Home > No Longer Lost(9)

No Longer Lost(9)
Author: Angel Payne

“Fine.” I hated giving up the escape option if things got really awkward—not that they weren’t already—but the guy had a point. “I’ll drive, then. I’m right over here.”

“Cool. My wheels are all the way over in the employee lot, anyway. Half my lunch hour would be over by the time we got there.”

He laughed like he’d just told the best joke, and I attempted to join in. I was really going to try to give this my best effort—and in the end, I was glad I did.

Lunch wasn’t too bad after all. I discovered the guy was very smart—probably overly so, for the job he had—and had a lot of interesting hobbies. I ended up telling him that I played chess, and he was eager to announce that while he wasn’t very good, he’d love to play sometime. Of course, that sent my mind careening down the kinky Mac Stone path again, remembering the night the man had won himself a sleepover by beating me fair and square. On my own special antique board to boot!

Brilliant, arrogant jackass.

I hated him.

But there was the rub.

I didn’t.

Not even close.

I could tell myself all the lies I wanted, but it wouldn’t change the way my heart and libido betrayed me every time the man’s soulful green eyes came into my thoughts. Or his insolent, inviting smirk. Or his sinfully sculpted body. Or everything he could do to me with it…

Damn it. There I went. Again.

John was being a good sport about it too. He caught me drifting off a few times—all right, maybe more than a few—but instead of being a jerk, he just waited patiently, picking at his falafel—or whatever the hell he was eating.

“What is that again?” I pointed toward his plate with my fork.

“It’s quinoa, kale, beets, and goat cheese on a bed of mixed greens. It’s pretty good, actually. You want to try a bite?”

I crinkled my nose. “Jesus Christ, man. Do you ever just jones for pizza? Or nachos?”

“Used to,” he answered, his voice edged with notes I didn’t recognize. “But I’ve been eating pretty clean for most of my adult life, so now that all that crap is out of my rotation, I don’t really miss it.” Ah. Superiority. That was the edge. I wasn’t sure I appreciated it very much.

“Crap? Did you just call pizza crap?” I dramatically swept my hands up to clutch my heart, but John just scowled. “Dude, it’s like the fifth food group.” I laughed to emphasize the tease. “I’m going to go over and cry in the corner if you say that shit again.”

Finally that got him laughing, and I beamed a smile in return. The guy was actually adorable when he relaxed a little. I had no doubt that he’d make the right girl very happy one day. I just wasn’t going to be her.

After we settled in and had a few bites in silence, he murmured, “So, when you keep checking out into the stratosphere, is it the doctor?” He had the decency to look sheepish about the pry. “Did he hurt you?”

I took an evasive sip of my iced tea. “I really don’t want to talk about it. Is that okay? I’m having a nice lunch here with my friend. Why spoil it?”

“You’re right,” he conceded right away. “I just want you to know you can confide in me, Taylor.” But the capitulation didn’t stop him from reaching for my hand. I quickly pulled back, occupying both my hands with a nervous fiddle at my napkin. “I’d like to be here for you. As your friend.” He underlined the word by swiping up his hand, cutting off my interruption before it started. “That’s what friends do for each other, right? I mean, who knows? Maybe some night I’ll call you crying after some girl has broken my heart.”

I let the comment hang in the air. I had no intention of giving John a single digit of my phone number when we parted today. He was nice, but that was it. There was nothing wrong with his friendliness and understanding, but there was nothing really right about it, either. I could get a dog and have as much fun—and maybe some great exercise, if he was one of those let’s-go-running kind of pooches.

I weathered a twinge of guilt for thinking that way, but a truth was a truth. I had all the friends I needed with Claire, Margaux, and Talia. I didn’t need some smothering guy who wanted to be my running pooch with benefits. We would never, and I meant never, graduate from the friend zone.

Finally resolved to that conclusion, I finished my lunch and was glad when John did the same, allowing us to head right back to the hospital. He was getting antsy because his lunch hour had ended ten minutes prior, and as much as I pushed Missy up Torrey Pines Hill, she would only go as fast as she wanted to go. I found a spot to park quicker than ever and got out to say goodbye to John—all the while wishing I could just stop and let him off in front of the Bloodmobile. But the dude and his lingering, all-too-tight hugging abilities had other ideas.

Ugh.

“I had a great time with you today, Taylor,” he proclaimed. “Thank you for agreeing to have lunch with me.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” I laughed, but it was a little too loud and a little too hard for the moment. My jig was up. I’d surrendered the dead giveaway—but the guy leaned in again, arms outstretched for another hug, causing me to start laughing for real.

His bewildered look was both priceless and heartbreaking. I was confident I hadn’t sent any mixed signals throughout our meal. He must have sensed my ensuing bewilderment about that, because he sent over a sideways grin. “Friends hug one another, Taylor.”

I tried to laugh again—not because I felt it but because he was right. I was acting like an uptight prude. Still, I gave him just one more hug—a swift one this time—and dodged out of his arms when he tried to peck my cheek. Okay, so friends did that too, right? Fine. Maybe I was a prude, then. At least when it came to guys suddenly looking at me like Labradors wanting to hit the beach trail.

“Yeah, uhh…okay,” I muttered quickly. “See you around.” I added a halfhearted wave as John headed for the RV and then rapidly spun back around to fast-track it to my car.

That was before I saw him.

Yes. Him as in…him.

Oh, motherfucker.

Especially because I was too damn late to prevent the inevitable. The hurricane named Mac was really going to happen. Dr. Stone, in all his incensed glory, was already at a full charge across the lawn, all but tearing the grass out by the roots with his pounding footsteps. His white coat flapped behind him like a superhero’s cape.

He was furious. Unstoppable.

And so damn hot.

Meaning I was so fucked.

He finally stopped, chest pumping, hands fisted, and legs braced, on the median in front of my car. “That guy again?” He stabbed a finger at the Bloodmobile. “Really? Haven’t we been down this road already, Taylor?”

He panted like an animal between the questions he hurled, and all I could think about was letting out the animal he called to in me. As in, tearing his clothes off. And then mine. And then fucking him like a rutting, wild thing at the mercy of my wildest, raunchiest instincts.

I tried battling the lust but recognized that fail at once. Instead, I shoved it all into another sensation. A rage to fully match his. “What I do is none of your damn concern.” Unbelievably, I managed to seethe it out with a completely serene smile—and inwardly congratulated myself for it. Oh God, how it egged him on. And oh God, how I loved watching the twisted evidence of that across his carved, gorgeous features.

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