Page 71 of Cloud Nine Love

I turned the TV on, and she snuggled in the corner of the couch.

When I handed her the remote, she informed me, “The Bachelor is starting in five minutes.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “Can I?”

“Of course you can. It’s your house.”

“Yes.” A wide smile spread on her face as she nodded. “I just need to go get my medicine and throw some things together for the night.”

“You stay and watch your show. I’ll go grab your things. Just text me what you need.”

I headed out and climbed into my Dodge Ram, which had arrived from California a few days ago. I’d hired a service to drive it out to me, and I was glad to have it back. It felt like the last piece of the puzzle to signify that I was here to stay.

As I turned my head to back out of my driveway, I saw a Porsche Cayenne pulling up in front of Taylor’s house. I watched from behind the wheel as the driver got out and started walking up to the front door. He didn’t even make it to the porch before the door opened, and Taylor walked out wearing a red dress that molded to her body, showcasing her hourglass figure. The man turned as they walked back to his SUV, and it was the first time I’d seen his face. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“What the fuck?” I asked myself as he opened the passenger door, and she got in.

I pulled onto the street and ended up right behind them as they headed toward town. Even though I knew that Taylor and I hadn’t made any sort of commitment to each other, I couldn’t believe she was on a date with someone. Or at least that’s what it looked like.

Maybe I’d gone about this all wrong? I’d given her space to acclimate to being back home, to reconnect with her daughter, to process whatever was going on between us, and to realize what we shared was bigger than arbitrary strikes. My intention was to keep showing up with the hope that one day she’d ask me not to leave. It turned out I’d given her space, and another man had decided to swoop in and fill it.

Who is this guy?

As soon as I asked myself the question, the answer came to me. He was the doctor I’d seen her speaking to at the hospital—not just any doctor. I’d been a mess that day, but even then, I’d noticed how good-looking the man was. He could easily be on one of the soap operas my mom was so fond of. He had the sort of appeal that he would gain a million followers overnight based solely on his striking good looks with some sort of catchy handle like Dr. Dreamy.

It dawned on me, as my headlights shone on the back of his SUV, I’d been naïve to think that Taylor wouldn’t go on with her life and back to her regular scheduled programming after our brief intermissions. She’d made it clear that she didn’t believe we could or should be together, and I hadn’t challenged her on that.

I thought I was playing the long game, but, in reality, I’d given myself enough rope to hang myself.

Fuck. How had I gotten this so wrong?

She spent sixty-plus hours a week at the hospital. Of course, she’d date a doctor. It was as plain as the nose on my face. Had I really been that blind? That delusional? Had I only seen what I wanted to see?

I watched as his Porsche Cayenne pulled into The Tipsy Cow and parked. I remained at the stop sign and watched Dr. Dreamy come around and open her door. I did note that when she stepped out of the vehicle, she didn’t take the hand he was offering to help her, which made me happier than it probably should have. Unfortunately, that joy was short-lived. As they crossed the parking lot, the good doctor placed his hand on her lower back. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. I’d never been a jealous man, but seeing another man touch her had me feeling like the Hulk about to rip out of his shirt.

Behind me, a trunk honked, and I pressed the gas. I told myself that after I got the things for my mom, I was not, under any circumstances, going to go to The Tipsy Cow for a beer. As I drove to the trailer park, I repeated that intention again and again…but I didn’t believe a word I was saying.

32

TAYLOR

“A flipped coin is most likely to land on the side it starts on.” ~ Tim Rhodes

“In case I haven’t told you, you look incredible tonight.” Carson held out his hand and helped me out of his luxury SUV.

“Thank you.” Without running it by my brain, I pretended not to see his palm and instead used the door to steady myself as I stepped down. I wasn’t trying to be rude; it was an automatic response I had to strangers.

As we crossed the gravel lot, he placed his hand on my lower back, and I instantly tensed. My entire body was seized with discomfort. I’d hoped that Remi had cured me of my aversion to being touched by strangers, especially men. It turned out that wasn’t the case. Which was deeply frustrating.

Dr. Carson Mathis was everything I’d always told myself I wanted in a partner. I didn’t know him that well, but word on the Valley Memorial street was that he was confident, funny, smart, and didn’t take himself seriously. He was kind to all of his patients, even the difficult and abusive ones.

I’d never considered myself a shallow person, but I definitely needed to be attracted to someone I was with, and Dr. Mathis had movie star-good looks. In fact, he was the spitting image of Josh Holloway, dimples and all. He could easily grace the covers of Men’s Health or GQ. He stood over six feet tall, with light brown hair, dark green eyes, and strong facial features. It was clear that his long hours at the hospital did not detract from his time in the gym. I’d heard from the nurses that he did CrossFit and also boxed. I was not surprised. And the cherry on top of his appearance sundae were his tattoos. His ink gave him just enough of a bad-boy edge to counteract his wholesome All-American appearance.

Before tonight, I’d only seen him in scrubs, but it was no surprise he cleaned up well. When I opened the door and found him in a charcoal t-shirt and black slacks, I’d been impressed. He looked hot, sexy even. He was objectively in the top one percent of attractive people in the entire world. But I was not attracted to him.

Or at least I didn’t think I was. Maybe instead of being my cure to the opposite sex, Remi Rhodes was acting as a beta blocker for my pheromones and arousal. Just knowing he existed was obstructing any attraction I might feel for anyone else. If that was the case, then I needed to get a grip on myself.

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