Goodbye to You (16 page)

When I become a neuropsychiatrist, I can search for better and earlier treatments for mood disorders like the ones haunting my family, and even help with autism treatments too.

I glance at Thea across the table and think I couldn’t ask for anyone better to be with me on this path.

I’m jumping way ahead of myself, but Da’s always said, “Ye’ll know when ye know.” And today I know.

Thea dips another chip in the spicy salsa and takes a sip of her enormous frozen margarita. A drop of sauce sticks to her lip, and I reach across to swipe it as she licks at it. Her tongue scalds my skin.

I jerk my hand back as the fire trails from my fingertip straight to my penis, which jumps in response. At least the table hides evidence of my excitement.

Thea startles at the contact but smiles as she dabs at her lip with the bright white cloth napkin.

“Did I get it?”

I lean in for a closer examination, wanting to be near her.

Her clear blue eyes gaze into mine, and I hope to find one message there:
Let’s get out of here so we can be alone.

Her expression is vague, though, and I wonder what she’s thinking when the waiter brings our entrées out.

The waiter hasn’t even set my sizzling plate of fajitas in front of me before Thea digs into her cheese enchilada. She discovers me watching her, and her eyes widen.

“Oh God, I’m sorry! How rude of me. I’m hungry since I didn’t eat lunch.”

“But you met Leesh at the hospital. . .”

“I did—but didn’t eat much.”

Which is unusual for her. She confessed in Florida she loves food and is not ashamed to eat a lot, on occasion.

She’d worried her love of food was catching up with her, and her “freshman fifteen” still lingered years later. What I see is a healthy, glowing woman with a wonderful body.

She should be proud.

Because I’m proud to be by her side.

From the way other guys stared at her when we walked in, any of them would take my place.

Not a chance.

I talk and talk. A sense of calm blankets me, and the tension of the past few weeks melts away in her soothing presence. I’m like a conversational superhero, making her smile and laugh at my stories about my road trip up I-95 with Fred.

His obsession with germs will make him a terrific surgeon, but it makes for a comically long drive on a highway littered with truck stops and unsanitary bathrooms.

The mariachi band is playing an upbeat tune as I pay the check, and we head out the door. I rest my palm on the small of her back as we walk to the door. She relaxes into my hand, and I’m thrilled she still enjoys my touch.

“Can we go dancing?” she asks out of the blue. Her eyes shine, and she bites her lip. “Do you dance?”

I rub the back of my neck and shake my head. “Oh no. My brother Liam is the one with the moves. I’ll break your toes.”

Her face falls, and I suck in my gut, her disappointment kicking me hard.

“I can slow dance though.” If dancing is holding on and swaying.

“Mmmmm, sounds nice.” Her crooked smile sneaks to her lips and my stomach flops. “Shay, I’m sorry I never called you back and lied about what I was doing earlier today. Since I left Key West, I’ve been . . . out of sorts. I never expected—”

“No apologies needed. I’m not sure what I expected would happen, with you home and me away at med school. We didn’t know they were one and the same. Now everything is perfect.”

Her smile fades. I want to put the smile back on her face, so I start up the car and head to a place we passed earlier.

“Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

“Oh, another Seamus Kelly surprise?”

“Or something.”

“Do I need to change? Most of your surprises involve a change of clothes, or should.”

We’re stopped at a light, so I assess her from head to toe. She looks amazing.

She’d be splendid naked, but we should take it slow, as much as it’s going to kill me.

“Nah, you’re fine,” I assure her, but think she might be ticked at me later when she’s bowling in a dress.

“Bowling? You expect me to bowl in a dress.” My gut was right on the wardrobe change idea. The guy behind the counter hands the shoes to Shay. “I am not putting my bare feet in those!”

“Ta-da!” He pulls something off a rack on the counter. An unopened pair of socks.

My protests fall on deaf ears. My skirt is below knee-length, which will cover everything even when I bend over, and I have socks.

Bowling it is.

He rubs his hands together, tosses the socks at me, and grabs our shoes from the glass-top counter.

“Let’s rock ‘n bowl!” Shay jokes, riffing on the alley’s theme night we’ve stumbled into. Big-screen televisions line the wall above the lanes, and videos play as music blasts from the speakers overhead, clashing with the echo of balls shattering pins.

“Lane twenty, lane twenty,” he mutters as we walk the blue and red carpeted lobby. “And here we are.”

I set my purse on the floor underneath the scoring table and type his name. He leans in, his shaving cream and soap distracting me. “Oh no, ladies first.”

“No way. Your idea, you go.”

He quirks his mouth like he’s considering his options, but gives in. “Fine, but next round, you’re first.”

I think he won’t want round two after I kick his ass in this one.

Two balls and eight pins later, he puffs out his chest and flashes his bright white smile.

Not for long.

I check the ball return, biting my lip and picking over the balls to give him the impression I’m clueless. I find the fuchsia seven-pound ball, approach the line, take a couple steps, close my eyes, and release.

The ball clatters against the pins, and I smile as Shay whoops behind me. “What the . . . a strike? Lucky.”

“No luck, Seamus.” I grin mischievously when he flinches at the sound of his full name from my lips. “This girl’s got mad ball skills.”

His eyes darken as he lowers his head closer. “Yes you do.”

I slap his hard chest and push away. “Bowling balls, sicko.”

“It’s easy to get a rise out of you,” he chides.

I move back closer, taking his words as a dare. In the darkened bowling alley at nine o’clock at night, no one is paying attention to us, so I wrap my arms around his slim waist and wiggle against him.

“I love getting a rise out of you too.” I slap his toned ass harder than intended, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Until he retrieves his ball from the return and walks stiffly to the line, his arms shielding the front of his pants.

Ha. Gotcha.

He stumbles and knocks over four pins on the first throw. A gutter ball on the second.

He’s still trying to hide his erection as he slides into his seat.

“You play dirty, McBride,” he leans in and whispers.

I feign indignation, a gasp of shock escaping my rounded lips. “I would never . . .”

His wet tongue caresses the sensitive shell of my ear. I gasp when a jolt of electricity rushes through me.

“Me either.” His voice rumbles in my ear.

Although the impact his actions have on me is less obvious, my thoughts are scattered, my aim off-kilter. I still drop seven pins, though, and I’m confident I’ll win.

He steps to the line for his next turn, takes a deep breath, pulls his impressive shoulders back, and throws the ball.

Nine down.

I whistle, but he ignores me.

He throws again, then throws his arms in the air.

“Spare, baby!” He turns around, pointing his fingers at me. “How ya like that?”

I laugh and hold my hand in his face. “Please. I got this.”

And I do. I roll another strike and feel bad as the corners of his full lips fall. I rub his shoulders in consolation. “I like you fine, baby, but I’m still gonna beat you.”

I hold the door open as we exit the bowling alley, leaving behind the odor of stale feet and fresh popcorn as we walk into the cool night air.

I hang my head in defeat, pride in my pocket.

My heart in her hands.

She’s everything I want.

Funny.

She shoots me a sideways glance that says, “Told ya so.”

Dang, she can make me laugh.

Competitive. She likes a challenge.

But not quite a good sport, considering the way she rubbed my face in her “mad ball skills.”

Gorgeous. Her hair and those eyes and her high, round breasts.

I can’t stop thinking about putting my hands on her.

She’s honest too.

Aside from the white lie about her job interview today, I don’t think she’s said an untruthful word.

Which makes me smile even bigger, thinking about what she said when we parted ways in Florida.

I think I . . .

Love you.

The first day together outside of vacation-land confirmed I’m head-over-flipping-heels for this girl. I’m confident she reciprocates.

I won’t tell her yet, in case she’s still not all in. You can bet I’ll do everything in my power to convince her, or die trying.

Which might happen, given everything else I’ve got going on.