when he’d said he knew no one like her. She was different. And she made him different.
Lee Hawthorne had never pursued a woman so boldly. Without inhibition. Without hesitation. In her presence, his heart, body, and mind all said
yes.
He had to stop himself at every turn. Cram his thoughts into his mouth. Keep his hands at his sides.
He hadn’t always succeeded.
But, worst of all, Wren didn’t want to be pursued. Or, at least, she didn’t let herself want it. As he’d watched her — and he’d done nothing but watch her the whole time she worked — she’d looked conflicted. Her body responded to his attention — a blush, a gasp — but her words had shut him down.
She was wary. And even though he couldn’t exactly blame her, he wanted her trust. So Lee aimed to earn it. He decided to test the waters with a text.
Lee:
All the babes in the nursery love the tattoo.
He started second-guessing his joke as soon as he pressed send. It wasn’t that funny, and if she didn’t think it was a joke, he’d sound like a dick. But he didn’t twist in the wind long.
Wren:
Of course, they do. Babies are my best customers.
Lee laughed in relief.
Lee:
Done tatting infants for the night?
He’d noted as he left the studio that their Friday hours were 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., and he wondered what she did on the weekends.
Wren:
Yes. I’ve moved on to slaying tequila.
This news intrigued him. She was out but still texting him. He gave in to his curiosity.
Lee:
Where is this doomed tequila?
He texted her as he took the elevator from the maternity ward down to the cafeteria. Lee was hoping to get a sandwich before his next delivery — and maybe a nap.
Wren:
Agave. Top Shelf Margarita. In a cactus glass.
Lee grabbed a turkey avocado wrap with a fruit salad and a bag of chips. He’d usually go up to the breakroom on third and see if Mercer wanted to play cards or watch
The Daily Show
, but he didn’t want to put away his phone. He wanted to know more about what Wren was doing.
Lee:
Are you hanging with friends?
Wren:
Sort of.
Sort of hanging? Or sort of friends? Was she with a guy? If she was, what did texting him mean?
Lee:
Sort of???
Wren:
Too hard to explain in a text.
Lee didn’t wait to respond. Instead, he tapped his screen and put the phone to his ear. It rang three times before she answered, and music blared out of the phone.
“I can’t hear a thing. Hang on,” she said by way of greeting.
Lee smiled as he took another bite of his wrap. She’d taken his call. While at Agave. That had to be a good sign.
He heard a muffling around the din, and a moment later the noise faded but didn’t vanish.
“That’s better,” she said, coming back to him.
He put down his wrap. Her voice in his ear commanded his full attention.
“
Sort of
because my best friend Cherise is a bartender here. I sit at the bar, and we talk when we can. But it’s packed tonight with the leftover Downtown Alive crowd, so, yeah. Sort of. But it’s cool.”
“So, when she’s busy, are you… just… alone?”
Wren laughed across the line. “Relax, doc, I’m not that pathetic. I used to work here, so I know practically everybody — all the staff, all the regulars. I’m pretty much at home.”
He could well-imagine that Wren wouldn’t want for company, especially male company. He pictured her indigo T-shirt with the quarter sleeves showing off her bougainvillea and hummingbirds. And the curve of her hips in that clinging gray skirt. The sight of her bottom perched on a barstool probably drew men in off the street.
“And the regulars at Agave have to be, what, like fifty and bald with excessive ear hair, right?” he asked hopefully.
Her laughter lit up his brain’s pleasure center. It was worth hearing, even if it meant he was dead wrong about the clientele.
“No ear hair in sight,” she said, sounding highly amused.
“Damn,” he muttered, trying to picture where she was. Agave usually had live music, and it had sounded like a band playing in the background when she answered. The bandstand was on the patio outside the bar. Between it and the outdoor tables, there was a small dance floor. Guys would see her sitting alone at the bar and ask her to dance. “Do you dance?”
“Sorry?” Only then did he realize how random his question sounded. Lee tried to recover.
“Do you like to dance?”
Wren paused. “Um… yeah, sometimes.”
“I love to dance,” Lee told her honestly.
“Really?” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it felt like victory.
“Yeah. Every chance I get. Live music, dancing — it’s the best.” Lee could easily imagine dancing with Wren. She was small, light, and she looked at home in her body. “We should do that. Soon.”
Wren laughed again, but it sounded skeptical.
“What?” he questioned. “You don’t think it’d be fun?”
“Hmm,” she hedged. “I just have a hard time picturing us together. On the dance floor.”
Lee frowned. He heard more beneath her words, and Lee sensed that whatever it was, he wouldn’t like it.
“I can totally picture us together.” He knew she couldn’t miss the conviction in his voice. And, she didn’t either, because she was silent for a moment.
“Yeah, but…” Her voice dropped away. “…people like you… and people like me…”
He was right. He didn’t like it. “What?” he pressed, frowning. “What about people like you and me?”
He heard her sigh over the phone. “They don’t really go together… I mean—” she stammered “—they don’t really
work
together.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, willfully playing dumb. “We’re two people. Just people. Why can’t we dance together?”
“Not just dance,” she corrected. “I mean anything.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So, you tell me,” she began, a challenge in her tone. “What would people think if they saw someone like you and someone like me out together? At a restaurant or on a dance floor? They would totally fuckin’ stare.”
“Well, yeah,” Lee said as though it were obvious. “They’d be thinking,
‘Look at that lucky bastard with that hot girl. Damn, I wish I was him.’
”
Wren gasped. It was quiet over the phone, but he heard it. Even though he was pissed and battling her resistance, the sound of her gasp felt good. A moment passed.
“I should probably get back…” Her voice had lost some of its fight, but that didn’t mean Lee was winning, not if she was walking away. He certainly wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Where are you right now? Exactly?" Lee shut his eyes and waited.
“I told you,” she started. “I’m at Agave.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “But where? Humor me.”
“Man, you’re weird,” she muttered, but he could hear the smile return to her voice. “Okay… um… I’m inside now. I came in from the patio to get away from the band. So now I’m standing sort of by the hostess station near the front entrance.”
Lee could picture it: the yellow and orange doors, the blue walls, the hostess stand to the left, the dry-erase menu board on the right.
“In the entryway, there’s a step that separates the foyer from the dining room,” he said, his eyes still shut. “Are you up or down?”