Page 47 of Stirred Up

I throw out my leg and kick the coffee table in anger.Eerrr, that impossible man! Wincing, I cradle my foot, my head hanging back. At least the physical pain matches the emotional now.

Is this worth it? Suppose Brady and I did try “more” and it doesn’t work out? The backlash couldn’t possibly be worse than this, right?

Too frustrated to think about it any longer, I hit play, resuming my show. I’m slumped even further down in the couch, arms crossed, my toe throbbing, when the bantering on screen catches my full attention—that’s it!

Brilliant. Thank you, sitcom gods, for the enlightenment.

Determination sets in, my mind made up. I know what I have to do.

****

When the nurse shuts the door behind me—thank heavens she doesn’t work in the ER, clearly not quick on the uptake—I pull out my compact, checking my disguiseone last time.

Wig in place. Check.

Big, black sunglasses. Check.

And now, I wait.

Shortly after, a quick knock raps on the door.

“Come in,” I say in my new covert voice. It’s a high-pitched mousy tone, but it works. I think so, anyway.

I’m on the table, fully dressed, when Dr. Reynolds steps in, usual devastating smile in place, spoiled by the dark circles under his sullen eyes, a scruffy jawline and wrinkled shirt.

He looks as hellish and out of sorts as I feel and a glimmer of hopefulness moves through me. Has he been miserable too?

“Good afternoon Miss, uh…” He consults his chart once more, then ever so slowly looks up at me. A smirk hints at his luscious mouth, a slight twinkle building in those sad eyes. “Ms. Beaverhousen, is it?”

“Yes, that’s right. Thank you for seeing me,” I say in my fake voice then move in for the kill. “A friend of mine, Addison Porter, said she called several times and couldn’t get in, so I was surprised how easy it was for me.”

“I can’t discuss other patients, I’m sorry. So tell me,Ms. Beaverhousen,what can I do for you today?”

We face off, both crossing our arms defensively across our chests, waiting in tense silence for the other to cave.

Mentally, I’d been fully prepared to march in here in raging bitch mode and tell him off for ignoring me. But now that he’s in front of me, looking as distraught and devastated as I’ve been, my heart makes other plans.

Unable to wait another minute, I pull off my sunglasses and wig, offering a sheepish grin. “Hey.”

He feigns shock, clutching his chest dramatically. “Addison! It’s you!”

“Oh, stop, I know you knew.” My voice drops, shaking with vulnerability. “Why wouldn’t you see me?”

He sits the chart down and tilts his head. “You know why.”

I nod. I do know why, but held out hope he’d take my sudden appearance in his office with a bit less annoyance. Senseless or not, I’d longed for him to grab snatch me up, hold me in his arms, and tell me everything would be alright. But he says nothing else, defiant in his stance, eyes cold and hard, pinning me in place.

“I miss you,” I choke out in a pleading whisper.

With only one step closer, still too far away, he sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I miss you too.”

My head pops up, optimism piquing, a smile about to emerge, when he cuts it short.

“But not enough to continue with silly, unprofessional escapades that cheapen what I want with you.”

I agree. Time to show him. “Come here.” I crook my finger to beckon him closer.

“Addison,” he grumbles his warning but does, in fact, move to me a moment later. “What do you want from me?” His hot breath fans over my face, tickling my lips severely testing my resolve.

---