Page 36 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
9
FOSTER
The cold waterof the shower in the SERA gym did absolutely nothing to cool the fire burning under my skin.
Tommy’s not married.
The words ricocheted around my skull like a pinball, bouncing off every assumption I’d built since leaving Hawaii. Knocking down every wall I’d constructed to protect myself from wanting something I couldn’t have.
He called off his wedding. Because of me.
He’d actually flat-out said,“…kissing you felt more real than anything I’d experienced in ten years with her.”
And his face when he said it—so fucking vulnerable and hopeful and determined—had made me want to kiss him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
Christ. What was I supposed to do now?
I braced my hands against the shower wall and let the spray hit the back of my neck.
I’d spent six fucking months trying to convince myself Tommy Marian was an asshole who’d used me for some pre-wedding experiment. Six months trying to hate him for making me want him when he belonged to someone else.
Andstill, despite believing I had every reason in the world to be pissed at him, the second I’d seen Tommy again, my whole chest had seized, my heart had fucking fluttered, and I’d very nearly thrown away my own self-respect by offering to fuck around with a man I’d thought was married.
So how the hell was I supposed to resist him now that I knew he was single? Now that I knew he’d been singlethe whole goddamn time? Now that I knew he was a man who’d chosen honesty over comfort, truth over security, and walked away from a ten-year relationship rather than go through with a marriage that felt wrong?
I had no clue. But one thing I knew for sure was that Ididneed to resist him.
I wasn’t built for temporary relationships. I’d learned that lesson the hard way over the years as tourists and seasonal workers came and went from Majestic, as men like Matthew picked up stakes and moved on, brushing the dust of my small town from their boots. Guys had found me fun enough for a few weeks or a summer, promised to visit or call, and swore geography didn’t matter… but when push had come to shove, their real lives were elsewhere, and I was just an interlude.
In most of those cases, it hadn’t been a big loss. A sting, maybe. A little bruise to my heart. A few weeks of disappointment.
But with Tommy?
After a single evening with Tommy Marian—one conversation, a few drinks, two mind-melting kisses, eight hours or less—I’d caught a terminal case of feelings and spent the last half a year all up in my head over him.
So what would happen if I gave in and actually got to know him? If I spent the next seven and a half weeks trading smiles with him across a canteen table, seeing his hazel eyes twinkle, listening to how much he loved his family, watching him do his job with skill and compassion, and mapping the precise texture of his lips, his skin, and his dick with my tongue? What would happen if I let myself really, truly fall for him and pretend we had a future together?
Nothing good, that was what.
Because Tommy might have left his high-profile job in Manhattan, but I’d bet anything the California job he’d mentioned applying for was just as fancy. He still belonged in a world of hospital politics and medical conferences that was as foreign to me as Mars.
And I belonged in Majestic, Wyoming, where the air never smelled like car exhaust and the cows outnumbered the people two to one. Where I had family and community. Where my own career was as much a part of my identity as Tommy’s career was of his.
It was hopeless, and therefore, I needed to keep my guard up. That was the smart thing to do.
I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, catching my reflection in the small mirror. My hair was dripping, my skin flushed from the heat, and my eyes were wild.
I looked like a man on the edge of making a verystupiddecision.
I dressed quickly in clean tactical pants and a fresh SERA shirt, trying to ignore the way my hands shook as I pulled the fabric over my head. When I arrived at the truck, Tommy was waiting in the passenger seat, staring at his phone.
The drive back to the trailhead was torture of a completely different kind than the trip to SERA had been. Instead of anger and misunderstanding, the cab was filled with awareness so acute it made my skin burn. Every time Tommy shifted in his seat, every time he ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, I felt it like a physical touch.
By the time we pulled into the trailhead parking area, I felt like I was going to combust.
“You okay?” I asked stupidly.
“Peachy,” he said before climbing out of the truck. “Despite what some of my fellow instructors think, I’m capable of remaining professional and ignoring distractions. Besides, there’s nothing around to distract me anyway.”
