Scared of Forever (Scared #2) (4 page)

“I’m surprised that
you are willing to wait so long. Blake is hot property in this town.
I’d want to make it official soon, if I were you,” she says with
a snide smile. “You never know, someone may snatch him right out
from under you.”

“With all due
respect, Eliza, Blake loves me, and I’m sure he would never allow
himself to be snatched,” I say, as sweetly as I can manage.

“Well, when I was
speaking to Charlotte—” Eliza begins, leaning in.
Without
fail, every fucking time
. Every time she sees me, she has
to bring up this ex-girlfriend of Blake’s who she considers to be
oh so wonderful. Obviously she’s not though, since he’s with me
now. Eliza’s head is now too close to mine. Her nearly black hair
pulled back mercilessly into a tight bun makes her face seem so much
more angular and harsh. “She said that Blake did have a bit of a
roaming eye. At least consider getting yourself a proper education,
dear. Especially while you have Blake’s money at your disposal to
do so.”

“I don’t really
care about Blake’s money,” I say, maintaining my manners as best
I can. “And I can’t imagine Blake’s eyes wandering away from
me,” I add confidently for good measure.

“You’d be
surprised,” she insists. “You should always keep your eyes and
ears open, as a woman. Not everybody has the same ethics that you and
I do.”

Ethics
!
What a laugh. The world has never possessed a less ethical soul than
Eliza Carson as far as I’m concerned.

“Eliza, I appreciate
your advice. I really do. But Blake and I are happy, and I trust him.
So there is no reason for you to be concerned. But I’ll be sure to
consider your opinion.”
Not
fucking likely.

“If you say so,”
she says quietly. “But you would be remiss to delay marriage for
too long.” She gives me a small smile. For the briefest of moments,
I get the sense that those last words of hers are layered with hidden
meaning. Meaning that I just don’t understand.
I
hate dancing around a subject like that.

Thankfully, the food
arrives moments later, and the need to chew trumps the need to speak.
After we eat, Eliza stands up elegantly from her chair and says her
goodbyes. I follow her out, and watch her driver open her car door.
She doesn’t offer me a ride anywhere. Barely waves to me as the car
pulls off.

I made a promise to
myself that I would remain unaffected by this woman. Today, however,
today she had gone out of her way to affect me.
And
I had allowed her to.
I begin to walk to work, angry at
myself. Angry because I have let her do something that I vowed would
never happen. I let her sow a seed of doubt in my mind about Blake.
That was the sole purpose of brunch for her, and I had played right
into her perfectly manicured hands.

In reality, Blake could
do better than me. He was rich, well on his way to an amazing career,
handsome, and extremely sweet and charming.
What
woman wouldn’t want a man like him?
It just baffles me
that he chose me.

Deciding not to spend
of the rest of the day wallowing in misery and driving myself crazy
with suppositions and what ifs, I made it a few blocks over to the
beauty parlor. The whooping and hollering of my jovial coworkers is
exactly the sound I want to hear when I swing open the glass framed
door. My boss, Janie, with her pleasant disposition and massive size
F breasts, shoots me a
what the
eff
kind of look.

“I know, I have the
day off,” I say flinging my bag behind the counter and sitting down
in a pedicure chair.

“Then why, pray tell,
are you here?” Janie asks. “And don’t think you’re getting
paid.” She continues with a scowl, pointing a red manicured finger
at me.

I throw my head back,
laughing. “I just wanted some normal company.”

“And you came here?
Lunch went that well?” she asks, expertly filing the nail of the
customer in front of her, without even looking down.

“Better,” I say,
rolling my eyes, just wanting to forget that our meeting ever
happened.

“That’s because
your future monster-in-law really and truly hates you,” says Mac,
walking back in from the storage room.

Mac is my very best
friend in this crazy town. I met him about four months ago, when I
served him and his then-boyfriend at the overpriced restaurant where
I used to work. That same night, the boyfriend, who we now refer to
as the Play Gay Love Rat, was busted kissing Mac by his female
fiancée. Apparently, she had missed the memo that he was also dating
men. I found him moping on the back step by the restaurant’s cellar
entrance. We drowned our sorrows in cheap tequila that night, and
have been inseparable ever since.

Blake takes issue with
my and Mac’s friendship, though he has no valid reason to. By
mutual dislike, Mac is not a member of the Blake fan club, either.

“I’m starting to
get that feeling myself,” I say, running my hand across the soft
leather of the chair.

“Starting? Oh baby
girl, I’ve always thought you were so bright, but now—” he
teases.

I fling a towel across
the room, pegging him in the leg.

“Play nice girls. We
have customers,” Janie reprimands. Correction, we have one
customer, a regular, who always just smiles slightly at our comical
behavior.

“Anyhow,” Mac
continues, “I thought we could go out later.”

“Can’t,” I reply.
“Blake’s gonna be home early today.”

“
Pffft
,
please,” Mac says, waving his hand dismissively as he restocks the
equipment trays. “Blake will call you at five thirty as he always
does to tell you that he’s working late, or doing a double shift,
or covering for someone. Tonight is no different.”

“He doesn’t work
late every night,” I defend.

“Yeah, so sorry,
every second night,” Mac scoffs sarcastically, discarding a wad of
plastic packaging in the trashcan.

“Fine,” I retort.
“If Blake calls and says he’ll be late tonight, I will do all of
your Brazilians for a month!”

“You are so on,”
Mac squeals. Then shudders, likely thinking of how torturous his job
is, being exposed to all of those vaginas on a daily basis.

My heart sinks,
suddenly remembering Eliza’s words. The truth is, Blake is almost
certain to call and tell me he’ll be late. He usually does. I think
of losing Blake, and this time, I’m the one who shudders.

I walk out of the
supply closet, arms overloaded with gauze, tourniquets, and syringes.
It’s been a very busy day. Trying to keep abreast of everything
today has been difficult. But all the tension I feel will ease
tonight, when I see Aria. Just being close to her makes me feel so
alive.

“Where have you
been?” a shrill voice yells from behind me.

“Restocking,” I
say, gesturing with my eyes to my loaded hands.
Thank
fuck she didn’t walk up a few minutes ago.

“What for, are you a
nurse or a doctor?”

My chief resident is a
brutal bitch. She watches our every move. Reprimands our every
mistake. Demeans us for every bad judgment call. Her perfectly
straightened blonde bob, plus her impossibly sharp cheekbones, give
her an artificial human sort of vibe. She’s so overconfident it
makes me sick. I can’t stand women who behave like that.

“I was trying to be
useful, Jules.” I say smoothly, unaffected.

“Useful would be
helping with rounds, or cannulation, or assisting in the OR, not
spending hours in the supply closet,” Jules says scornfully,
shooting me an equally knowing and disapproving look.

“On it,” I say
before turning on my heel. At Rhode Island Hospital, I was treated
like a God, owing to the fact that my father was the Chief of Surgery
there. Here, I’m just another resident. The feeling is refreshing,
but at the same time, pisses me the fuck off. Especially that Jules
bitch.
As soon as I can get my
hands on her fucking job…

As I round the corner,
I see Chayse. He’s leaning leisurely against a corridor wall,
completely entranced by a nursing student.
That
guy really will fuck anything that moves.
The girl’s
face is ordinary, and I’m betting, so is her pussy.

“Dr. Carson,” the
student nurse grins with a small nod of her head.

I nod back with a
smile. “Get your lazy ass back to work,” I say as I turn to
Chayse.

“I
am
working,” Chayse grins. “The safety of all our employees is very
important to me. And I will be available to walk you to your car
tonight, as promised.” Chayse turns back to the girl, grinning even
wider.

She nods at Chayse’s offer, but
her eyes remain transfixed in my direction. I offer her a small
smile. I wholly and without apology acknowledge the fact that I’m a
flirt.
It’s my vice
.
She, however, is not on my level. Only one woman truly has my heart.
I yank my cell from my pocket and send a quick text as I walk towards
the Emergency doors.

Will be a little late, but will be there as promised. Can’t wait
to see you.

I hit send, and then
finger the keyboard again, typing out a second message.
A
second apology
. I sigh as I hit send. If only my life were
different. But it isn’t. That said, I have a beautiful fiancée,
more money than I could ever need, and then there’s my wit and
charm. All those things do just fine at keeping me warm at night.

The rest of the day
meanders along at a snail’s pace. I deal with countless minor
ailments, and draw blood from what feels like a thousand arms. This
is not the fun part of my job. I run into Chayse once or twice more
over the course of the day. Every time I see him, he’s sliding a
number into his pocket.
Fucking
lucky bastard for the freedom he has.

The clock hits five pm,
and I fling off my scrubs, don my suit minus the jacket and tie, and
practically bolt towards the parking lot. Seeing her after such a
busy day is like seeing water in a fucking desert. I’m addicted,
quite simply, to her touch. To her
just
don’t give a fuck
attitude. To the thrill of knowing
that I now have my very own little dirty secret.

I navigate towards
where she is waiting, the pull completely magnetic. This woman is my
soul mate, and none that have come before or after her have ever
mattered as much. Not to me. On countless occasions, I’ve wondered
what keeps me coming back here, and have come to the conclusion that
I’m simply addicted to the sexual dominance she exudes. When I’m
with Emily, my satisfaction is always the first priority. But with
Aria, I’m forced to commit myself one hundred and ten percent to
fulfilling
her
desires. It’s not optional. That, and I can close my mind off from
all the constraints of my actual life.
Just
exist
. Dick deep, judgment-free, in her painfully
demanding pussy. She may be my mistress, but this is no game. That,
and I can actually honestly speak to the woman, and she doesn’t
hold things against me. Or expect anything from me.

I pull up outside the
familiar storefront, lock the BMW, and walk around to the side door.
The key is where it always is, under the Chinese frog statue at the
door. I walk into the hallway, and the familiar smell of ink and
surgical alcohol greets me.

It’s always quiet in
here. She never greets me at the door. I walk down the thin hallway,
and gently push open the bedroom door. Surprisingly, she’s not
there. I frown slightly and walk over to the door that leads to the
tattoo parlor. Light filters through the crack of a slightly ajar
door. Pushing it open, I find her seated in the saddleback chair,
tattoo gun in hand, wearing nothing but a black leather G-string and
a black lace bra.

I walk over and run my
hand down her arm. She wears her tattoos like clothing, covering
almost every inch of her back and arms, snaking in intricate designs
down her left leg. Looking up at me, she grabs my hand and pulls me
gently onto the chair in front of her.

“No,” I say in a
low voice.

“Just a small one,”
she replies, handing me a tequila shot, which I knock back quickly.

I strip off my shirt,
exposing my bare chest, and turn slowly away from her. We’ve been
playing this game for almost two years now, and it never gets old. I
wince as the gun begins its work, shivering as her warm hand caresses
my back. Minutes roll by and I just lean forward, dwelling in the
moment. Her free hand moves round my waist, expertly undoing my belt
buckle and unzipping my pants. Holding my rock solid cock in her
hands, I hear the whirring of the tattoo gun slow and then stop.