Page 47 of Doctor Charmer

“As advertised?” I hear the query and can’t believe she has a single iota of doubt that it isn’t everything she promised.

“Better than.” My right hand lifts to my mouth, and I give her a chef’s kiss of approval. “I don’t think I’ll need to snap a picture. This image is ingrained in me forever.”

My compliment must strike a chord. “Awww.” And from here, it looks like color races to her cheeks. “You are a sweet man.”

I shake my head. “If you could read my thoughts, you’d know there’s nothing sweet about me.”

She snickers, and the corners of her lips tick up before she speaks. “Good, then I think you’re ready. Grab your balls.”

“My what?” I catch my gaze lowering to my lap before I realize what I’m doing and jerk my head up.

She’s bent over in laughter. She presses one knee to the hard floor, laughing even harder. “Men. I love you guys. You’re all perpetually twelve years old.” She points to the volleyball, which had rolled from her side to the wall.

My half laugh lets her know she’s right. When I’m with her, I feel younger. I feel the possibilities. She makes me forget about my past and believe in a future I thought was no longer attainable for a man like me. I push to stand and walk to retrieve the ball.

“Are you sure you’re ready for all of this?” Hands on hips, she challenges me. Pushes me. Makes me work for it. Harder than I’ve had to in the past.

“Bring it on.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Reggie

We’re twenty minutes into our volleyball session when I notice the shift in her. Although always flirty and confident on the exterior, I can tell it comes at a cost. A blanket that requires extra effort to keep in place so that others don’t see what’s beneath. I recognize it because I do something similar. I use charm to disarm and deflect. I’ve gotten so good at it that I don’t realize half the time why I’m doing it.

But with a sheen of sweat covering her face, arms, and legs, she drops the blanket, a relaxed smile on her face. She’s in her happy place. Her domain. The volleyball court. I watch as she tosses the ball in the air, the movement so fluid and natural that it appears to be an extension of her hand. The slow ascent of the ball, the tight look of concentration on her face, the smack of her hand against the leather, its sound triggering a sparkle that lights up her face.

She’s taking it easy on me, high arcs and returns targeted to the center of the court. I’m not complaining because there is noway I can compete with her. There’s no way I’m going to last two hours, even at this moderate pace.

“Nice serve,” I call out after returning the ball. “You don’t have to take it easy on me.”

The sound of her sneakers squeaking across the gym floor covers up her quick laugh. “I kind of do. I teach the girls kindness and to be good sports.”

She easily reaches my volley and returns it with minimal effort. Back and forth we go, her returns precision perfect, her giggle giving away her intent.

“Cha cha cha, Doctor, cha cha cha.”

It takes a second for me to connect her words. Her volleys have me stepping two steps to my left, then two steps to my right, and then back to my left. This has been less of a match and more a dance. I’m the puppet on the string, and she’s my puppet master.

“Wait until you see me tango.” I float a high, arching ball to the corner of the net.

“Sounds like an invitation. If you think these shorts are indecent, wait until you see my stilettos and the dress I have with the slit all the way up to…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She knows she doesn’t have to. She had me at stiletto.

“Date it is.” I’m serious. Ivy and I have yet to speak about what happens after Griffin is released. What a future might hold. But I make my intentions known. This isn’t a passing fascination. A holiday fling that disappears when the New Year’s clock strikes midnight. I want her to know this is our start.

Her brow arches, and she doesn’t respond, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. What the future might look like. I return the volley, a high arc near the front of the net. “Ball’s in your court.” I cede power. I give her the autonomy I typically desperately cling tight in my fists. The ball is literally and figuratively in her court.

The sound of her grunt sets me on my heels; she’s leaping high for a spike. Head above the net, back arched, she’s poster perfection. Arm whipping forward in a windmill, a smack that reverberates across the gym—I don’t stand a chance.

The ball lands three feet to my right, and I turn to chase after it. “I stand corrected. Take it easy on me,” I concede, expecting to hear the sweet sound of her giggle. I scoop up the ball on the floor and turn. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight.

Ivy is laid out on the gym floor, crumbled into a ball, her hands pressed to her side. I race to her, ducking under the net, sliding on my knees to reach her. “What happened? What is it?”

Her lips are pulled tight, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She lowers her chin, her gaze lowering to where her hands are pressed tight to her hip.

“Let me take a look.”

She flinches before grunting. “It’s nothing. This happens from time to time.”

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