Page 28 of Claiming His Reunion Obsession

“It’s only because it makes me look-” but I stop short, seeing Quinn’s eyes narrow as he takes a sharp breath in, daring me to say it, daring me to invoke his scorn.

“It just rides up a little, is all,” I correct myself and we negotiate on the degree of alterations allowed in the Quinn universe versus the ‘what Chelle wants to wear on her wedding day’ actual reality. The world I live in.

Sliding his hand right up between my thighs, making me leap with instant excitement, he groans close into my ear.

“Because every time I see you in that dress, it makes me want to do this…” he tells me, and I feel his hand yank my panties to one side, making me instantly wet, which he uses to trace his thick fingers around my already twitching hole until I gasp his name, canceling wedding planning once again in favor of honeymoon practice for the night.

“All the dress stuff aside. Chelle. I love you, no matter what you wear. No matter if we’re married or trapped on a desert island with grass skirts. I’ll always love you,” Quinn says, and I melt into one of his kisses all over again.

“I love you too,” I say. “And I’ll hold you to that. If I have to wear a lilac prom sack on our wedding day, you have to wear a grass skirt, the next time we’re stuck on a desert island… deal?”

“Deal,” he says and I settle in for a solid night of honeymoon practice.

All this time, we’re actually pretty good at it by now.

Epilogue

Chelle

“I can do this… it’s what I’ve trained for…”

I puff and I huff. I swallow and bite down. I think of anything that isn’t about throwing up and I close my narrow metal locker.

My pink scrubs and matching hairnet, my equally matching pink stethoscope.

At least it’s not lilac, I tell myself on my worst days, which are thankfully few and far between.

Like my wedding dress, Quinn picked out my scrubs, which the hospital liked so much, they made them standard for all doctors in pediatrics to wear.

I got some sour looks when that was announced, but it wasn’t my decision.

“Well I’d like to meet whoever came up with such a ridiculous idea!” one senior doctor exclaimed, turning purple as he shouted the fact he wouldn’t wear them.

Until Quinn turned up the next day, happy to help him try them on, which he did and now wears them all the time.

After the wedding, Quinn saw to it I got every chance to finish my medical degree, which I did, choosing to specialize in pediatrics.

Obstetrics? Nah. I’m a walking example of that these days, plenty of baby making going on at home. I don’t need to bring that to the workplace, but I love working with kids. Helping them, and their parents when they get sick.

I’m Doctor Michelle Quinn now, but the kids, they can call me Dr. Chelle.

I’m making my way to my rounds, wondering how morning sickness can last right up until the day it feels like the baby’s already halfway out, which she isn’t. I know she isn’t, but it sure feels like it most days lately.

Quinn did his best to order me off work while pregnant for the second time. Jason, our first, was a quick and easy birth, I still tell Quinn. Standing up all day, it was only a matter of time before gravity helped Mother Nature along.

But today, I feel something else, like a hunch doctors get. Cops have their intuition, their ‘gut’ and apart from having one of those, I also have what I call ‘knowing,’ when I just know something’s gonna go down on my shift.

Or rather, something’s gonna go out.

The day is long and it’s nothing too exciting. The days I should be on my guard most, those quiet times in a hospital, they’re usually always calm before a storm. But today, I’m hoping for a storm-free finish and almost counting the minutes until Quinn comes to pick me up.

Three days off and we have a private suite in our own penthouse booked solid, just the two of us, and Jason of course.

It’s twenty to the hour and I find myself thinking about Quinn, about how Jason always smells of crayons and formula when I come home, Quinn telling me there’s been no crayons eaten and no drawing done with Jason’s formula, which I often doubt.

Then the code comes. ER, not my problem. Happens every day.

Then it’s all doctors available to the ER.

After that my pager’s buzzing and I spin on my heels, making my way to the elevator, down to the place I never go to unless I really have to.

It’s never pretty.

And today isn’t any different.

“Oh great! Pediatrics… we need a goddamned surgeon here, we got multiple…”

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