Full Package(35)
Hell, maybe this thing between us started before I was even aware of it.
I grab the scrap of lacy fabric, twirl it on my finger, and then bring it to my nose. It smells fresh and clean, like her laundry detergent. I toy with the idea of stuffing it into my pocket, but I’m not a panty-stuffer—or even a habitual panty-sniffer, for that matter.
Instead, I leave it on the coffee table, and I look for a sheet of paper to write her a note when I spot something else from her.
A small, see-through plastic bag from her bakery with a sunshine yellow ribbon wrapped around it. Inside are red candies. A little bakery card dangles from the ribbon. I flick it open and read.
* * *
Are things supposed to be awkward now between us? Or weird? Or tense? I hope not. But just in case . . . here’s some Swedish Fish, and the hope for more.
* * *
My heart thumps harder than it should from a gift of candy. But it’s not just candy. It’s the perfect morning-after acknowledgement. It’s everything I wanted to say last night, but couldn’t. It’s her knowing how to fucking handle this.
And it’s one more thing that makes me want her in every way.
I ride my bike to the hospital, whipping through the early-morning traffic like nothing can get me down. And nothing can. Because something is happening. Something wild, and crazy, and undoubtedly incredibly foolish.
But right now, it feels so fucking good, like sailing, like flying, like soaring.
Chase: Can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. You.
* * *
Josie: Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.
* * *
Chase: Love the panties.
* * *
Josie: Thought you might.
* * *
Chase: Love the fish. I ate them all when I walked into work. Totally got jacked up on a sugar high before I had to put stitches in a chin. Some dude fell off his skateboard.
* * *
Josie: Ouch. But maybe you’ve uncovered some new natural high for a physician!
* * *
Chase: Ha, maybe I have. Also, most of all, love the note. A lot. I’m curious, though. Did you just happen to have candy on hand?
* * *
Josie: Perhaps I did. Perhaps I had them on hand just for this occasion.
* * *
Chase: More later. Forceps calling my name. But that is awesome.
* * *
Josie: Good luck, Doctor McHottie. When you’re done with whatever emergency has your name on it, here’s this treat for you.
* * *
A picture fills my screen, and I stop in the hospital corridor, grab the wall, and try to snap my tongue back up from the floor. Because I am panting that hard as I gawk at the image of the tops of her breasts. She took a goddamn fucking selfie of her tits, and I’m royally turned on.
But here at work, I have to keep the drawers neat, so I turn off my phone. I’m all business for the two hours until break time.
Chase: Had to remove a marble from a nose, and it took all my brainpower not to think of the sad fact that I didn’t get to see your breasts in the flesh last night. Your picture didn’t help. Wait. Scratch that. Send more. SHOW THEM ALL TO ME.
* * *
Chase: I should let you know I’m a dirty bastard, and you have the world’s most glorious breasts I’ve ever seen, only I haven’t seen them yet. Therefore, I’m sad.
* * *
Josie: Don’t be sad. I have a solution to make you happy.
* * *
Chase: More pictures???
* * *
Josie: Better. I’ll flash you when you get home.
* * *
Chase: Did you just hear the groan of excitement I made all the way from Mercy?
* * *
Josie: It’s still reverberating here in the Upper West Side.
* * *
Chase: Also, please do more than flash me.
* * *
Chase: Gotta go. Break’s over. See ya.
* * *
Josie: Good luck. Let me know if you want me to bring you home anything.
* * *
Chase: You.
20
Max lowers the hood on an electric-blue beauty, gently closing it. His eyes are focused on the metal meeting metal the entire time, until it’s whisper-quiet on the lot. Then he turns, wipes his hands on a red-checked rag, and nods hello.
“What will that sapphire baby set me back?” I tip my chin toward the sleek vehicle that shines so bright it’s reflecting the skyscrapers nearby where Max’s custom car shop is located in Midtown West.
He laughs at me and shakes his head. “More than you ever can afford,” he says, then tucks the rag into the back pocket of his jeans, streaked with grease.
He’s shirtless, the fucking show-off. “Dude, put a shirt on.”