Physical Touch (6 page)

“Sure, Dad. Tell Mom I’ll attend the gala and will be happy to provide my escort services to the embittered and spiteful.”

His father let out an audible sigh, but he could feel him smiling through the phone line. “That’s my boy. I knew you wouldn’t let us down. I’ll give your mother the good news. I’m sure she’ll make all the arrangements and will send you the details. Just make sure to mark the date on your calendar, and don’t forget to wear a tux.” He paused momentarily, a muffled sound of his hand covering the receiver, obviously confirming with his mother the update. Mitch heard a few questions lobbed out by his mother in the background and then his father came back on the line.

“Say now, how’s that knee of yours? Your mother wants to know if you need any
help? You know we’re just a hop, skip and a jump away. By the way, will you still be on those crutches during the fundraiser?”  Mitch chuckled over his father’s concern. He knew his parent’s loved him and had his best interests at heart, but he also had been brought up to respect appearances and never to embarrass the family. A cripple on crutches at a charity gala they were hosting would certainly raise questions, sending the gossip mill swirling.

Confirming that his therapy was going well and he had plans to be back in fighting shape in a few weeks, he informed his father that they should have no concerns about his well-being or future participation in their rent-a-date. With a sound of relief, Mitch Sr. bid his son goodbye and suggested they lunch when he returned from Miami. Accepting the offer, Mitch said goodbye and ended the call.

“Did I hear you mention a date to a fundraiser? How the hell did they rope you into that?” Jax asked good-naturedly, stealing a look at his friend, who was polishing off the bottle of wine.

“I have no earthly idea,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in a perplexed gesture.  “I guess a family friends’ daughter is on the prowl after divorcing and needs a stud date to my parents’ charity event.”

“Huh. I guess your parents figured my social calendar was already booked, being the stud service that I am, so they called you in to sub,” Jax joked smugly. “Plus, with you in less-than-stellar physical form these days, they felt compelled to help your dating life out a little.” He flashed a toothy smile in his friends direction.

“Listen,
Mr. Stud
…you and I both know my dating life is in no need of any help, with or without crutches.”

And it was with this thought that his mind went back to a certain hot and feisty therapist that had occupied his brain for the last two days. With his appointment set for tomorrow, he had to figure out a way to play up his pain and vulnerability with Rylie so she’d be compelled to cater to his physical needs. He’d have to remember to keep it light and casual, knowing her propensity to run away like a timid colt ready to bolt out the gates when he tried getting too close.

Mitch tried to pinpoint what it was about this woman that had him wound so tightly. His natural proclivity was to gravitate toward women who oozed sensuality and were overtly sexual, giving into his demands and requests, when and how he wanted them. His sense about Rylie was that she could bring a man to his knees and have no idea how she did it. She wasn’t coy or conniving; she didn’t use her body as a vehicle to capture his attention – although it did, every time he was with her. 

Rylie was just unique. He liked her spunk and her sassy mouth. She had an innocence about her, but covered it with her sharp tongue. And damn if he didn’t want to endure the sweet torture of that tongue of hers again someday soon. Someday very soon.

Rylie was beyond flustered and extremely keyed up by the time she made it to her dad’s house for the game. So shaken, in fact, she had taken several detours around her childhood neighborhood and was purposely twenty minutes late to arrive, allowing herself time to cool down and figure out what the hell just happened.

One minute she was dutifully picking up some beer and the next thing she knows she’s being erotically kissed by one of her patients – a very sexy and virile patient – in the middle of a parking lot in broad daylight. How did she let this happen? Rylie had never allowed a man to rattle her like this, but something about Mitch Camden had her throwing caution and her restraint to the wind. 

Rylie’s track record with men was not as illustrious as Sasha’s or Beth’s love lives. For them, it was a revolving door of regular lovers and adoring boyfriends and even an occasional stalker or two, at least for Sasha. They normally fought men off in droves. For her, being “one of the guys” was more of the norm; a much less complex ritual due to her frequent outings with her brother, Dylan, and his buddies. But to actually take time to flirt with any particular male, or act girly, was not a fond interest of hers. If a guy liked her, it was because of who she was, not because she tried to impress with make-up, clothes or accessories. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it just wasn’t her style. She figured her lack of boyfriends and dates was in large part because she didn’t do what most guys expected. And honestly, she was never willing to give the time or energy to try and fake it.  

Rylie, of course, had a few boyfriends along the way. Two to be exact. Boys, rather than men. She found that turning friendship into a physical relationship could happen, but it never brought out the fireworks for her. Intimacy was difficult for Rylie. The armor that protected her heart after her mother broke it had walled off any real prospects of a loving and trusting relationship.

Rylie started dating Tim Small, her chemistry lab partner, in her senior year of high school. They dated a few months, gotten to second base and even went to the Senior Prom together. But by graduation, it was apparent their chemistry really didn’t extend past the lab. Parting friends and with no hard feelings, Rylie went off to Boston College and focused on her studies. She was the first one in her family to attend college, on a full- ride volleyball scholarship, making it nearly impossible for her to find time for anything other than her academics and sports. Extra-curricular relationships were off the table. Until she met and began dating Erik Merrill,
a fellow collegiate athlete and star swimmer for the school.

Tall, extremely fit,
good-looking and similarly focused on the prize, Rylie and Erik found an easy companionship during the year and a half they dated. He was a year ahead of Rylie in school and his plans to go into the finance business in New York after graduation were discussed regularly. She was aware of his future prospects and the offers he’d already received after he’d completed his internship and had been excited for him. She thought the world of him and knew he’d accomplish his goals, but had never pictured herself with him in that future, even though she lost her virginity to him. So it took Rylie utterly unawares, when upon his graduation, Erik felt compelled to immediately propose. And she immediately shot him down. 

She remembered the day out in the quad, looking down into Erik’s face, who was kneeling in front of her with a black velvet box in his hand. She could see the genuine confusion in his features and the wet tears building in his sweet, brown eyes. She took his hand in hers, turning his palm up to return the box.

It had been like a ball out of left field. Love? Did she love him? She tried to remember if she’d ever said it back to him when he professed his love for her. She liked him. Enjoyed his company. Found him attractive and interesting. But love? That seemed out of her grasp. An elusive state, creating a vulnerability she wasn’t willing to commit herself to. She couldn’t love. Her heart didn’t have the capacity to return that level of emotion.

Rylie was wracked with guilt, but was nothing if not honest. She let go of Erik’s hands and brought her eyes to his. “I’m truly sorry, Erik.”

Two days later they had parted ways, he a little less amicably than her. He’d accepted the job offer in New York and left almost immediately. Rylie heard through some mutual friends that he ended up marrying a budding young artist he met in the Village a few years later and now lived happily in Connecticut, with two kids and the requisite Volvo SUV. 

She smiled now, thinking how odd it would feel if she’d had been in love with Erik and ended up his wife, now the mother of his children. She tried to picture it, but always came up with an empty canvas. That wasn’t her path and so she’d chosen to remain dedicated to her studies, even though she endured a dry spell in the man department while she completed her program and Master’s in Physical Therapy.

While her friends tried in vain to get her to let loose every once in a while, Rylie took her education seriously and didn’t spend much time partying or looking to hook-up with strange guys in bars. Although, after meeting and becoming close with Sasha and Mark, who both seemed to make it their life’s mission to bring her out of her shell, she had begun to journey out on a regular basis to O’Leary’s Pub, where Rylie finally let the flirty, tattooed bar manager, Skeet Smith, take her out a few times.

Skeet was so utterly far from her typical taste in men, it was almost laughable. But who was she to resist a blue-eyed, long blond haired
Motorcross rider? Rylie found Skeet to be exciting and adventurous. She really couldn’t count Skeet as a boyfriend, per se, since they had officially only gone out on two dates, but she did enjoy going to see him compete in his off-road races. She liked his fearless and fun-loving character and his strong competitive nature. And she did learn something very valuable from Skeet, even after he quickly hooked-up with a long-legged blonde named Demi, just after their second week together. Rylie had become fascinated with motorcycle riding and the rush it brought out in her, so Rylie had asked him to teach her how to ride. 

Nothing could have prepared her for the thrilling excitement and adrenaline rush that overcame her on her very first ride. On their last day together, Skeet took her on a thirty-mile ride across the countryside, enjoying off-road scenery and the back roads splendor. The wind at her back and the trees scrolling by, Rylie felt like she was in her element. She would always be grateful to Skeet for his instruction and she never had any hard feelings, or even strong feelings toward him. He was still cordial, and even a bit flirty with her, when she hung out at O’Leary’s.

Now that she thought about it, Rylie realized she’d never experienced anything close to the same feelings and attraction that she had with Mitch to the other guys she’d been with. In just these few short days with Mitch, his touch and his kiss, and his nearness, had electrified her in a way she’d never known before, making her body ache for something unnamed and nothing she did could make the feeling go away. He made her want him and it pissed her off to no end.

Rylie was still angry when she walked in the front door of her father’s house, her brother Dylan running up to grab the case of beer out of her hands.

“That’s five dollars you owe me, sis. Brady just threw an interception caught by Davis on the Eagles. That’s my guy!” he gleefully exclaimed, doing a little touchdown tippy-toe dance in the hallway. Rylie scowled and shoved him out of her way.

“Whatever. Go gloat someplace else. I need a beer.”

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she heard the noise from the TV in the great room and saw her dad and Jason as they both jumped out of the seats in elation over a first down. Dylan shimmied up behind her at the counter and placed the beer down.

Eying her sheepishly, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Whoa. What’s gotten under your skin? You’re not usually a poor sport over our fantasy league. Everything okay?”

Feeling ashamed over the unwarranted abuse, Rylie shook her head and started unloading the bag he’d placed on the counter in front of her.

“Yeah – didn’t mean to bite your head off,” she muttered apologetically, handing a beer over to her solemn-looking brother. “You’re right. I’m just having a bad week, with some difficult patients and with Mark leaving soon. I’m not handling it well.”

Dylan reached over to his sister and gripped her shoulders, giving them a tender squeeze. The Hemmons’ were not a people prone to physical or emotional displays of affection, but Dylan was more of the softie of the two siblings. He’d always tried to be both a protector and supporter of his little sister, especially after their mother left. Rylie leaned into him and bent her head toward him, just reaching his shoulder. 

The
Hemmons’ family were taller than most and Dylan came in at a little over six-foot-three. With his broad shoulders, short, wavy chestnut colored hair and intense green eyes, Dylan had made many a woman swoon over the years. Separate from his competitiveness and stubborn streak, Rylie understood that underneath the bluster of a big brother, Dylan was relatively reserved, which she felt prevented him from having a deep, intimate relationship over the years. Go figure. Sibling similarity. The strongest female relationship he’d had, Rylie knew, was with her, even though he brutally picked on her since childhood.

There were times, though, that he could be a pretty great guy. And now was one of those moments.

“Don’t let it get to you, kiddo. You’re a good person and a great therapist. Don’t let them get you down. And Mark is only gone for a year. I kind of envy the guy. It’s cool that he’s going to Africa and putting his mad doctor skills to good use.” Ruffling his sister’s hair, he picked up the bowl of chips and beer and headed in the direction of the great room. “Now, let’s go watch some football. And you still owe me that five dollars.”  He winked back at her as he made himself comfortable on the couch next to Jason, where the three men focused their attention on the game, leaving Rylie to her thoughts.

Rylie joined them for the remainder of the night, watching from the edge of her seat as the lead exchanged several times between the Pats and the Eagles. Fumbles, penalties and an injury that sidelined one of her fantasy football offensive men put her fifteen dollars down by the end of the evening, but her team still squeaked out a win.  Feeling triumphant, she jumped up and down and issued high fives all around.

“My guys have a shot at another Super Bowl title this year!” Rylie grinned broadly, as she turned and caught her dad frowning. She reached over to pat him on the back.

“Come on, o
ld man, don’t be such a spoilsport. You knew the Pats were going to take Philly, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Dan
Hemmons was a burly man of sixty, strong as an ox with a mouth like a sailor. Probably where she got her potty-mouth, she mused. Her father worked hard as a laborer in the Philadelphia area for twenty years before he moved his family to the Boston area to open his own electrical company. Rylie was still very young and it was just about the time his wife, Ginny, had up and left them, citing that it wasn’t the life she had intended on living. She left everything behind, including their broken hearts.

After serving time in the Marines, Dylan returned home and joined his father in running the company, helping to move it into a profitable business. Dan and Dylan were a force to be reckoned with and blew their competitors out of the water with their shrewd business sense and attention to detail. Customers loved the father/son team for their honesty and humor. They had both tried to coax Rylie into joining the family team as their office administrator, but that wasn’t what she wanted to do. She knew that she wanted to help others in their rehabilitation. If she couldn’t mend her own broken heart from the persistent, aching hole, she could at least help others heal their bodies.

Dan grumbled at the loss, lowering his head in a sign of defeat. “My team has forsaken me. Why, oh why? What did I do to deserve this?”

Rylie laughed at his dramatic delivery. “Oh good Lord, Pops, you’re sounding like a Jewish mother.
Oy vey. Let me help you clean up the kitchen.”

Rylie turned and moved into the small kitchen area that had remained untouched since they moved back in the early nineties. A small, scratched dinette table that was on its last leg sat pushed up against the wall, a few old decorative plates hung on the papered walls. With only room for two in the kitchen, Rylie and her dad stood at the kitchen sink, hand washing the
bowls and utensils, since Dan had never even bothered to retrofit it with a dishwasher.

Handing Rylie a glass to dry, he glanced over at his daughter who was looking out the window, deep in thought. 

“What’s on your mind, Pip?”

He hadn’t used her childhood nickname since she was in high school, but it was the only term of endearment that had been used regularly when she was a little girl. As a five-year-old, Rylie’s hair had been a bright red hue and she wore her hair in the only style she knew how to manage – pigtails; thus the
Pippi Longstocking reference was born. Pip for short. Her dad had joked that while her red hair had darkened to an auburn color with age, the ginger temper was still ever present.

Rylie tried to keep her voice even, clearing her throat before she spoke. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

Dan stopped to turn and look at his daughter. Taking a deep breath, he looked into his daughter’s deep brown eyes and sighed. “Jesus, kid. I don’t know much about women, but I do know that when they use the word ‘nothing,’ it’s most certainly ‘something.’” He tweaked her nose. “My God, you look so much like your mother did at this age. Sometimes I just can’t get over the resemblance. She was so beautiful,” he sighed wistfully. “You are so beautiful.”