Look the Part

“How do you know Flint?”

I can’t hold back my grin. “He’s my landlord.”

“Sex in a Suit?” She whips her head back toward him.

Flint’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

I chuckle. Alone. Why am I the only one who sees the humor in this? “I’m going with Seduction in a Suit from now on. He fumbled the ball at the last second, which is a little surprising given his college football experience.”

Again, I’m the only one searching for a shred of humor in this most embarrassing situation.

“Keep pressure on the gauze. I’m going to get a sweatshirt for you and let Martin know I have to leave.”

“You have guests. Don’t be silly. There are other doctors at the hospital who can stitch me up. Besides, my guess is you’ve been drinking.”

Her lips twist as her gaze shifts from me to Flint several times. “Drive her. Stay with her. Don’t lie to the doctor who examines her. And please consider using a bed next time.”

He flinches. I don’t think there will be a next time.

“I’ll be back with a sweatshirt.”

“I’ll get her one of mine.” Flint finally finds words.

Abigail nods. Rolls her eyes. Shakes her head. Then leaves.

“Let’s go.” He catches the door behind her and holds it open for me.

“Do you really own a sweatshirt? I feel like you’re more of a white tee and V-neck sweater kind of guy.”

No response. No surprise.

*

I was wrong. He has a Nebraska hoodie, and it smells like his rich woodsy scent. I might not give it back.

“I need a favor,” I say when he opens the car door for me at the entrance to the ER. It’s the first words that have been spoken since we left his house. “Help me remove my leggings. The cut on my arm and bruised ass will be easy to explain. The ripped crotch to these will not be quite as easy to pass off as consensual sex.”

Flint makes frowns look sexy. That’s a special talent, but it’s not going to help me out of these leggings.

I shake my head. “Never mind, Mr. Helpful.” Holding my injured arm to my chest, I try to snake my other arm up my skirt to grab the waist of my leggings.

“Just …” He sighs, bending his long torso into the car over mine. “Move your arm.”

I suck in a breath as his hands slide up my skirt.

He gives me a different kind of frown. How many does he have?

“Sorry.” My teeth dig into my bottom lip. Despite my arm and bruised ass, his close proximity and hands sliding up my thighs turn me on.

It’s possible I’ve imagined him easing nylons off my legs, but in that fantasy we weren’t parked in a car at the entrance to the emergency room.

When he gets them to my knees, he slides off my boots, pulls them the rest of the way off, and slips my boots back on my bare feet. “Jesus …” He shakes his head. “You’re bleeding and humming?”

I hum to keep my mind off the way his hands feel along my skin.

I hum to forget the first man who laid his hands on me. I hum to forget the pain that comes with knowing he will never touch me again.

Flint waits in the waiting room for me while the doctor stitches my arm, examines my bruised ass and hip, and updates my tetanus. I tell the young intern that I slipped off a dirty metal bench in a greenhouse onto a hard dirt floor. The truth.

“Five stitches.” I hold up my bandaged arm.

“Ellen …” Another original Flint frown.

I nod toward the exit. “Let’s go. Life’s too short for tripping over unnecessary apologies.”

CHAPTER SIX

Flint

Life serves up small doses of revenge at the most unexpected moments. Tonight was no exception. Everything seems to get fucked up when my confidence wars with my fears.

“Thanks for the ride.” Ellen digs her keys out of her purse as I pull into my driveway.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“It’s my arm, not my hand. Yes, I’m good.”

I nod, feeling the same bobble-head syndrome that Harrison always has with me.

“Ellen …”

“I know. Thirteen days.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

She grips the door handle and rubs her lips together, that irritatingly familiar hum filling the space around us.

“It’s just …” To tell her the truth or not? That might be hard since the truth isn’t clear in my mind. “I’m good at reading people. Juries. Witnesses. My clients. But I can’t figure you out. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry that you can’t figure me out? Sorry that I got hurt? Or sorry that you stopped?”

I miss my wife. Ten years later and I still can’t breathe. Random women. That I can do. Women who don’t really know my life. Women who don’t know Harrison.

Ellen Rodgers has captured the attention of my son—a boy who rarely gives anyone his full attention. This situation surpassed messy some time ago. I can’t take her away from Harrison, evict her, and stick my dick in her.

It’s hard to decipher if my attraction to her is physical or if it’s how she makes my son’s day whenever he sees her. It seems ridiculous to be attracted to someone because of how they interact with a child, but fuck it anyway, I think that’s part of it.

“Yes.” I give her a tight grin and resolute nod.

“It was a multiple choice question, not a yes or no question.”

“Thirteen days.”

She bites her lower lip, shaking her head a half dozen times while opening the door. Her thoughts—her motives—remain a mystery I have no business trying to solve.

“For the record…” she ducks her head back in the car “…I didn’t want you to stop.”

*

Ellen

I will never take human touch for granted again.

A handshake.

A hug.

A pat on the shoulder.

One body connected to another in search of the most basic human pleasure.

I will not be ashamed of my needs.

“Should we talk?” Dr. Hamilton traps me in the lounge before I get a full cup of coffee filtering into my veins. “How’s the arm?”

“Fine. Sore. But fine.” I focus on the steam swirling from my favorite morning drug.

“So you’re having sex with your landlord. Surely that solves the eviction issue.” She leans her shoulder against the wall by the water cooler, cupping her coffee mug with both hands.

I chuckle, keeping my gaze on the fascinating coffee steam. “We didn’t get to the actual sex part. And while you’d think the events of last night might change my rental circumstances, they don’t. I’m down to twelve days.”

“How uh …” She drums her fingers on the outside of the mug. “How did ‘feel free to look around the house’ turn into sex in my neighbor’s greenhouse? I’m just trying to piece all of this together.”

I can’t help the grin that sneaks up my face as I look at her. “You know, just the usual banter, heated looks, inappropriate comments, and idle threats of dirtying up my shirt, all of which kinda, sorta led to a kiss, some quick ripping of clothes, and then an unexpected nothingness that left me physically off balance and dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes.”

“You said no?”

I shake my head. “He did. Actually, he didn’t say no. It was more like a carpenter holding a nail in one hand and the hammer in his other hand, and at the last second he stops the forward motion of the hammer and lets the nail slip through his fingers.”

“He was just about to nail you but stopped at the last second?”

I laugh. “Exactly.”

“And then you cut your arm?”

“Well…” I shrug “…I was the board that fell because I didn’t get properly nailed.”

Dr. Hamilton grins before finishing the rest of her coffee. “Thank you, Elle. I haven’t had a conversation this entertaining in a long time.”

“Glad I could be of service this morning.” I grab my iPad and head toward the door. “See ya later.”

By the time I get to my office in the afternoon, my nerves won’t stop vibrating with equal parts fear and excitement.

Will he be in today?

Will he be a jerk?

Will Amanda sense something?

“Hey, Elle! Want some cake?” Amanda’s voice beckons me into Flint’s office space.

I peek around the door. Streamers and balloons line the entry to his office. “Birthday?”

“He’s thirty-five today. And I’ve already been fired for acknowledging it, so you might as well come have a piece of this fantastic birthday slash farewell party cake.”

Flint glances up from his desk, giving me an indiscernible expression.

I smile.

He looks back down at his computer.

“Wow. You’re getting the boot before me. Who will bring cake to my going-away party?”

“That’s why you’d better have a piece now. I fear there will be no party. But call me, I’ll meet you for drinks and help you find a new place.”

My gut draws tight. Amanda is serious, not about him firing her, but she’s serious about me. He’s made it clear that I’m out in twelve days.