Wrong (6 page)

A
re
you going home with him?

I
'm so floored
, I'm not even sure how to respond.

M
aybe I went
home with him last night. Maybe we're just refueling in the midst of a twenty-four-hour fuck fest, Dr. Miller.

B
e careful
, Miss Tisdale.

F
or crying out loud
! Why is he texting me? He's on a date! I'm on a date! We are not on the same date! I hit the lock button on my phone and place it face down on the table.

At the next table, Luke's phone rings. He rises from the table and I hear him tell the caller, "This is Dr. Miller," as he walks toward the front of the restaurant. The redhead doesn't seem fazed in the least.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom before the food gets here, babe." Mike walks back towards the hostess stand and disappears from view a moment before Brandee is back with a fresh glass of wine and our meals.

"Oh, thank you," I frown at the wine. "I didn't order another glass though."

"Your boyfriend did." Brandee smiles warmly at me. She's obviously smitten with Mike, but then, most women are.

I look at the wine and shrug. Oh, well, what the hell. I take a gulp and stare at my food. It would be rude to start without him.

I use the time to check out the redhead again. Their table has been cleared and she's patiently scrolling through her phone waiting for Luke to return.

I take another sip. Mike switched to soda when we sat down. He's so considerate, knowing he's driving and stopping at one drink. He comes across like a bit of a player on campus, but he's a good guy.

Luke's back. He doesn't sit down, just stops at the table, leaning down to say something to his date before straightening and pulling cash from his wallet to toss on the table.

He pulls her chair back and places a hand on her back, guiding her to the front, not even glancing at me as they walk out. What the ever-loving fuck?

He stares at me all night, texts me while on a date with another woman, then walks out of here without a backward glance?
Sophie, get a grip. You're about to walk out of here with Mike, who cares what Dr. Miller does or doesn’t do?
What is his deal though? I don't know what to make of him, other than he's a hot doctor who sends a lot of mixed messages.

I take another gulp of wine and tuck my hair behind my ear. I cross and uncross my legs. I'm so aware of my bare pussy. I feel as though half the blood in my body is pulsing right there. I'm achy. I clench, testing the muscles. My whole body feels warm and relaxed.
Let's get this show on the road, Mike.
I shift in my seat again, enjoying the pressure between my thighs as I tighten my crossed legs.

I feel someone move into my personal space and I turn my head, expecting to see Mike leaning in to sneak a kiss. The smile falls off my face as I take in Luke leaning over me.

"Your date had to leave. Get up. I'm driving you home."

My heart starts to pound and my mind races. What is happening? Where did Mike go? Why is Luke involved? Is Mike okay? Did I just get stood up in the middle of a date?

I blink at Luke. I turn back to the table set before me. Our untouched meals sit, no longer steaming, still waiting to be eaten. My eyes rest on my half-finished wine glass. No use wasting that, at least. I pick up the glass and knock it back in one long swallow. Keeping it classy in front of Luke has become my specialty.

He pulls out his wallet and leaves a stack of bills on the table before pulling my chair back. I look up and catch a surprised look on the waitress' face. My cheeks redden in embarrassment. I walked in with one man and I'm walking out with another, who just paid the bill for a meal I never even got to eat. I can't comprehend what’s happening right now but I'm more than happy to get out of here and figure it out without an audience.

I slide my phone off the table as I stand, sneaking a glance around. The waitress has busied herself with a table. No one is looking at me, actually. Except a chubby blonde baby in the corner. She's definitely staring at me. Nosy baby.

Luke already has my jacket in his hands. I slide my purse over a shoulder and start walking towards the front. My cell is still clutched in my hand. I flick it alive as I walk and glance at the screen. Maybe Mike tried to reach me with some kind of explanation, but the screen is blank. No new alerts. Do I have a signal? Yes. I open the last text conversation between Mike and I. Maybe there's a text I missed? No.
I'm in the lobby,
was the last message he sent me, ninety minutes ago.

I weave my way through the restaurant to the door, knowing Luke is right behind me. There's a mass of people standing around the front waiting on tables. I glance around, still expecting to see Mike, asking me why I'm leaving.

Maybe he's outside smoking. He doesn't smoke. But it would still make more sense than him just disappearing. I'm racking my brain trying to make sense of this. We were having a good time. The evening was going well. I was a sure thing, dammit! He knew I was going home with him.

I know he didn't chicken out. He didn't turn gay and run out of here. It's not like that could possibly happen to me twice.

We arrive at the restaurant door and Luke reaches around me to open it. His shirt sleeves are pushed up to the elbow and I notice the muscles in his forearm as he pulls the door back, ushering me through. My mind flashes to an hour ago when Mike held the same door open for me. When did this night go so terribly wrong?

The cool air outside awakens me from my shocked stupor. The sidewalk is busy. I take a step out of the way, stopping in front of the window display of the closed shop next door. I shiver and start to wrap my arms around myself to ward off the evening chill. Luke stops directly in front of me and holds up the right sleeve of my jacket, silently instructing me to push my arm through before repeating the gesture with my left.

He pulls the jacket over my shoulders and tugs it closed. The action makes me feel small, like a child. He is standing so close I can make out the tiny fibers of his gray sweater and the scent of his aftershave. He cups my jaw and tilts my head back to meet his gaze.

"You are never seeing that asshole again. Do you understand me, Sophie?"

M
y rage is instantaneous
. I place both hands on Luke's chest and shove, only succeeding in dislodging his hand from my face. He doesn't move an inch.

"You're the reason my date disappeared?" I seethe. "What gives you the right?" My heart is beating so fast, my shock and anger an adrenaline rush. Luke is silent, staring at me like I'm a toddler having a tantrum over a denied toy.

Oh, God. I cringe. "I do not have a daddy fetish, you sick fuck!" I hiss at him.

Luke rubs a hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus," before wrapping his hand around my upper arm and physically hauling me towards the street.

He opens the passenger side door of a sleek black sports car parked on the street and has me seated inside before I can object. The door slams shut with barely a sound and I'm surrounded in luxury leather and trim.

Luke slides in next to me, starting the engine and fastening his seatbelt in one smooth movement before glancing at me. "I'll assume since you no longer need a booster seat you can fasten yourself." His eyes flick to my unfastened seatbelt.

Asshole. I yank the seatbelt with more vigor than necessary and jam it into the buckle. Luke merges the car onto Chestnut heading east. We drive in silence before taking a right onto 38
^th
Street.

"You live on campus, correct?" he asks, breaking the silence.

He really is taking me home. This isn't some alpha-male power play that ends up with me in his bed.

"I was going to sleep with him," I say quietly, not answering his question. "I have your stupid condoms in my purse." I glance at him. Luke's silent, his eyes on the road. I turn my head away and watch the landscape slide past. "It's my choice who I sleep with, Dr. Miller. I'm not sure why you even gave me a bagful of condoms if you're just going to cockblock me from using them."

"Don't call me Dr. Miller."

That's his response? I turn back to look at him. "What did you say to my date,
Luke?"

Luke glances at me before refocusing on the road. "I told him I’d drive you home.”

"Why?" I'm confused. “I don’t understand.”

Luke glances at me briefly. "It's not important. He's an asshole, Sophie. You deserve better."

"Why?” I demand.

We're nearing campus now and the speed limit drops. The interior of the car is quiet, the ride smooth.

"He was outside on the phone telling his buddy that if he couldn’t talk you into making a sex tape tonight he had another girl lined up for later.”

"Oh." I need to process that.

"Are you okay?" We're at a stoplight. He's looking at me. The tiny lines around his eyes are creased in concern. I stare back for a second before I erupt, louder than necessary in the silent car.

"I can't believe I waxed for that jerk!"

Luke looks taken aback as the car behind us honks. The light is green.

"I didn't even do it myself! Because apparently waxing yourself is just not done. Did you know that, Luke? I paid someone to give me a Brazilian wax. Do you know how embarrassing that is? To be spread naked on a table in front of a complete stranger? Do you? Wait." I throw my hands up in surrender. "Of course you do. You're a gynecologist. You see naked women in embarrassing positions all day long."

I slump in the passenger seat, placing my elbow on the window sill and resting my head on my hand. "Do all women get turned on when you examine them, Luke?" I don't wait for a reply. "Probably not. Even though you're crazy hot and have no right being a gyno, I bet normal women don't get wet when you walk into the room. I bet they don't go home and get themselves off imagining it's your hand instead of their own." He clears his throat, but I'm on a roll. "There's something wrong with me, Luke. I dated a gay guy for two years and now I have a gynecologist fetish." I give up propping my head up and just lean against the window.

"And I'm a shitty judge of character. I almost gave my virginity to an asshole who was going to record it." I shudder. "Eww." I sit up and twist in my seat towards him. "Do you want it, Luke? Because you can have it." I slide a hand up his thigh until I hit a very noticeable bulge. Hmm, I think someone does want me.

My hand is promptly removed and set back in my lap. Or not.

"Exactly how much have you had to drink tonight, Sophie?"

I cross my arms across my chest, rejected. It's not that far from the restaurants on Chestnut to campus. Luke's been circling the same block while I babbled. "I had a few glasses of wine, but I haven't eaten," I respond defensively. "Someone broke up my date before I had the chance."

"Which building do you live in?" Luke asks, turning right on Sansom Street as he loops the block again.

"I live in Jacobsen. Get back to 38th and then take a left on Spruce Street." I sigh, defeated. "Wait! I can't go back to my room! I told my roommate I wasn't coming back tonight. And Everly's in New York." I start to cry and I feel even more stupid than I did before. Tonight has been a storm of expectations, adrenaline and disappointment. I'm overwhelmed.
It's fine,
I tell myself.
Everything will be fine.
I can have Luke drop me off at the library. I'll find something to read until closing and then text Jeannie. I can sleep in the dorm lobby if I need to.

I'm wiping the tears off my face when I realize we've passed Jacobsen and are heading toward the river, away from campus. "Where are we going?" I ask.

"Home."

Home? His home? I glance at him, confused.

"I'll take you to my place until you can reach your roommate." He glances over at me. "Okay?"

"Yeah. That's fine." I'm silent for a minute. "Thank you." I relax into the seat. The digital clock on the dashboard reads 7:32 pm. I'm tired. A lot has happened in the last two hours. I'm a little buzzed from the wine too, if I'm being honest.

I have no idea where Luke lives, but we've crossed the river and now we're on 18th Street headed towards Rittenhouse Square. I want to ask, but I don't want to say anything to make him second-guess his decision.

"The redhead won't be mad?" Oops.
Real smooth, Sophie.
I chance a quick glance at him and see him smirk.

"No. She won't mind."

"She's not your girlfriend then?"
Shut up, Sophie! Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"No, Sophie, she's not."

"Oh." I really do shut up then. So she's not his girlfriend, but he still rejected me.

W
e pass
Rittenhouse Square Park on our left and then immediately turn into the parking garage of a high-rise. Luke pulls the car into a numbered space and I hop out as soon as the car is in park. I follow him into an elevator and watch him push the top button for the penthouse. He ignores me, pulling a phone from his pocket and flicking the screen with his thumb. I use the time to observe him. He's wearing gray slacks with a gray sweater. The sweater sleeves are still pushed up to his elbows. Polished black shoes and a chunky watch on his left wrist complete the ensemble.

He glances up and notices me eyeing him. I look away, embarrassed at being so obvious. Thirty-three floors in this building. The doors open onto a marble landing. I'm silent as Luke unlocks the door and ushers me inside. I follow him down a hallway covered in wide-plank dark hardwood. There's a large round entryway that appears to be the center of the condo. The space has one of those round tables in the middle complete with a vase of fresh flowers in the center. I can see a dining table straight ahead and hallways off the circular space to the left and right. Luke turns left and then right into the kitchen.

"Sit."

He doesn't indicate where, so I choose a seat at the island versus the table in front of the windows on the far side of the room. I glance around as he opens and closes cabinet doors. High-end stainless-steel appliances, professionally distressed white cabinets and Carrara marble countertops. It's a gorgeous kitchen. He can't possibly use it. A fact he confirms when he turns to me and asks if I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or Italian takeout from the place downstairs.

"Do you have milk?" I ask.

He does that little smirk-smile of his and nods. "I do."

"Peanut butter and jelly then," I say, getting up from my seat.

"Stay." He nods to my seat. "I've got it." He sets a tall glass of cold milk in front of me and slaps two slices of bread on the counter before slathering one side with peanut butter and the other with jelly. I watch him work, intrigued. From the little I've seen of this place, it's enormous. Does he live here alone? Do doctors make this kind of money? I don't think so.

"Do you own this place?"

"I do." He lifts an eyebrow.

"It seems really large for just you." I glance around. "And expensive."

He shrugs. "The top floor came with this much space. And I like to be on top"—he places my sandwich on a plate and slides it over to me—"Sophie."

Okay. That was a definite sexual innuendo. This guy is all over the place, or a tease.

His phone rings and he glances at it before answering with a terse, "Dr. Miller."

I take a bite and listen to his end of the conversation.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes." He finishes the call and places the cell back in his pocket. "I have to run to the hospital and check on a patient. Make yourself at home. There's a television in the family room." He points to a door on the left. "I should be back in a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours?" I ask, surprised. "Don't babies take longer than that?"

"I don't normally deliver the babies, Sophie." He walks around the granite island and pauses in front of me. "I hate to burst your gynecologist fetish bubble, but I'm a reproductive endocrinologist." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and his fingers caress the edge.

I try not to react. Because I want to. I want to lean in and kiss his palm. I want to beg him to do so much more.

"My job is to get the patient pregnant, then I hand them off to an obstetrician."

"So you specialize in knocking women up?"

"Yeah. Rich women or women with great health insurance." He taps the tip of my nose. "Not college students."

"I'm not looking to get knocked up."

"Good. Now finish your sandwich and sober up so I can take you home."

His footsteps fade and the front door clicks shut.

I place my empty plate and glass in the dishwasher before walking into the adjoining family room with the television Luke mentioned. I look around. This place is decorated like an expensive model home. I don't see any indication that anyone really lives here. No magazines or stray mugs on the end tables. I'm not really interested in watching TV, I'm interested in a house tour.

Exiting the family room through a door that connects back to the hallway, I find a study. This room looks lived in. He spends time in here—I can smell his cologne lingering in the air. The walls are lined in books. Mainly medical, but there's a few crime mysteries too. Not a copy of
Fifty Shades of Grey
anywhere, sadly. There's a Mac set up on the desk and some stray pens and paperwork scattered across it.

I leave the study and cross the circular center point of the condo. Skipping a massive formal living and dining room, I follow the dark hardwood floor back towards the front door. There's a hallway to the left and right of the front door. I investigate the space to the left first. Three virtually identical bedrooms with their own adjoining baths. They're all empty. As in, completely empty. The same hardwood floor runs wall to wall in each. Not a bed, dresser or hanger in the closets.

The hallway to the right of the door leads me to a massive coat closet and laundry room. I pass both in favor of the door at the end, the master bedroom. There's a walk-in closet the size of my dorm room on my left. It's empty. This is starting to get a little creepy. He does live here, right? He didn't just abandon me in a vacant condo. No, his office looked lived in. I continue and find an even larger walk-in closet across from the master bath. This closet is filled. Rows of neatly organized suits and shirts. Shelves of sweaters and racks of polished shoes.

The bathroom could accommodate a dozen college students, but there's only a vanity for two, an enormous oval tub and a walk-in shower. The entire room is spotless, save for a can of shave cream and a razor on the vanity.

Back in the bedroom there's an area rug covering the hardwood, centering the room and surrounding the massive king-sized bed. I walk back to the bed and open the nightstand drawer. Empty. I cross to the other side, closest to the bathroom, and open that one. Condoms. I sit on the edge of the bed. So he lives in this massive space and uses two rooms of it. A place a doctor could not afford, department head at the hospital or not.

I liked Luke better when he was less confusing, when he was just Luke who flirted subtly with me while buying coffee. That's not true—I like this Luke too. The one who watches out for me and rescues me from a disastrous ending to my date and makes me a sandwich. I like him. I don't like the mixed signals he sends, but I like him.

This bed is really comfortable and I want nothing more than to lie down and close my eyes, so after removing my boots, I do. I can't get comfortable though, so I stand up and strip off my jeans and sweater and climb under the sheets. This bed is heavenly. I hit the light and snuggle into the pillow that smells of Luke. I don't care if he finds me here in my underwear, asleep. I'm tired of his confusing behavior and besides, he's already seen me in less.