Full Package(22)
Big shock.
“Exactly. But there was this sense among our colleagues that it should only have hurt if she screwed someone who had a dick. Who cares? That’s not the issue. The issue is we were friends, then we were together, and then she fell in love with someone else and was involved with that person while she was with me. It doesn’t hurt any less simply because I could never”—I sketch air quotes—“compete. And what sucked the most was that I missed her in my life.”
That’s how I learned the hard way that taking friendships to another level only results in heartache.
“I’d miss you if you weren’t in my life,” Josie says softly.
My muscles tighten with that fresh reminder to keep all thoughts of Josie on this level—the friendship one.
Her eyes roam over me, settling on my shoulders. “You’re so tense,” she says softly, then shifts her body, moving behind me, nudging me away from the back of the couch. And before I know it, she’s rubbing my shoulders.
It’s totally unexpected to have Josie’s hands on me. She’s comforting me, even though I’m not hurt anymore. But still, she seems to want to, and holy hell, is she ever talented at this. She digs her fingers into my shoulders, and it feels really fucking good. So good I groan.
“Jesus, Josie. You have great hands.”
“It comes from kneading dough,” she says, and I laugh then lean back into her, resting against her chest as she rubs my shoulders. I’m a hedonist, I’m a cat, I’m a complete pleasure-taker right now. But Josie’s hands are magic, and I have no choice but to succumb to them.
“Your shoulders are tight, sweetie,” she says, her breath soft, tickling my neck.
Sweetie. Baby.
We’ve both used terms of endearment for each other tonight. What the hell is that about?
But when her thumbs dig into my muscles, I don’t think anymore. I shut off my mind and give in to the extraordinary feeling of her hands on me. I moan and murmur, “Feels so good.”
I can sense her shifting behind me. Moving her face closer. Her lips are near my hair. “Good. Let me make you feel better.”
She makes me feel worlds better, even though I didn’t really feel bad. But I feel spectacular as she works my shoulders. It’s better than good. It’s good everywhere, including below the Mason–Dixon line, where there’s a huge statue pointing out how much better than good this is.
It’s arousing.
It’s a turn-on.
With my eyes closed and her hands massaging me, my mind floats away, picturing her sliding her hands down my chest, reaching for the bottom of my T-shirt, tugging it over my head.
My dick hardens more as I imagine her return route—those soft, strong hands playing across my abs, traveling up my stomach to my pecs, exploring me.
I let out a breath. It sounds like a turned-on groan. Because I don’t stop the fantasy there. As she touches me, I imagine her hands gliding into my hair, her lips brushing across my neck, her scent everywhere.
And then I see myself doing the next logical thing.
The only thing.
Flipping around, sliding her under me, pinning her wrists above her head.
And fucking her.
Even though I’m only her friend, even though I’m keeping it on the level, all signs in my head and body point to a different agenda.
Josie Hammer turns me on, and that’s a big fucking problem.
13
A few days later, I find a clear plastic bag from her bakery on the coffee table. There’s an assortment of mixed nuts inside—pecans, walnuts, and peanuts, too. Dangling from a yellow ribbon is a notecard.
* * *
Thanks again for coming to the rescue this past weekend. What would I do without a nut lover like you?
* * *
I smile and save the card, then pop some nuts in my mouth on the way to work.
The next few weeks at the hospital pass in a blur of gunshot wounds, chest pain, shower falls, drug overdoses, boiling water spills, and an apple where the sun doesn’t shine.
The man who became intimately acquainted with the fruit told me he fell on a basket of Granny Smiths while sweeping the floors. “I like to keep them around, easily accessible. Apples are good for you,” he’d said, while explaining away his . . . predicament.
In his case, the apple a day didn’t keep the doctor away.
There was also an afternoon shift when the paramedics rushed in an incredibly polite British man who had collided with a wooden post at a construction site. “I seem to have acquired a splinter,” he’d said, of the half-foot-long piece of wood in his ribs.
Ouch.
Today, we encountered a surprise baby.
When I return home, I tell Josie the story as she slides a lasagna dish out of the oven to check on it. I lean against the doorframe of the tiny kitchen, savoring the aroma of her cooking. “The girl was eighteen. She came in complaining of food poisoning. When we informed her she was pregnant and dilated to ten centimeters, she told us she was going to sue us for defamation of character.”
“Well, naturally. Being told you’re pregnant by a doctor is complete and absolute grounds for a courtroom trial, I’m sure,” she says as she closes the oven door. “Five more minutes for this.”