Rescue Breathing (8 page)

A burst of water hits the soft flesh
between my legs and I jump. Whoa, that felt...good. I lift the head
of the wand again and let the pulsing water pass over the “landing
strip” of curls between my thighs. An errant but powerful shot of
water slips between the lips of my sex and hits the tiny nub of
nerves there dead-on, and I yelp. Oh my God, that felt
really
good.

I look around as if someone might be
watching.
Who do I think
would be watching? I lean back against the wall of the shower and
let the water pulse against my clit again, this time with more
consistency and at a closer proximity so it almost feels like tiny
fists pummeling it head-on. My head falls back slightly and my eyes
close, and I am immediately greeted with a vision of Owen.
Sweet baby
Jesus
.

With my eyes still closed, I start to
imagine him walking into the shower with me.
He is on his knees and his face is between
my thighs. His tongue is powerful, insistent, lapping at me,
nibbling at me. Suddenly, I feel a familiar pull in my groin, heat
flaring up my body from my toes to my brain. I come, my knees
shaking, my head hitting the marble wall of the shower with a
gentle thud.

“
Oh my God...” I groan. As my orgasm starts
to come down, my hand drops the wand to the floor and it skitters
away due to the force of the spray. I jump down and grab it,
returning it to its cradle. That was unexpected but...yum. I shake
my head and sigh, tilting my head under the water.

As I wash my hair and simultaneously come
down from my orgasm, I start to think more about my encounter with
Owen. He really is a nice guy. Funny, smart, sexy. Kind of the full
package. It's too bad he has no interest in a relationship. And
maybe even sadder that I want one. I'm kind of surprised I'm even
thinking that way, given my relationship history.

As I start to wash my body, my mind
travels back to the last time I saw Jay.
Despite the hot water, I shiver. I need to figure
out a way to get him out of my soul, to release the hold these
memories have on me so I can move on. As a therapist, I know what I
would tell a stranger about this and how I would help them through
it. I would easily tell them to work on creating new memories.
Focus on the future. Use positive self-talk to change your negative
thinking. Turning the couch around and having me sit in it,
however, is far more difficult. I want nothing more than to release
myself from his grip, knowing full well that he isn't suffering the
way I am. Friends who knew us both have told me that he slipped
right back into his old married life as if nothing happened. Not
surprising.

I turn off the water, promising myself
that, even if it results in nothing, I
'm going to enjoy my long weekend in Seattle and
if Owen is part of that equation, well, so be it.

I wrap myself in a hotel robe and dry off
as I head into the bedroom. I pull out a pair of jeans and a shirt.
Casual but functional. I grab my keycard and head to the restaurant
off the lobby. I can't wait to grab a bite and fall into bed for
some well-deserved sleep.

* * *

I wake up the next morning feeling cozy in
my bed.
However, I need
to get up and attend the presenter's brunch and say hi to some
colleagues. It's being held in a great room off the lobby and the
pleasant aroma of breakfast fills the air, tantalizing my stomach.
I'm starving. As I walk in, I'm greeted by a woman I have seen
before at these conferences. She is a psychologist studying
servicemen too, but she's looking at their employment issues, and
we have often connected to discuss our findings and help each other
out.

After a quick hello with her, I make my
way to the buffet.
I
feel a tap on my shoulder as I put scrambled eggs on my plate. I
turn to see who has noticed me, a smile already plastered on my
face. Oh Jesus. It's Rob. Clingy McClingerton at three o'clock.
Shit. "Oh hey, Rob. Good to see you. I didn't know you would be
here this weekend."

He runs his finger up my arm and I flinch
away. Geez, he's so creepy. Don't touch!

"Yeah, well, I didn
't know you were going to be here either.
What a nice surprise. You want to eat together?"

I quickly scramble to think of something,
anything, to keep me from eating with him. I look down at my folder
of notes I brought down, which is holding my plate steady.
"Actually I wanted to review my notes this morning so I could use
the time alone, but I'm sure I'll see you around."

He makes a face and leans forward. "Maybe
I'll see you at the dinner tonight and then we can go back to my
room? For a nightcap?"

Or for horrifyingly awful
sex?
I think to myself.
"Gosh, Rob, I'm sorry. I'm meeting my friend Charley for drinks and
dinner tonight, so I won't be attending." I rush to put some fruit
on my plate and grab an orange juice. I hurriedly turn and give him
a smile. "I'm sure I'll see you around though. Bye." I hastily make
my way to my table, my back to the buffet.

An hour later, I have gone through all my
notes. I didn't really need to go through them, but it makes me
feel better that I have the information down so well, and quite
frankly, it kept Creepy Rob away.

It blows my mind sometimes that I'm in the
position to be speaking to my colleagues about my research. A year
ago, I never would have thought this was possible. Studying
servicemen is something that's been on my mind since childhood. My
father was a police officer who witnessed some horrifying things in
his years on the force. I saw the toll it took on him, and I also
saw how he avoided getting any kind of help or support for the
feelings and nightmares that haunted him. It is because of my love
for my dad and my desire to help him that I chose this as my thesis
topic and subsequently my most recent research.

Luckily I was able to find someone in my
department who was willing to endorse me and help me with
it.
Tim, my mentor at
the university, was unable to join me for this conference, but he
has emailed me lots of supportive data and, even more important,
lots of encouraging words. I'm lucky to work with someone who
respects and supports me so much.

I decide that it's time to go upstairs and
take a nap before my talk. Not to mention, I'm meeting Charley
tonight and that will likely result in late hours being kept. I
clear my plate, grab my paperwork, and head for the
elevator.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Owen

“
So then… So then… So then...” I laugh out
loud, trying to continue my story amid the raucous laughter from
the group of Travis's friends that have joined us for drinks.
“After Travis has the chick back in our room, he sees that I'm in
there fucking some hot piece of ass that I met earlier that night.
I turn my head as I'm pounding this girl,” I say, punching my fist
into my hand, “and Travis just shrugs his shoulders and starts
stripping off his clothes. At first I'm thinking, 'What the fuck is
Travis doing? Joining in?' And then the chick Travis brought back
starts taking off her clothes. And now I'm thinking, 'Holy shit!
This is going to be an awesome night!' right?” I take a long pull
of my beer and continue the story. “But no. Travis's chick
recognizes the girl that's under me and calls her
by
name
. Turns out the
girls were sisters. Twin sisters. Travis's girl gets pissed off,
dresses, and leaves. So there's Travis, naked, with a raging boner
and his guaranteed pussy just left.”

Travis's friends all groan mockingly while
Travis stands there looking at me, not embarrassed one bit. “Finish
the story, Owen. Tell them what happened after that,” he says
before polishing off his beer.

“
The girl I'm fucking beckons Travis over.
I flip the chick onto all fours and start doing her from behind
while Travis proceeds to ram his cock down her throat. Don't worry.
She wasn't gagging or anything. Travis isn't that big,” I say with
a loud laugh and throw Travis a quick wink.

“
Fuck you, Maxwell.” Travis laughs, showing
me his middle finger. “That was over spring break during our junior
year of college. Best trip we took together,” he says with a big
smile.

“
Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” Marc waves
his hands. “What about our trip to Costa Rica after O broke up with
Molly? Remember the sex club? That, my friends…
That
was an epic trip.”

I swipe my hand down my face and then run
my fingers through my already tousled hair. Travis's friends all
look at each other. They look like rabid dogs that haven't been fed
in weeks. They're hanging on every word.

“
Speaking of sex clubs… What's the best
strip club in Seattle?” I ask, trying to keep the mood light but
steer clear of the details of the Costa Rica trip. Travis works
with most of these people. He needs to maintain
some
boundaries.

“
Little Darlings is good,
” one of the guys in the group
offers.

“
No,” I say immediately. “The name alone
makes me feel like a dirty bastard. Next,”
I command.

“
Dreamgirls is more like a gentleman's
club,” another guy calls out.

“
Agreed,” Marc says. “We'll go there.” And
again, just like that, things are decided.

“
Strip club, huh? Sounds like fun,” a very
attractive blonde says, interrupting our conversation. She pushes
her way through the middle of the group of men on her way to the
bar and we all stare as she flags down the bartender to order a
glass of red wine. She's wearing a sleeveless, very short, very
tight, very low-cut navy dress that leaves little to the
imagination. Her body is killer. Her legs are long, lean, and tan,
and the muscle definition in her arms is impressive. She has to be
a trainer or a trophy wife, because no one spends that much time in
the gym and still leads a normal life—not even me. Although the
dress is provocative, she pulls it off without looking like a
complete whore—just a little whorish. She wore the dress to get
attention, and that's just what she's getting from our group of
men.

As the blonde infiltrator waits for her
drink order, she turns around, placing both elbows on the bar. The
action juts out her ample breasts.
Those things can't be real, right? I mean,
you can't have such huge tits and still be that perky. Maybe if I
just rubbed against her...

The blonde smiles, knowing that the men
are now watching her—or more specifically, her cleavage. “Whatcha
celebrating, boys?” she asks, tucking a strand of her long blonde
hair behind her ear and seductively licking her bottom
lip.

I smile and slam my hand on Travis's
shoulder, gripping it tight. “My buddy here is getting married.
We're here mourning the loss of his singlehood,” I explain, lifting
my glass. The rest of the guys raise their glasses too and we all
take a drink.

“
Trav, another drink?” I ask.

“
Keep
'
em coming,
Owen,
” Travis answers,
smiling back at me.

I'll never admit it, but I'm genuinely
happy for Travis. He had a tough childhood, spending a lot of time
at my house while we were young and even more so when we got into
high school. Hell, he had his own room at my parents' house since
he was over so often. Travis's mom had a gambling problem mixed
with an alcohol addiction, and his dad was a workaholic trying to
make up for his wife's “problems.” My parents stepped in when his
parents failed, encouraging him in his academics, and since we
played football together, they were there for the games
too.

Travis came into his own when he went to
the University of Washington and I to UCLA, both of us on football
scholarships. We always stayed in regular contact through school,
talking about everything from our asshole roommates to
relationships to financial decisions. When my dad was diagnosed
with cancer, he was the first person I called. And when Dad died a
few short months later, Travis was at my door within forty-eight
hours.

When I met his bride-to-be, Lucy, for the
first time, I knew she was different because Travis was different.
She had changed him for the better and could handle his ornery ass.
She's a keeper and Travis is damn lucky to have found
her.

I lean around our female party crasher and
grab our drinks from the bar. The woman looks up to me, her face
close to my chest.
Did she just smell me?

“
So, Owen
”—she calls me by my name—“don't break my heart
and tell me you're married. Tell me you're up for a little…fun,”
she asks boldly as she looks up at me through her
eyelashes.

I smile warmly at her and grab my two
fresh beers along with the maneater's wine, handing her glass to
her. “I am not married,” I reply matter-of-factly. “And since you
know my name, what's yours?” I squeeze my hand between us for a
formal introduction.

“
Monica. And it is very nice to meet you,
Owen,” she says, taking my hand and wrapping her fingers around
mine. Monica lifts her glass in a toast. “To a memorable
evening.”