Wrong (Wrong 1)

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.

We 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.