his maddening, core-clenching gaze. That’s when she’d ignored Gigi’s calls and bypassed that tall, uptight, and bumbling-but -sweet stranger who she’d shin-slammed with her carry-on —the man with the alluring yet sad amber eyes.
Sweet eyes.
Not like Josh’s blazing eyes…that fizzled at the first hint of rain. In Seattle, no less.
Damn you, Josh. Intent, cocky, directed. He swooped her up and swung her around, sweeping her off her feet again.
And she’d gone with it . Gone with him. Again.
Damn it. And damn every pathetic daydream, night dream, vision, and fantasy of him.
“Because this …with this you …isn’t me .” She could’ve wrung her own neck realizing then that most of her quickie romances were with cheap imitations of him . “Except for Evan. He was different. Polar-opposite different .” A quick puff of laughter at the insight morphed into near hysteria. Yes, she’d been ranting like a lunatic, but it felt too good to stop. Releasing, venting, realizing. “And you know what?”
Josh growled low in his chest through his pillow sandwich.
“Evan was my attempt at the status quo. Me trying to appease my dad, in place of med school.” She sucked in her bottom lip and bit down. Then she snapped back, “But, hey, flight attendant training wasn’t easy!” Her words barreled through the darkness as the AC kicked off, the rattling hum done for a time.
But she wasn’t done. Not yet. “You’ve never met Dad, but take my word for it, you’re a lot alike.” She nodded, enjoying the comparison. “Yeah, you’re both arrogant assholes with a god complex.” She lay back again, then stared for a beat at the blackout drapes, unwavering in the now-static air. “And I’m nothing to him now because he can’t tell his friends his kid’s an airhead ‘trolley dolly’. Well, fuck ’im. Travel and adventure and being true to my heart, that’s goddamn important. Vital. My path!”
Josh gave a violent huff.
She huffed back. Still not done. Not even close. “Anyway, Evan was just too safe, too static. Then he proposed, with a ring…a real ring! I just flipped out and—”
“Hey…babe, listen.” Josh opened one eye to a squint. “Enough with the fucking monologue. My pounding head can’t take it.” Said in the unsexiest rasp she’d ever heard.
And— babe ?
Reduced to a babe . Another level of fury formed way down in her icy toes and shot to the tip of her cute-as - a-fucking -button nose.
Fucking babe. Why not slap my ass like the rich pervs in business class do while you’re at it? And, hell, did he even remember her name? Who she was? Who she’d been to him? At least, so he’d said and written and sang. His muse, goddamn it.
Fired up now, she kneeled on the mattress and squared her shoulders. “Well, Mr. big-time lead singer who couldn’t keep it up for more than a millisecond last night—”
“Hey, are you fucking done yet?” Both eyes had finally opened, his nostrils flaring.
“No, I’m not. And I wanted you done…done talking and ranting and singing your bullshit pseudo-deep lyrics and puking all night. And I wanted some just-deserts sex and closure, too. I wanted, want , a lot of things, Josh Bolte. But as one real rock legend sang, we don’t always get what we want, now do we? Do we?”
*
Words, words, and more empty words. Tossed around like confetti.
Ben had never dealt well with bullshit, with red tape, with hoops to jump through. And he’d always hated muddy waters.
But here he was at the medical review hearing. In the middle of the gray zone. Sitting in the stifling conference room for the third time this year. Here nothing was black and white. And he needed black and white, now more than ever.
Ben had always been direct, principled, cut-and -dried, and too honest for most people, most of the time. As a kid, he’d gone to the extreme—rules were rules, and they absolutely were not made to be broken. He’d been the teacher’s pet and class
Sweet eyes.
Not like Josh’s blazing eyes…that fizzled at the first hint of rain. In Seattle, no less.
Damn you, Josh. Intent, cocky, directed. He swooped her up and swung her around, sweeping her off her feet again.
And she’d gone with it . Gone with him. Again.
Damn it. And damn every pathetic daydream, night dream, vision, and fantasy of him.
“Because this …with this you …isn’t me .” She could’ve wrung her own neck realizing then that most of her quickie romances were with cheap imitations of him . “Except for Evan. He was different. Polar-opposite different .” A quick puff of laughter at the insight morphed into near hysteria. Yes, she’d been ranting like a lunatic, but it felt too good to stop. Releasing, venting, realizing. “And you know what?”
Josh growled low in his chest through his pillow sandwich.
“Evan was my attempt at the status quo. Me trying to appease my dad, in place of med school.” She sucked in her bottom lip and bit down. Then she snapped back, “But, hey, flight attendant training wasn’t easy!” Her words barreled through the darkness as the AC kicked off, the rattling hum done for a time.
But she wasn’t done. Not yet. “You’ve never met Dad, but take my word for it, you’re a lot alike.” She nodded, enjoying the comparison. “Yeah, you’re both arrogant assholes with a god complex.” She lay back again, then stared for a beat at the blackout drapes, unwavering in the now-static air. “And I’m nothing to him now because he can’t tell his friends his kid’s an airhead ‘trolley dolly’. Well, fuck ’im. Travel and adventure and being true to my heart, that’s goddamn important. Vital. My path!”
Josh gave a violent huff.
She huffed back. Still not done. Not even close. “Anyway, Evan was just too safe, too static. Then he proposed, with a ring…a real ring! I just flipped out and—”
“Hey…babe, listen.” Josh opened one eye to a squint. “Enough with the fucking monologue. My pounding head can’t take it.” Said in the unsexiest rasp she’d ever heard.
And— babe ?
Reduced to a babe . Another level of fury formed way down in her icy toes and shot to the tip of her cute-as - a-fucking -button nose.
Fucking babe. Why not slap my ass like the rich pervs in business class do while you’re at it? And, hell, did he even remember her name? Who she was? Who she’d been to him? At least, so he’d said and written and sang. His muse, goddamn it.
Fired up now, she kneeled on the mattress and squared her shoulders. “Well, Mr. big-time lead singer who couldn’t keep it up for more than a millisecond last night—”
“Hey, are you fucking done yet?” Both eyes had finally opened, his nostrils flaring.
“No, I’m not. And I wanted you done…done talking and ranting and singing your bullshit pseudo-deep lyrics and puking all night. And I wanted some just-deserts sex and closure, too. I wanted, want , a lot of things, Josh Bolte. But as one real rock legend sang, we don’t always get what we want, now do we? Do we?”
*
Words, words, and more empty words. Tossed around like confetti.
Ben had never dealt well with bullshit, with red tape, with hoops to jump through. And he’d always hated muddy waters.
But here he was at the medical review hearing. In the middle of the gray zone. Sitting in the stifling conference room for the third time this year. Here nothing was black and white. And he needed black and white, now more than ever.
Ben had always been direct, principled, cut-and -dried, and too honest for most people, most of the time. As a kid, he’d gone to the extreme—rules were rules, and they absolutely were not made to be broken. He’d been the teacher’s pet and class
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