Dr. Chase Hudson (The Surrogate Book 2) (21 page)

She was dead and I was going back into the system.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

The feeling of hopelessness I felt in that moment was
akin to how I felt as I sat in my office after hours on a Friday
night waiting for Ava to arrive. Knowing that when she did arrive, I
would be taking her out and teaching her how to invite other men into
her life. Men who weren't me. Men who might treat her badly. Men who
wouldn't understand her limitations. Or, somehow worse yet, men who
would. Men who would give her everything she needed. Men who would
take the memory of me and blur it completely until I might as well
never have existed for her.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

Ninth Session

Seven rolled around and she wasn't in my office. Ava
was compulsively on time or early. I felt nerves seep into my system,
making my skin feel foreign and electric. What if she didn't show?
What if she thought she had learned enough? What if that cold
dismissal from the night before was the last I would see or hear from
her? What if...

The door swung open and in she walked.

“You're late,” I observed.

“Yeah,” she said, completely unapologetic.
She turned to lock the door, then remembered the plan for the night
and stopped.

“Good for you,” I said, smirking, nodding
my head at her. I was proud that she didn't rush to say she was
sorry. “Let's see that dress, baby.”

She took off her jacket.

Head to toe- she was screaming 'take me!'

First, there was the dress. It was less of a dress and
more of a bra and ridiculously short mini skirt connected with more
of that see through black-mesh stuff that dresses seemed to be made
with more and more often. Her hair was straightened. Someone went at
her eye makeup with a heavy hand, making her brown eyes pop. She had
on semi-opaque stockings that highlighted her shapely legs and led
down to black heels that criss-crossed over the tops of her feet.

Jesus Christ.

In any other situation, I would have loved it. I would
have taken pride in having a woman looking like she looked, dressed
how she was dressed hanging off my arm.

But she wasn't dressed like that for me.

She was dressed like that for other men.

“Is this too much?” she asked
self-consciously as I stared at her. “Shay told me it would
work for like... all the bars and clubs, but I am seriously starting
to question her fashion sense.”

I felt my lips
quirk up. She was still my Ava. Even if she looked like a sex kitten.
“It's a nice dress,” I said as I moved toward her, “but
it looks extraordinary on
you
,”
I clarified as my hand rose to skim across the mesh covering her
belly. I took a deep breath, expecting to inhale the sweet vanilla
scent that always clung to her, a scent that matched her perfectly.
Instead, it was something else. Sharper. Stronger. “You don't
smell like you,” I said and it came out like an accusation.

“Shay's perfume.”

“Your eyes,” I said, holding in a sigh. It
was all just... too fucking much. She didn't need it. She was her own
brand of simple, understated beauty without all the adornments.

“Fake
eyelashes,” she explained. “Apparently they make my eyes
pop or
something.”

“They popped just fine on their own,” I
told her, my hand moving to stroke her cheek.

She took a slow, shaky breath. “Should I take
them off?” she asked, the vulnerability clear in her tone.

“No,” I said, shaking my head and dropping
my hand. “They're fine. Most guys will appreciate the effort.”
Guys who didn't realize she was perfect bare-faced in jeans and a
tee.

“So, um,” she mumbled, looking down at her
own feet. The insecurity started to hum around her like an aura.
“Where are we going?”

“You're nervous,” I observed as her gaze
stayed downcast.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I've never been good with the whole... flirting
thing.”

I took a breath, feeling my jaw get tense. “That's
what I'm here for. To teach you.” I paused and when my mouth
opened again, I said something I hadn't been planning to, something
that was just a pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable, “We're
going to start at a restaurant. Get some food in your stomach to help
with the anxiety...” Her eyes flew up to mine, her brows drawn
together. “I'm assuming you have, once again, not eaten before
coming here.”

“No,” she admitted with a shrug.

“Alright,” I said, reaching to open the
door behind her. “Let's go. It's getting late.”

I clenched my hands into fists at my side, forcing
myself to not touch her. In fact, I kept a good foot between us at
all time. If I touched her, it would only make things worse.

So we got in the car and I drove to A Restaurant,
parking out front. I opened her door but didn't help her out even
though I felt her eyes boring into me. When she climbed out, the
sound of her genuine laughter made my face turn to her to find her
bent half forward as she looked at the hellhole I had brought her to.

“Seriously?” she asked, still laughing, the
sound making a warm sensation sweep through my body.

And just like that, my shields fell.

“Don't judge it by how it looks,” I said,
letting my hand land on her hip.

“So what does A Restaurant serve?” she
asked as I led her inside. I let out a small laugh that had her
turning her head to look at me, brows drawn together. “I don't
trust that laugh,” she told me as I reached for two menus after
being told to 'plant ourselves anywhere'.

I led her to a table and handed her a menu, smiling to
myself.

“Really?” she asked, looking up with a big
smile after reading that her choices were: chicken, cow, pig, or
green stuff. “So is food poisoning a part of the plan or just
an added benefit?”

I opened my mouth to answer when the waitress walked
over and barked, “What do you want?”

Ava looked at me, shaking her head and I ordered us
each chicken.

“Truly a charming little establishment,”
Ava said as the waitress walked away.

“You'll understand when you try the food. So
Ava,” I said, making my tone slip into the professional
curiosity that belonged to a therapist, “when was the last time
you had a date?”

A darkness came over her features but she shrugged.
“Over a year ago. Probably closer to two.”

“How did that go? Where did you meet? Was it just
one date?”

“Online dating site,” she said with a
blush. “We went to dinner. It was... forced and... awkward.”

“And? I pressed.

“And we went back to his place,” she said,
her voice small as her pointer finger started rubbing along a dent on
the wooden tabletop.

She didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't a good
memory. Which was all the more reason she needed to talk about it.

“Even though it was forced and awkward?”

“Yeah.” More rubbing.

“Why?”

She shrugged a little. “I figured I would give it
another shot.”

I fought the urge to reach across the table, take that
hand that she was worrying against the table, and wrap it in mine.

“It didn't go well.”

Her face fell even further. “No.”

“Ava...” I started in a tone that was
demanding more than what she was telling me. She picked up on it and
stiffened. But then the food was dropped noisily on the table,
effectively cutting off the conversation.

“No more online dating,” I told her.

“What? Why not?”

“Because it's too easy for you. You get to hide
behind your computer screen and find the match who is the least
threatening. You'll slip right back into your shell. You need to...
get out and experience things, Ava.”

“Well,” she said, shifting uncomfortably,
“I am experiencing the best chicken I've ever had in my life,”
she said, trying to end the conversation.

“Ava...”

“I don't want a lecture, Chase,” she
snapped, making my brow raise at her tone.

“I wasn't...”

“Yes,” she said, her tone firm, “you
were. And you were being a condescending ass about it too.”

Damn.

She was right.

But also... damn she was fucking sexy as hell when she
was riled.

“Good for you,” I said, nodding at her.

“Good for me, what?”

“Standing up for yourself,” I said,
smiling. “Even if you're wrong.”

“I'm not wrong,” she countered, getting
more and more annoyed. “I don't know what is up with you
tonight, but you're kind of being a jerk and it's annoying.”

“Annoying?” I asked, close to laughing.

“Yes. Annoying. And frustrating,” she said,
nodding for emphasis. “Why are you smiling?” she asked,
her eyes lowered at me.

“A couple weeks ago,” I started, “do
you think you would have been able to call me an ass, a jerk,
annoying, and frustrating... to my face?”

Realization hit her face. “Probably not.”

“Definitely not.”

“So... what?” she asked, sounding riled
again. “This was some kind of a test?”

“Not really, no,” I said, not able to admit
to her what it really was- me trying to protect myself.

“So you're just in a foul mood for no good
reason?”

I watched her for a minute, the urge to tell her so
strong that I didn't trust myself to speak until I got myself under
control.

“I have a good reason, but it is inconsequential.
Anyway,” I said, pushing my plate away. I needed to steer the
conversation into safer territory. “We are going to Chaos from
here.”

I watched as that information settled. She pushed her
plate away and reached for her water. “I'm ready when you are,”
she said in a way that suggested that was as far from the truth as
possible.

I nodded though, throwing down money and leading her
back out to the car. We both wanted to get the god-forsaken night
over with.

We walked up to Chaos ten minutes later, bypassing the
line because I was on the list. I led her inside and into the VIP
lounge, knowing she was nowhere near ready for the swarm that was the
downstairs common area. She probably had her heart in her throat just
thinking of being trapped down there.

I brought her to the bar and ordered a scotch for me
and a martini for her.

“Sit here and wait,” I said, turning away
before she could ask questions. I wanted a minute to observe her
comfort level when she was alone with the threat of men approaching.

There was a man at the end of the bar trying to catch
her eye and she ducked her head, letting her hair fall like a curtain
to block him from her. The man made a move to approach her and I
closed in. She wasn't ready for that yet.

“Hi,” I said, sliding into the chair next
to her, moving my legs so they blocked her in.

“Hi...” she said uncertainly.

“My name's Chase,” I said, extending my
hand to her.

Her lips twitched a little as she caught on. “I'm
Alexandra Feodorovna,” she said, giving me a sweet, innocent
smile.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from
laughing, but the smile was beyond my control. “You look damn
good for someone who died by firing squad almost a hundred years
ago.”

“I moisturize,” she said, not missing a
beat and there was no way to control it, I burst out laughing.

“This isn't going to work if you don't take it
seriously,” I said as I recovered.

“Sorry. It just... feels weird,” she
admitted.

“What does?
Flirting with me? Baby, I've been
inside
you.”

Her mouth fell slightly open. Her pupils dilated. Her
thighs pressed together.

“Sorry,” I said, not fucking sorry at all.
“I didn't mean to get you all hot and bothered.”

“I'm not,” she said way too quickly for it
to be true.

“Really?”
I asked, my hand landing high on her thigh. “I could... check
that out for you. Just to make sure,” I teased, my fingers
slipping under the hem of her skirt that had hitched up almost
indecently when she sat. If I shifted my fingers the slightest bit,
they would make contact with her panties. I would bet everything in
my bank account that she was wet for me, right there in the middle of
a crowded club. Her body jerked as she felt my finger trace the space
where her thighs touched, making her almost fall off the chair.
“Okay,” I said, pulling my hand away, trying to gain some
control. “Sorry.” I wasn't sorry at all. “I'll
stop.” I
needed
to stop.

“I don't want you to stop,” she said a
little breathlessly.