Ava
DON’T BE THAT girl.
Don’t be that girl.
Don’t be that girl!
I kept repeating the phrase over and over in my head, hoping my traitorous heart would get the message. Rather, I kept reliving the kiss, the heat from his hands, and the masculine spicy scent of his cologne. I was never one of those girls, the ones who dreamed, waited, and wanted the picket fence and pearl necklace. Rather, I wanted my degree, an office, and career. But with one kiss, everything had shifted, without my permission, and I didn’t know how to right it all once again.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed a sweater and took the stairs to the kitchen. Bryce would already be gone. He was usually first on the practice field, even when he hurt like hell.
“Hey.”
Screaming, I spun around and grabbed the counter behind me, my heart pounding as I glared at my now-laughing brother.
“Ass! You’re never here! Don’t freak me out like that.”
“I forgot my phone.” He shrugged. “Chill. I’ll leave you alone now…” He backed away with his hands up.
“Did you leave me any coffee?” I grumbled, earning a grin as he pointed to the pot. We had a Keurig, but I preferred the old Mr. Coffee. The quality was bad, but the familiarity of the taste made it feel like home.
“Hey, I, uh, have a question.” Bryce’s tone had me pausing as I reached for a mug. His olive skin was tinged with pink, which was difficult since he was so tan, being half-Samoan. Of course I favored the Scottish side of the family, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that my big brother looked like he was giving me the college sex talk all over again. Hell no.
“Shit. I know that face. Stop. Don’t go there. This is far too early, and I don’t even have my coffee yet!” I stomped a foot, whining and reverting to my twelve-year-old self.
“I—” He nodded and lifted his hands. “Never mind. Just… No. Okay. I’m leaving. Love you, sis.” He backed away then turned and all but ran out the door.
“Weird.” But a much better alternative than the talk. Did he think that Markus and I…? No. I dismissed the thought and took a long sip of coffee, closing my eyes at the flavor that reminded me of my dad’s office, the well-used coffeemaker in the corner with the bitter scent permeating the air.
I finished my cup and poured the last of the pot into a travel mug and set out in the Seattle traffic. My residency was at University Hospital, one of the main trauma centers on this side of the United States. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to deal with the things that came through those ER doors. Thankfully, I was upstairs in the therapy department. So, twenty-five minutes later, the smell of sterile cleanser and Band-Aids assaulted me as the hospital doors slid open.
I took the elevator to the therapy wing and signed in.
“Estelle, who am I working with today?” I asked the short and lively Asian woman who was accountable for the students.
“Barlow. He’s waiting for you in Room Six.” She handed me a folder and with a quick smile, moved on.
Dr. Barlow was one of the senior staff members of the therapy department, a pioneer in his field back in the day, but he was exacting in his standards. I’d have to be on my A-game today, no distractions.
I reached into my purse and lifted my phone then pushed the home screen out of habit as I move to silence the ringer. But as the screen lit up, I saw a missed text.
It was just a number, but I recognize it immediately. No name was attached because I’d deleted him after the accident, after Bryce had chosen him over me. But that didn’t change the fact that my heart started to pound harder as I read through the short message. One word. How did so much fit into six letters? Yet I felt like he was asking a million questions, demanding a million things.
And I wanted to answer them all… except I had no idea what the hell to say.
Dinner?
It would continue the shift that had happened last night. One kiss. Yet it had changed everything. Did I want that shift to continue? Yes. No. I didn’t know.
“Miss Holloway? Are you ready?” Dr. Barlow’s voice interrupted my staring at the screen, and I shoved the phone back in my purse.
“Just turning off my phone. Thanks.” I offered a smile, ignoring the way my purse felt heavier with the phone inside, as if it were carrying the thousands of questions that came along with the message.
But I had a job to do, and the client in that room needed my full attention. I could separate myself, detach from everything but my job. With a deep breath, I walked in, forcing myself to forget about anything outside the door.
At least for now.
AT FIRST IT had been hard to focus on my patients, but as the day progressed and I met with different people, the anxiety had slowly abated.
Until my shift ended.
Then it was as if all the anxiety and stress that had been avoided — rather, that I had ignored — came back in full force to assault me. Purposefully, I didn’t glance at my phone till I got in the car, and even then I bit my lip as I pushed the home button.
Nothing.
No missed calls; no other texts.
Oddly, it was both disappointing and freeing at once. It didn’t make sense, but when did emotions ever follow logic? I unlocked the screen and went back to my texts. My finger hovered over his number then pressed to open the message again, re-read it, then glanced to the clock. Five-thirty. Maybe it was late enough notice that he couldn’t meet me anyway, totally giving me an out. Slowly I tapped a yes then bit my lip as I pushed send.
I was about to check my emails when the little text bubble popped up, and my eyes widened as I waited. What seemed like forever could have only taken a second since the message was short.
“Ten minutes, MOD Pizza. Sound ok?”
Yes. No. Maybe? I took an unsteady breath while my traitorous stomach growled. MOD Pizza was my favorite. Ever. He knew that and was using it against me.
But I was a little too hungry to care.
And apparently, hunger could affect good judgment as well, since I again typed a quick yes and then promptly tossed my phone into the passenger seat.
Ugh. I was playing with fire and was totally aware… yet still putting the car in drive and making the quick trip down a few blocks to pizza heaven.
I knew I’d arrive first, being closer than Markus’ office in downtown Seattle. I had at least five minutes before he got there, which gave me an idea.
If I ordered and paid for my own pizza, then nothing about this could be construed as a date.
Nothing. Right?
Wrenching the door open, I basked in the glory of the scent of fire-baked pizza dough, a hint of smoke and cheese making me pause. The cashier bit back a grin but didn’t comment as I approached her and started to order.
The best part of MOD Pizza was that the customer picked everything. All they did was set out the dough and wait for sauce, meats, cheeses, veggies, and other random choices to make a custom-made pizza tailored to personal preference. My favorite part? They never judged me when I asked for extra gorgonzola or olives. Or when I added more meat than veggies, or when the pizza looked like a pyramid of toppings. In just a few minutes, the pizza was cooking in the oven, and I slid a bottled water up to the cashier and paid — but not a moment too soon.
The door opened, and Markus walked in, looking like a walking ad for J Crew, but way hotter. In one smooth motion, he swiped his sunglasses off his face and glanced around the restaurant, his cobalt-blue eyes landing on me and then crinkling with a soft grin.
The woman running my card swore under her breath, and I glanced back to her, noting her attention was on Markus as well. I couldn’t blame her; the first few times I met him I’d been practically speechless. And the crazy part was that he’d had no clue, oblivious, like the girl who didn’t mature till after high school and was now drop-dead beautiful. He was the guy-version. It was annoying as hell and just as exasperating. But it kept his ego in check, or so Bryce said.
I plucked my card from the still-staring cashier’s hand and waved stiffly to Markus, not letting more than a slight bend of my lips alter my face. Just because I was here didn’t mean he was forgiven. It meant I was hungry.
Or so I told myself.
“I’ll be right back.” He nodded to the front cashier then turned his earnest gaze on me, and I felt the wall I had put up start to weaken. “Hey, thanks for coming.” He glanced to my bottled water and then back to me. “Did you already order?”
I lifted the bottle and gave another tight smile. “Yup, thanks.” I looked around until I found a table, one big enough to seat five, and then waited as he turned back to order his pizza.
Just as he was paying for his, mine was called out. Markus glanced to me, and when I nodded, he brought it over and set it in front of me. It was still sizzling, the crust slightly burned on the edge, my favorite. The toppings had cooked down a bit, but it was still impressive.
“Hungry?” Markus asked with a slight smirk.
“Starving.” I lifted a piece and blew across it, slowly taking a bite and closing my eyes as the salty taste of the gorgonzola balanced the caramelized onions in my first bite.
Markus cleared his throat, the sound anxious, as I glanced at him, curious. “Uh, do I need to leave you alone with that?”
“Sure.” I winked then took another bite.
“Yeah, you’re going to have to stop doing that, or else I’m not going to be able to have a coherent conversation with you.”
“Who said I’m here to talk?” I asked after I swallowed, arching a brow.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. Eat, and I’ll just enjoy the view.” He leaned back, crossed his arms and watched me with an intensity that had my stomach clenching — in a way that had nothing to do with dinner.
“Stop.” I glared, trying to muster some confidence in my tone.
“Nope. You don’t want to talk, so I’m just respecting that.” He grinned after first obviously trying to fight it, but then giving up. One of his dimples winked at me — if dimples could wink — and I had to glance away.
Damn those dimples!
“Fine. Talk. You win.” I groaned and took another bite.
His pizza was called out. “Hold that thought.” He returned with it and moved to sit, his chair scraping against the tile floor.
“Really? You’re here at MOD, and you only get one topping? Ugh! What a waste!” I pointed to his pepperoni pizza.
He sighed deeply as if pitying me.
I glared.
“You can’t improve on perfection. Although you would be interested to know that I have two kinds of pepperoni and three kinds of cheeses. So, I did mix it up.”
“Lame.”
“Yeah, well, at least my pizza didn’t require them to go out across the street and restock after making it.” He gave me a challenging grin as he picked up a piece and took a bite.
“You simply can’t appreciate diversity,” I replied.
“I love diversity. But why change something when you’ve found exactly what you want? What you love? Everything else will never compare.” He shrugged, but his words were heavy, and I had the suspicion that we weren’t talking about pizza anymore.
“Options are nice.”
“Nice. Good word. They are… but I’m not after nice. Nice is settling. Never settle.” He took a sip from his water bottle.
“But if you don’t try something new, then how do you know if you like it or not?” I challenged, even though I could guess what he’d say.
“I’m not against trying something. That’s what I do every day. It’s how you grow, learn, develop… but once you find what works, what you love, you stick with it.”
His gaze was intense, searing through me, and I couldn’t glance away. “What if you don’t know if you can trust what you like?”
“Life’s about risks. We take them every day and don’t even think about it. We drive to work— That’s a risk. We try a new therapy— That’s a risk. We meet someone for dinner who hates our guts—” He winked. “That’s a risk. But no risk, no reward.”
I glanced down to my half-demolished pizza. “You sound like Bryce.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Markus chuckled, and I glanced back at him.
“I’m not sure that’s what I meant.” I grinned in spite of myself.
“I know.” He shook his head and took another bite.
I followed and picked up another piece, the silence heavy.
“Thanks.”
I glanced up, frowning in confusion at his random statement.
He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“I didn’t think I was going to say yes either,” I answered honestly.
“I’m glad you did.”
“Because you like to verbally spar with me or make fun of my pizza preference? Take your pick.”
“Ava, I’d think you’d catch on by now.” He shook his head once, a wry grin teasing his lips but not quite making it to his eyes. “Because I like you.”