Just One of the Guys(77)

The door, no match for my strength, burst open. I staggered into the room, stepping right into the puddle of dog vomit, na**d as the day I was born.

“Oh, there you are, Chastity,” came a voice. “We were looking for you.”

Dr. Darling Senior stood in the doorway. The blood drained from my face. I remained frozen in the puddle of vomit, horrified, dismayed, unclothed, uncovered, unshielded. “Ryan and Mrs. Darling took Bubbles to the vet,” Dr. Darling Senior said, giving me the old once-over. “Care for a drink?”

RYAN CAME TO MY ROOM LATER on to check in on me. Which moves us along to the joys of post-argument sex.

See, Ryan and I hadn’t had a fight yet. No, things had been really smooth for the month or so that we’d been seeing each other. There had simply been nothing to fight about. However, being shoved into a closet, abandoned and trapped, having one’s potential father-in-law see one breaking down the door, buck naked…well, it was a pretty good fight. And let’s face it…it was kind of fun to be fighting.

“Honey, you’re exaggerating,” Ryan said calmly after I chewed him out. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but it’s not like I knew the closet door would stick like that. I fail to see what I did wrong here.”

A series of enraged squeaks came out of my mouth. “Ryan! I—naked—closet—your father!”

“My mother’s dog was sick, Chastity. I had to help.” He looked so earnest that I wanted to clock him one.

I took a deep breath. “You know what, Ry? You’re a jerk,” I finally managed.

“I’m not a jerk,” he protested. “An animal was sick, Chastity. I had to help. It’s in the Hippocratic oath.”

“Okay, fine! So you were nice to the dog! But the dog wasn’t sick. It was hysterical because it knew I was in the bleeping closet, Ryan! Because you put me there!”

“Chastity, my parents are very strict about house rules, and I wanted to respect that—”

“By sneaking me into your room for a quicky?”

“—so I put you in the closet to avoid upsetting Mother.”

“That scares me,” I snapped.

“And then the dog was sick,” he continued, unfazed. “I didn’t know you’d be stuck. I thought you’d be fine for five minutes. Okay? No harm done.” He had the audacity to smile. “Why don’t you just take a breath and calm down?”

“Calm—calm! I won’t calm down! Get out of my room!”

“Fine!” he snapped. “Be that way!” He strode over to where I stood, still hissing, took hold of my shoulders. “Good night!” Then he kissed me. Hard.

I looked at him for a heartbeat—the old blood was flowing, you know what I mean? Then I grabbed his hair and shoved my tongue in his mouth and then we were rolling around on the bed, then the floor, then shoving each other against the wall. It was the best sex we’d had yet.

“I’m really sorry,” he said when we were done and flushed and panting. “I should never have put you in the closet.”

“Oh, no problem. All’s forgiven.” I smiled. He smiled. Ten minutes later, we were at it again.

For the rest of the weekend, Ryan kept shooting me newly appreciative glances, slipping me a kiss when his parents weren’t looking.

Then, on the way back from Long Island, I asked to drive. “Well, this isn’t a Subaru, Chastity,” Ryan lectured, glancing at me. “This is a highly sophisticated example of superior German engineering.”

“I see. So my potato-picking Irish paws aren’t equipped to hold the steering wheel of the master race?”

“Did I say anything about potato-picking Irish paws, Chastity?” he snapped. “No. You’re exaggerating. Again. But this car does require a subtle touch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Pull over!” I barked.

“Fine!” he barked back. And so, at the Malden rest stop in Saugerties, conveniently located just off Interstate 87, we had boisterous make-up sex in the highly sophisticated example of superior German engineering.

And I did get to drive the rest of the way home.

Which brings us back to where I am now, lying on my bed with Buttercup, wondering if this relationship is working out or failing miserably.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

TODAY IS MY SESSION AT THE Emergency Room of Eaton Falls Hospital. Without passing it, I won’t pass my EMT course. Exactly what I have to do is a mystery. According to Bev, I just check in with the head nurse and do what she says. Stay out of the way and be helpful. No swearing. No hurting the already injured.

I give Rosebud a final pat and head home to shower and eat breakfast. Penelope wants me to write an article about my experiences, God help me. Then, I dropped a bag on the broken leg of an elderly woman who was bleeding profusely… I cringe. Have I gotten better, I wonder? Am I desensitizing myself? I sure as hell hope so.

I have a little time to kill before reporting to the E.R., so I take out my EMT course book. Sitting on my bed, Buttercup glued to my side, I take a deep breath. Today I may see some of the very things listed inside, not in a glossy photograph, but writhing on a gurney. It occurs to me that Ryan may be called to the E.R. while I’m there today. That he’ll see me. I’d like to be at my best. I can’t marry a trauma surgeon and not be able to hear about his work, can I? No.