Page 17 of Dirty Doctor
I see all those things on his beautiful face at once. His dark eyes find mine, and his chest heaves rapidly.
“Luke,” I say quickly, pulling out of his grasp. But he doesn’t let me go—he only grips me tighter. “I shouldn’t have said that. Bella shouldn’t have—”
“Is it true?” he asks, and his voice breaks on the last word.Fuck.
I swallow, feeling tears begin to prick at my eyes. “Yes.”
I think about that Christmas—the one he told Bella about. I was a senior in high school, and he was in his first year of medical school. He was home for a few weeks to regroup. Nothing happened—nothing had ever happened between us. But something was different between us. Something had shifted. That was the first Christmas he stopped giving me an obligatory goodbye hug, and avoided looking me in the eye completely. I thought he was just being arrogant—too big for his britches now that he was in medical school. But now I know something had changed inside of him, too.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, pulling me closer. I can smell him from here, the scent of something fresh, like mint or eucalyptus.Home.He smells like home, and I realize with a start that for years, hewasmy home. He was my family.He saw me through every pivotal moment of my life as a child for ten years. The sound of his voice comforts me, and I can list a thousand reasons why we shouldn’t cross this line.
Ever.
“Does it really matter?” I whisper back, and my eyes have tears in them when I look up at him.
This time, when I push him away, he lets me go.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
LANGLEY
I wakeup after nine the next morning, and Luke is already gone by the time I meander downstairs. I find a plate of eggs, pancakes, and fruit waiting for me on one of the refrigerator shelves. I unwrap it and eat everything cold while my coffee brews. I still haven’t changed out of Luke’s clothes—I wore them to bed, and just so happened to get one of the best nights of sleep ever. No nightmares, no dreams—just twelve hours of blissful, peaceful sleep after two hours of quelling my nerves with my kindle.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and when I open the fridge to get milk, I see Luke’s creamer on the door, and my breath nearly catches. Peppermint. Healwaysdrank peppermint creamer in high school. I can still smell it—the sickly-sweet scent that seemed to get stronger the longer the mug was left out on the counter. I grab the jug and add some to my coffee, taking a slow sip. It’s not terrible, though, it is a bit sweet for me.
I wander through the house with my coffee, pulling books off the shelves in the living room and opening every drawer in the kitchen. It’s sparse yet organized—like he bought this house and moved in, but just hasn’t had time to decorate and fill it out. I make my way upstairs, peeking into Luke’s room before opening the door fully. It’s a huge master bedroom. There’s a four-poster bed, a desk, a dresser, and nightstands that all match the same dark wood as the bed.Yep, he definitely hired someone to furnish the place.
Again, there are red accents everywhere, and I think back to his admission last night, and the way his eyes skimmed over my hair when I asked about the red. I run my hands over my wavy locks, closing my eyes and taking in his scent. The room isfilledwith his scent—eucalyptus and mint. I sit down on his bed, which he must’ve made this morning, and take in the room. It’s tidy in here, but there’s a stack of mail on the dresser. Walking over, I pull a framed picture closer.
I don’t remember this one, but guessing from my black hair—which was the biggest hair mistake of my life—this was late high school. Considering we’re all wearing jackets, it’s winter, so maybe even the Christmas Luke alluded to last night. I’m scowling at the camera, and I look like I’d rather be anywhere but there. Smiling, I look at the younger Luke. He looks the same, except his face was thinner, and he had less muscles back then. But he must be in his early twenties in this picture. His arm is around me, and I stare at the way his fingers are curled so delicately on my right shoulder.
I never hated you, Langley. Not even for a second.
Is it possible that I had our entire childhood and adolescence wrong? I wasn’t in the best place when my mom met Howard, and subsequently, when I met Luke. To me, he signified the lifeaftermy dad. And my dad was my hero, the superman who was responsible for my perfect life. Two parents who loved each other. Middle class life with a white picket fence. Friends and family who loved me. And then he got sick, and shortly after, he was just… gone. I rub my chest, the familiar ache working through me. Even though it was over twenty years ago, it still hurts.
My mom met Howard less than a year later, and soon, we were moving into Howard’s house, which felt huge to a little girl. Luke was there, too. And I resented him. I resented the fact that he was too young to remember his mother. He’d avoided the grief. Howard was a doctor, so Luke wanted for nothing. He was kind—I remember that—and I hated him for it.
So, I pushed him away.
I set the picture down and continue snooping through his bedroom. The bathroom has the normal things any bathroom has, and when I open the shampoo bottle, Luke’s scent nearly smacks me in the face. It’s not fancy shampoo, but it’s definitely what makes him smell so good. I wander to his bedroom again, pulling one of the drawers open. When I see what’s inside, I slam it shut and quickly walk out.
More condoms.
Jesus.
How many does one guy need?
I swallow the envy that works its way up my throat. Luke is attractive. I’m sure he brings dates back here occasionally, right? I close my eyes as I head back to my room. It’s normal, and he’s practicing safe sex. Good for him.
So why does it bother me so much?
I change out of Luke’s clothes reluctantly and take a long shower. When I’m done, I grab my kindle and read for the rest of the morning. I heat up some leftovers for lunch, and by four, I’ve finished the book I started almost two months ago. I can’t remember the last time I spent the day relaxing like this. Even yesterday, I’d taken nearly a five-hour nap. I always felt guilty relaxing, so my weekends comprised of errands and lunches, as well as working on my portfolio.
I realize now that I was trying to keep myself busy because it was the only way I knew how to live. After graduating from college, I went straight from internship to graduate school. I never took a moment to breathe, never let myself relax. Even the morning of the interview, I was up early so that I wasn’t late, and I’d completely forgotten to eat.
By seven, I’ve tidied up the kitchen, and I’ve even taken it upon myself to rearrange his shelves in the living room a bit so that they don’t look so sparse. The first trick I learned in design school was the best designs always have interesting borders. So instead of lining Luke’s books up side by side, I break them up with stacked books on top of each other. It makes it so that the eye doesn’t just gloss over the shelves—you really take in the titles of the books because of the interesting layout.
I’m just about to grab something in the fridge for dinner when I hear the front door open and close. My breath hitches, and I glance down at my outfit. I’d changed into my own clothes—loose jeans and a cropped tank top. I didn’t bother with my hair, instead opting for a messy bun. I’m also not wearing any makeup, though, I’m second guessing that decision when I think about how young I look without it.
