Can't Always Get What You Want (23 page)

I clear my throat. “I apologize for the, umm, underwear. They’re not exactly what I would have wanted you to see me in, the first time.”

He shakes his head, and lets his eyes travel down my body. “I like what I see.”

“Well, you must really be the man for me.” I laugh. “You can accept me, warts and all.”

“I don’t know about warts.”

“A figure of speech,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

“Hopefully.”

He reaches into the freezer and grabs a bag of Starbucks coffee grounds.

“You buy Starbucks? What about Tim Hortons?” I say. “And why is it in the freezer?”

“I bought it a while ago, since I thought you’d like it. And, I store it in the freezer so the grounds stay fresh.”

He offers me the ice-cold bag of coffee. I stifle a laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing. It just sounds like something Martha Stewart would do.”

He drops his head to the side.

“Ha. Actually, the cashier who sold me the coffee suggested it.”

“Did this cashier happen to be female?”

“Umm, yes. Why would that matter?”

I roll my eyes. Typical. I’ve been buying Starbucks coffee for years, and I’ve never been told that tidbit. Mr. Hot and Gorgeous here goes in there once and is given all their beverage guru secrets. I swear, there seems to be a different set of manners reserved for beautiful people.

We carry our coffees to the living room and settle onto the couch. Leaning my head back, I turn toward him and trace the contours of his face with my eyes. He leans his head back against the couch as well, imitating my move, and smiles at me.

I love you
, my thoughts instantly say.

“Are you still going to work today?” he asks.

“Argh! I completely forgot about that! I guess I’d better go home and get ready” I say, my voice deflated.

“You’re still going?”

“Well, yes.”

“Do you want to? After what happened last night?”

No. Not at all. I’m nauseous just thinking about it.

“It’s not about what I want,” I explain. “It’s about being responsible, and showing up for work when I’m supposed to. And anyway, they’re always so short-staffed that I’d feel bad about not going.”

“Couldn’t you use a sick day?”

“Suppose I could, but that wouldn’t be very honest.”

He sighs in frustration.

“I don’t think you should go to work tonight. You had a really traumatic evening, and I think you’re entitled to some time off.

“Would you stay home for me?” Brett asks, his eyes pleading.

“I guess so,” I say.

Using Brett’s phone, I call my unit manager and explain that I won’t be coming in today. She’d heard about the “unfortunate incident” of last night, and was very understanding. Which was a first. It’s usually easier to pull teeth than to get time off.

Thankfully, it was the last shift I have to work for a few days, so I only needed to ask for the one shift.

Turning the phone off, I sag back into the couch.

“You good?” Brett asks.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about all the things I’ll miss this weekend,” I reply happily. “Wiping butts, short staffing, patients hitting me. Dealing with the charming Dr. St. Luke.”

Brett raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“You know. The usual,” I say.

Brett turns his torso toward me.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re taking the day off; I think you need it. But, you seem really negative about work. What’s that all about?”

“I was just teasing.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I wasn’t being negative, just accurate. Nursing is a difficult job.”

He folds his arms. “Why did you choose it then?”

Sunken pale green eyes flash through my memory.

“What’s it to you?” I snap. “Sam made it sound like a good career choice, and I wanted to do something meaningful with my life. End of story. Besides, what’s wrong with admitting that it’s not all roses? I’m sure you have days where you’d rather do anything than go to work.”

“Of course. Everyone does. But, I sometimes worry about you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you never sound happy about it. You’ve brought up this St. Luke guy a few times now. Why don’t you confront him?”

“Oh yeah, because that would go over so well,” I say.

“Why not? Being assertive is a good thing. You don’t need to be rude or be a dick about it, but you also don’t have to take crap from people.”

“It’s easy for you,” I reply. “You’re the boss at work. You don’t have to impress anyone, and you’re already so confident and easygoing that it just comes naturally. Anytime I try to stand up for myself, it feels forced.”

“You’re doing fine right now,” he mutters.

Irritation flashes through me.

“And,” he continues, “it is not always easy for me. I have to be on top of my crew all the time. Watching for slackers, tactfully disagreeing with people when they have crap ideas, negotiating wages and contracts, firing people who don’t do good work. I have to be assertive, and it’s not always easy.”

“Aren’t you being negative about your job right now too?”

“Not at all. I love my job, and if something comes up that I don’t like, I handle it. I’m in control. And at the end of the day, I love what I do. Don’t you feel that way?”

I laugh nervously. “I don’t know. Sometimes, maybe.”

“Maybe you can get a new job?” he offers.

“And do what, exactly? I’ve made my bed. I have to lie in it.”

“You act like it’s a life sentence. Who says you couldn’t do something totally different? You’re young; you can make a new start.”

“No, I can’t,” I nearly yell. “I’m up to my ears in debt: a student loan, a mortgage, bills. I’m lucky to have a job that pays me well. I don’t have the freedom to go back to school, or travel, or anything else I’d like to do right now,” I say. “I just need to make the best of it.”

“So make the best of it!” he says. “Stand up to this doctor when he’s being an asshole. And, if you still hate it, look for another job. No one is saying that you need to work there specifically.”

Angling himself closer to me, he cups my chin and turns my head toward him. He notices the few stray tears trickling down my cheeks.

“Soph…” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine,” I say.

Which is girl code for,
“No, it’s NOT fine, and I expect you to treat me like a princess today and hand-feed me chocolates.”

“It’s your life,” he says. “You might as well do something that you love, rather than just putting in time.”

Aaron’s pained face is smiling up at me from his bed.

“Okay,” I say to Brett, trying to head off a new crop of tears. “I’ll think about it.”

A total lie, of course.

I need to make this job work for me.

“Maybe I’m just bored,” I say. “Maybe I should take a course or something. Shake things up a bit.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. The hospital offers a few courses on tropical diseases and vaccination that sound interesting.”

I turn away from him and stare into my coffee cup. It’s stone cold.

Brett playfully bumps his shoulder against mine.

“Are we good?” he says.

“Yes, we’re good,” I respond.

His whole body seems to relax. Wow. I hadn’t realized how tense he was just now.

Did we just have our first argument? And we came out unscathed? I think we deserve a medal or something.

“Okay. On a positive note, we both have this sunny Saturday off. What should we do?” Brett asks.

Flicking my eyes to his bare chest, I envision myself licking every square inch of him.

“Oh, I can think of a few things we could do,” I say absently.

Wait a minute! I still haven’t established what went on last night.

Maybe I
can
bang his brains out!

“So,” I begin, “my memories of last night are a bit fuzzy.”

“I bet. You killed that bottle of wine before we went to bed.”

“I figured.”

Okay. I need to ask him if we had sex. Plain and simple.

This will be easy.

“So, what exactly…”

Oh goodness…I can’t say it.

What if we did do it? Will me not remembering damage his ego? I mean, the guy hasn’t had sex in two years, finally does it with me, and I can’t remember? That’s going to kill him!

Aha! I’ve got it!

“What did
you
think of last night?”

Take that. Throw the ball in his court.

“I thought it was fun,” he says simply.

Well, that clever plan backfired.

Brett sits up and pulls me onto his lap.

Oh my…I can feel his, umm, enthusiasm.

His breath trails along my jaw. His lips reach my ear. I feel his tongue dart out on certain words.

“I would say we pushed our limits,” he replies, “but we didn’t go too far.”

I lean toward him. “Care to refresh my memory?”

He lets out a genuine, hearty laugh, and gently pushes my lips away from his.

“Not right now, with you looking like that. I managed to control myself last night, since you drank about six glasses of wine and passed out not long after we went to bed.”

“Not into banging drunk chicks, eh?”

“Not so much,” he says. “But now, on the other hand. It’s taking all of the self-control I have left to not ravish you right here, right now.”

“Do it!” I challenge happily.

He responds with a frustrated growling sound, which pleases me immensely. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only sexually frustrated person here.

“Let’s go out. I can’t spend another minute here alone with you and keep it together.”

—

After I’ve gone home, showered, and changed into fresh clothes, we decide to run a few errands. Samira and Narayan have agreed to meet us for supper tonight, but we’ve got a few hours to kill between now and then.

“Do you mind stopping at the hardware store?” Brett asks. “I have to pick up a few things.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” I reply.

This should be interesting. I imagine him skipping through the aisles of wood trim and power tools, like a kid in a candy store.

Unfortunately, this kid
loves
his candy store. We’ve been standing in one aisle for about fifteen minutes, as Brett hems and haws over the merits of a particular piece of molding.

I’m bored to tears.

“Can I have the truck keys? I’ll just wait for you outside.”

Brett, distracted by the myriad of molding choices, absentmindedly hands me his truck keys, and I bolt.

—

We’re seated on the patio at a local steak house, waiting for Samira and Narayan to join us.

“There they are!” Brett says. Narayan and Samira approach the table, looking happy and relaxed. Seems odd. I thought everyone was supposed to be on the verge of a mental breakdown before a wedding. And here they are, looking like a couple of sleek, skinny models walking off the street for a steak dinner.

That is, if models ate steak.

Nar and Sam have been blessed with the craziest metabolisms. They can both eat like horses, and stay fit.

Bastards.

We order our food and catch up on one another’s lives.

“How are the wedding plans coming?” I ask.

“Really good. We only have a few details left. Speaking of which, can you go sari shopping next week? You need to pick out a color for the wedding.”

“You’re not picking a single color for the bridesmaids to wear?”

“Nope, just wear what you like best. It will look better if there’s more color anyway.”

I didn’t think it was possible to love Sam more, but I certainly do now. I would have hated it if she stuck me in some horrid color, like bright orange or lime green.

Samira leans toward me. “I heard about what happened,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”

My stomach flips over. “Not yet. But I will be.”

The table goes quiet for a minute.

“So,” Narayan begins, looking cheeky, “how is Sophie’s birthday present coming along?”

My fork slips and clangs loudly on my plate.

It isn’t the first time I’ve heard those exact words.

Brett clenches his jaw and shoots Narayan a meaningful look. I pretend not to notice, but the wheels in my head have started turning.

What does he have planned for my birthday?

I try to keep my head in the moment, I honestly do. But my heart keeps wandering back into the past.

Chapter 19

We Were Falling in Love

October 25, 2008

“Where are we going?” I ask. Other than the fact that we’re driving north of the city, I have no idea where we are.

“Ah, but that would spoil the surprise,” Aaron says, a secret smile brightening his face.

I smile back, and turn my attention to the stunning view. It’s nearly the end of October, and today is my birthday. I’m turning nineteen. It makes me feel a bit wistful, thinking that this is my last “teen” year.

It’s an unusually warm evening for this time of year. The trees are a riot of color. Rolling down my window, I take a deep breath of the air outside, inhaling the sweet scent of freshly fallen leaves.

The whole landscape and the interior of the car are bathed in the perfect glow of a slowly setting sun. I feel like I’m in a real-life painting. Though, charming as my surroundings may be, nothing compares to Aaron. He always looks gorgeous, but this…Nothing compares with this.

—

We drive for what feels like forever, but in reality is probably only about an hour or two. The highway is nowhere in sight; we’ve been twisting and turning on backcountry roads for about twenty minutes.

Aaron eventually parks on a quiet gravel road. I follow him along a dirt path that leads toward the tree line.

“You’re taking me for a walk? In the woods?”

“Something like that,” he says, grinning. He digs something out of his back pocket. “Here. Put this on.”

It’s a blindfold.

“It’s nothing bad,” he swears.

Better not be. If I enter the woods and discover some sort of weird, freaky cult group, or a pig’s head on a stake, or whatever, I’m going to be really pissed.

Note to self: have really got to stop reading
Lord of the Flies
.