The Perfect Fit (Riley O'Brien & Co. #2.5) (11 page)

She gave him a loud smacking kiss on his cheek. “That was a crazy awesome catch!” she exclaimed.

He grinned at her exuberance. “Crazy awesome?”

She nodded emphatically. “We Byte should change their name to We Suck.”

Laughing, he plopped the hat back on her head. Her gaze darted to something behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Cal and Jake lurking a few feet away.

“Hey, Zeke, are you going to introduce us?” Cal asked with a smile.

Zeke shifted so he could stand beside Margo. As he made the introductions, he saw his buddies through her eyes. Jake and Cal were young, good-looking, and successful. Plus, Cal was loaded with a capital L.

Zeke wondered if she found them attractive. The thought created an unpleasant burn in his chest.

“Zeke mentioned that you started a new job a few months ago,” Jake said. “How’s it going?”

Margo smiled wryly. “Well, if you had asked me that question yesterday, I would have burst into tears.”

“So it’s not going well?”

“No, it is,” she replied. “I just had a bad day yesterday. I lost a patient—a golden retriever. He was riding in the car with his owner, and they got into a bad accident. People don’t realize they’re putting their pets in danger if they don’t restrain them properly.”

“So dogs need to wear seat belts?” Cal asked, his tone completely serious.

Margo laughed. “Kind of. They need to wear a safety harness, which hooks into a seat belt buckle.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jake said.

“Neither did I,” Cal admitted. “But I don’t have any pets.”

Zeke couldn’t help but smile. Poor Cal. He had no idea what he was in for now.

“You really should think about adopting a pet,” she told Cal. “Did you know that nearly three million cats and dogs are killed each year because shelters don’t have enough room?”

Jake winced. “That’s horrible.”

She glanced at Roby, who had been walking in circles around them. “I’m sorry, but my dog is getting restless. He sat for the whole game, and I need to take him for a walk.” She smiled at Cal and Jake. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

Leaning down, she clipped Roby’s leash on his collar. As she rose, she said, “Zeke, I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t you want to ride home together?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Go out and celebrate your win.”

He watched her as she walked off the field, Roby trotting beside her. A gust of wind almost blew off her hat, and she slapped her hand on top of her head to keep it in place. She laughed, and the sound of it made him smile.

“
So
,” Cal said, drawing out the word, “that was Margo. Your roommate. The one you’re not attracted to. The one you don’t think about ‘that way.’”

Jake snorted. “He thinks about her ‘that way’ and a thousand other ways, too, I’ll bet.”

“At least a thousand,” Cal agreed. “In the car. On a bar. Against a door. On the floor. In the shower. In a tower.” He paused. “I’m channeling Dr. Seuss.”

Jake snickered. “On a bed. In a shed. In a tent. Under a vent. On a slope. With some rope.”

“Rope is too rough. It chafes delicate skin,” Cal noted. “I prefer to use one of my ties.”

Zeke crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you done yet?”

“Why are you still here? Don’t you have anything better to do?” Cal asked. “Yes, you do. Her name is Margo.”

Tired of their bullshit, Zeke said, “Margo and I agreed to keep things platonic, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Why?” Jake asked.

“Because we don’t make sense.”

Jake’s eyebrows arched. “From what I just saw, it seems like you and Margo make a lot of sense.”

“No, we don’t,” Zeke insisted.

“Why not?” Cal asked.

“I’m eleven years older than she is. I’ve seen too much, and she hasn’t seen enough.”

“Okay, so there’s an age difference,” Cal acknowledged. “What else?”

“There are too many reasons to list.”

“Then just give me one.”

“Fine!” Zeke exclaimed, goaded into explaining. “If she were a color, she’d be yellow. Not an obnoxious, overwhelming yellow, but an optimistic, cheerful yellow.”

Cal blinked slowly. “And what color are you?”

“I’m not a color.” Zeke shrugged. “Just a shadow.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, man,” Jake said.

“Okay, how about this: if she were food, she’d be a muffin, fresh out of the oven. Warm and sweet and soft. The kind that tastes so good, when you take the first bite, you just have to close your eyes and savor it.”

Jake and Cal were silent, their eyes steady on him. He could tell he had surprised them. Hell, he had surprised himself. He wasn’t the kind of guy who spilled his guts.

“I understand what you’re saying.” Cal took off his baseball cap and shoved it in his back pocket. “But hearing how you described her … you’re in love with this woman, Zeke. You’re just too stupid to realize it.” He rubbed his hand over his sweat-dampened hair. “Instead of thinking about all the reasons you and Margo don’t make sense, you should start thinking about all the reasons the two of you
do
make sense.”

The red numbers on Margo’s alarm clock stared back at her. It was just after two a.m., and she was wide awake.

She groaned in frustration. She had to get up early for the clinic’s staff meeting, which occurred every other Friday, and afterward, she had a full day of appointments. She needed to go to sleep or else she would be a zombie.

Roby had woken her up around midnight, desperate to get to his favorite human. Zeke had nightmares at least twice a week, and she was used to the Doberman interrupting her beauty sleep.

After dragging herself out of bed and letting Roby into Zeke’s room, she had returned to her room. She’d tried counting sheep, but her thoughts had drifted to the man who slept down the hall.

It had been a month since Zeke had stood in the kitchen, dressed in his softball uniform, and told her that he wanted to keep things platonic. She had replayed their conversation over and over in her head, and she was still astounded that she had managed to keep her emotions under control.

When she had woken up alone on the sofa that morning, she had warned herself to prepare for the worst. Although she had expected to hear that he viewed that night very differently than she did, hearing him describe it as an aberration had hurt her badly.

And his insistence that neither of them had been thinking clearly had made her angry. She’d needed to know if he had been turned on because of her or because he’d been “caught up in the moment.”

When he’d admitted that he was attracted to her, she had been overjoyed and relieved. She’d already known that he cared about her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been scared when he’d thought something had happened to her.

Those two things combined—mutual attraction and care—had convinced her that she had a shot with Zeke. That was why she had attended his softball game. But later, when he’d arrived home, the affection he had shown at the park had been replaced by aloofness.

At that point, the voice of reason had piped up, pointing out that Zeke could be attracted to her without having feelings for her or wanting to be with her. Caring didn’t always translate into love.

And that was what she wanted from Zeke: she wanted him to love her as much as she loved him. She was madly, completely, head-over-heels in love with the man, and he acted as if he wanted nothing more than to avoid her.

They didn’t spend much time with each other anymore. Although they still ate dinner together most nights, Zeke immediately retreated to his bedroom afterward. On the weekends, they did their own thing. They didn’t even run errands together.

Although both of them had agreed they didn’t want that night to ruin things between them, it had. Sexual tension spiced every interaction. They were too aware of each other now to be comfortable as platonic roommates.

She couldn’t forget how good it had felt to take him into her mouth, and she knew he couldn’t forget it, either. It was in his eyes when he accidently touched her hand or brushed up against her in the kitchen.

Several times over the past few weeks, she’d caught him staring at her, a frown on his face. His expression hadn’t been angry, but perplexed. And when she had asked him if everything was okay, he had answered, “I’m not sure.”

Distantly, she heard the sound of Roby’s toenails clicking on the wood floors. A few seconds later, he entered her bedroom and made his way over to her.

Instead of jumping on the bed to join her, he sat down beside it. Nudging her hand, he let out a high-pitched whimper.

“What’s going on, Roby?”

He whimpered again. Sighing, she rolled over and turned on the lamp on her nightstand.

“Why aren’t you with Zeke?”

He reared up and placed his front paws on the side of the bed, clearly wanting something. It was times like these when she wished she could talk to animals, like Eddie Murphy’s character in the Dr. Doolittle movies. Those films were one of the reasons she was a veterinarian today.

She patted the mattress. “Come to bed.”

He dropped his front paws to the floor and trotted to the doorway. He stood there, whimpering. With a huff of exasperation, she tossed back the covers and got out of bed for the second time.

After sliding her feet into her fuzzy slippers, she joined Roby. “What is your problem tonight?” she asked irritably.

Roby took off down the hall, toward Zeke’s room. She could hear his moans and cries now, tormented sounds that indicated he was having another nightmare.

She hurried behind the Doberman, a little worried. Zeke usually calmed down when Roby was with him.

Thanks to the night-light, she could see Roby sitting in the hall near Zeke’s open door. The dog was shivering with fear, and she could understand why.

This nightmare wasn’t like the others; it was a thousand times worse. Zeke was sobbing in his sleep, a deep, wrenching sound that made her throat tight and her chest ache. She had read a couple of memoirs written by soldiers who had served on the front lines in Afghanistan and Iraq, so she had a better idea of what Zeke had experienced.

Rubbing Roby’s pointy ears, she said, “It’s okay, puppy. I’ll take it from here.”

She entered Zeke’s room and closed the door behind her. A little bit of light filtered into the room from a small gap between the curtains, and she could see the shape of Zeke’s big body in bed.

He was lying on his back on the side of the mattress closest to the door. He was naked except for a pair of boxer briefs, and the sheet and comforter were tangled around his right foot.

Nightmares were a common symptom of PTSD, according to the book she’d read about the disorder. It had offered several suggestions to help someone suffering from nightmares. Ending the nightmare, either by waking him up or substituting another scenario, was the ultimate objective.

Moving deeper into the room, she said, “Zeke, it’s Margo. You’re safe. You’re in your bed in our apartment in San Francisco. You’re safe.”

She repeated the sentences over and over, but they seemed to have no impact. Deciding to try a different tactic, she said, “I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. I think it’s because I’ve spent so much of my life in cold climates. I want to lie on the beach and listen to the waves while the sun warms my skin.”

Rounding the footboard, she moved to the other side of the mattress. She untangled the sheet and comforter and pulled them up on her side of the bed. She left him uncovered because she didn’t know if the weight of the material would intensify his nightmares.

After propping a pillow against the headboard, she kicked off her slippers and crawled onto the bed. As she reclined against the pillow, she asked, “Have you ever been to Hawaii, Zeke? I would love to go there with you.”

Her strategy seemed to be working. He was no longer sobbing or moaning, and he had stopped thrashing around.

“We could stay at one of those fancy resorts with a balcony that overlooks the ocean. We could walk on the beach and swim in the ocean. I burn easily, so you’d have to rub a lot of sunscreen on me. I would like that … your hands on me.”

Hesitantly, she touched his hair. It was silky soft, like baby duck down.

“We could drink mai tais at sunset. I’ve never had a mai tai. I bet they’re delicious. But you’d probably choose beer over a fruity drink.”

His breathing had evened out. He was no longer trapped in a nightmare. There was no reason for her to stay, but she didn’t want to go.

“We could go to a luau and see hula dancers and stuff ourselves on Polynesian food. I’ve never eaten anything Polynesian except for Polynesian sauce at Chick-Fil-A, and I doubt that counts.”

Pulling the covers over him, she whispered, “I would love to go to Hawaii on our honeymoon. I would love to lie next to you in a big bed with smooth white sheets and a fluffy white comforter. We could open the balcony doors so we could hear the ocean while we made love.”

She wanted forever with him. She wanted to marry him, bear his children, and grow old with him.

But she doubted Zeke would ever get married again. He had admitted to her that he hated to fail, and his attitude about marriage was probably “lesson learned.”

Of course, the biggest obstacle was the fact that Zeke didn’t think he was the “right man” for her. When he’d said that, she had been speechless with shock. Otherwise, she would have demanded to know why.

Did he believe that being an amputee made it impossible for him to be a good partner? Did he feel inadequate and defective?

Many men who had lost limbs in combat felt that way, according to the research she’d done online. But she didn’t think Zeke was one of them.

Then again, if the loss of his limb didn’t bother him, he would have told her about it. She was starting to think he was never going to tell her.

Perhaps his situation as an amputee contributed to his belief that he wasn’t the right man for her. But she suspected the main reason was that he was still in love with Andrea.

A couple of weeks ago, Margo had mustered the courage to ask Zeke about his ex-wife. She had asked why he and Andrea talked so frequently when they had nothing connecting them any longer—no marriage certificate, no children, nothing.