Stripped (7 page)

“What’s that look for?” he asked, grinning. “You look
like you know a secret.”

“I was just looking at your hair,” Abby said, her
cheeks flushing.

He smiled and she warmed, feeling more happy and
carefree than she had in a long time. The conversation was so easy with him. Dinner
flew by quickly, and she was disappointed that the night would be over soon as
they walked back to his car.

“Are you up for a movie?” he asked as the cool night
breeze hit their faces when they left the restaurant.

“Sure. It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend to
go to the movies with.”

The sweet, powdery scent of Abby’s perfume mingled
with a hint of … was it peppermint? Whatever it was, Chris found it highly
arousing. He wanted to press his face into the crook of her neck and breathe it
in straight from her perfectly smooth skin.

“Are you sure you don’t mind seeing such a girly
movie?” Abby asked, smiling.

“No, this sounds good.”

“Well, the least I can do is pay,” she said,
reaching into her purse.

“Too late,” Chris said, sliding money across the
counter.

“No, seriously.”

“It’s no big deal. You want popcorn or anything?”

“No.” She pulled her dark gray sweater wrap around
herself tightly, and Chris fought the urge to put his arm around her waist and
pull her close. What was it about her? He still didn’t know, but he felt a
constant, physical pull toward her when they were together. She was a hell of a
bad choice for a strictly platonic relationship.

He hadn’t been out to the movies in a long time.
When he took a woman out, it was usually for dinner followed by a night of sex.
Sitting in a darkened theater battling his urge to reach for Abby’s hand made
Chris feel like a teenager again. He had never found peppermint remotely erotic
before now, but it was driving him crazy.

He thought of all the ways he could make contact
with her right then: hold her hand, lay a hand on her thigh, put his arm around
her shoulder. Would she say anything if he did? Chris reminded himself that
they were only friends, and since he didn’t want more, it wasn’t right to send
Abby mixed signals.

To get his mind off wanting to touch her, he decided
to pretend she was married to one of his friends. He would pretend she was
Charlotte, Reed’s wife. Charlotte was a waify blond who Chris thought of in a
sisterly way.

He pressed his hands between his thighs, thought of
Charlotte, and focused on the movie.

“Well?” he asked Abby as the closing credits rolled
by.

“I thought it was a fun movie,” she said.

“Good.”

“Next time we can see an action movie. I mean, if
you want to go to the movies again,” she said.

“I do.”

The conversation on the drive back to her house was
easy, and Chris had a strange realization that they really were becoming
friends. It was new to him. Usually, when he went out with a woman, the
conversation was a pretense centered on getting them into bed. But he genuinely
liked listening to Abby talk about her sisters, her love of dancing and her
disdain for peanut butter.

Part of him was grateful the night was nearly over
as he walked her to the door. He didn’t think he could stop himself from
blurting out something foolish about how beautiful she was for much longer.

The breeze blew small strands of her long, light
brown hair across her face as they stood at the front door. Chris clenched his
hand against his leg to keep from reaching up to brush it away.

“This was fun, thank you,” Abby said, fishing in her
purse for her keys.

“It was fun. Can we have lunch soon?”

“Sure. Call me.”

Chris took a small stop forward, his eyes holding
Abby’s. He felt the moment clearly; this was the exact second to lean down a little
so she could tilt her face up toward him. But would she? He realized he had
never wondered that, in all his years of kissing women. He wanted to feel her
lips against his; taste them, tempt them and satiate them all at once.

Abby turned to put her key in the lock and he
stepped back. That was the thing about moments; they came and went too quickly
sometimes.

“Goodnight, Chris.”

“Goodnight,” he said, feeing wistful as she stepped
through the doorway.

Chapter 5

“This guy sounds pretty great,” Marla said after
Abby described her evening with Chris.

“He is.”

 “You have stars in your eyes, Abby, I didn’t think
that was possible.”

“I know. I thought the club had made me immune to
men. It might be nice if something could happen between us, but it can’t.”

“I have to go read that sales report I’ve been
putting off,” Marla said. “So where do you stand with Chris?”

“We’re having lunch this week.”

“Good. Okay, time to hit that report. Wait…what is
that?” Marla craned her neck to look through the open doorway of Abby’s office.
A man made his way toward them and Abby admired the giant bouquet of flowers he
carried.

“Did Jack send you flowers?” she asked Marla, who
cast a look of doubt at her.

“Those are so for you, Abby.”

“Abby Gillis?” the deliveryman asked, looking around
the large bouquet.

“Yes, thank you,” Abby said, slipping him $5 and
reaching for the card before he had even set the vase down.

“Read it!” Marla cried, her hands pressed to her
chest in excitement.

“To new friends – Chris,”
Abby said, grinning.

“I love it. And those are gorgeous,” Marla said,
admiring the arrangement of pink and white blossoms.

“Is this normal?” Abby asked.

“Normal?” Marla asked, confused.

“You know, like…what normal friends do for each
other? I’ve never really had normal.”

“It’s better than normal, honey.”

“Shake those tits in my face,” Abby’s customer
ordered as he stared salaciously at her. “Yeah, perfect. You’re fucking hot. So
much hotter than my drag of a wife.”

Abby ignored him, staring at Mickey instead, who was
behind the bar taking stock of the way the bartender had organized the bottles.
He was involved in every aspect of his business, wanting to make sure
everything was just so.

It was early in the night, but the man leering at
Abby’s breasts was drunk already. The earlier it was, the better the tips, she
reminded herself.

As the song ended, she eased herself out of his lap,
smiling at him.

“Yeah, I could tell that was good for you, too,
baby. You probly wanna give my money back, don’t you?” he crooned, his breath
reeking of alcohol. Abby just raised her eyebrows and gave him another smile
before heading backstage.

She couldn’t get her mind off Chris. They had gone
out for lunch Wednesday, and she had hardly been able to contain her excitement
to see him. They didn’t have the same night off anytime soon, so they hadn’t
made more plans, but he called or texted daily.

Abby flipped through the messages on her phone as
she drank a bottle of water, her heart skipping when she saw one from Chris.

Can you come by when you get off work?

She smiled as she typed out a reply.

That depends. Will I get another foot
massage?

She waited, tapping her toe impatiently.

“That fucker Ron just about stuck his finger up my
ass,” Amber said, fuming as she walked past Abby. “Where the hell are the
security guys?”

“Sometimes they’re not watching well when it’s this
early,” Abby said. “Maybe it was an accident. I think Ron’s harmless.”

“He’s a nasty bastard and I wouldn’t do his dances
if he didn’t tip so well,” Amber growled.

Abby looked back at her phone as it buzzed with an
incoming message.

I want to massage more than your feet…

Her eyebrows shot up and her pulse quickened.
Finally, some sexual innuendo. She had started to wonder if he would ever
really come on to her. A little flirting was fun and harmless.

“Nikki, there’s a bachelor party requesting you,”
Mickey barked, heading her way.

“Amber, you want to help me?” Abby asked. A natural
redhead, Amber was always popular at the club.

“Sure, I’ll be right there.”

Abby grabbed her phone, typing out a fast response.

You had me at massage. See you soon.

The Benedict Emergency Room was a flurry of activity
when Abby walked in. The sounds of a drunk man’s loud singing and a wailing
baby filled the air. When Abby had nearly made it to the front desk, a teenage
girl standing in front of it turned around and vomited on the floor.

Abby jumped back, avoiding the splash. The girl’s
mother walked her over to the chairs and sat her down.

The receptionist busied herself with paperwork, not
acknowledging Abby for more than a minute.

“You’ll need to fill this out,” she droned, passing
Abby a clipboard.

“I’m here to see Dr. Reneau,” Abby said.

“You get whichever doctor you get, but you need to
fill this out first,” the woman said, looking annoyed.

“It’s a personal call. Can you please page him?”
Abby said. She got a brief glare in response before the receptionist paged
Chris.

Abby shuffled uncertainly. She was wondering if she
should sit down and wait when Chris sailed through the double doors to the ER.

“Hey,” he said, grinning. “I’m finishing something
up, come on back.”

Abby followed him to a row of chairs near the large
desk area for the staff.

“I’ll just be a bit,” he said. When he walked behind
the desk and sat down at a computer, he put on a pair of dark reading glasses,
and Abby stared at him. Between the gold, messy hair, the matching stubble, the
bulge of his arms from beneath his short-sleeved scrubs and now the glasses, she
couldn’t look away. She imagined him sitting at her kitchen table, reading the
paper in those glasses, and drinking coffee.

As the fantasy continued, his shirt disappeared, and
he gave her a lusty, knowing grin as his eyes met hers. He sat the imaginary
paper aside. It was about to get good,
really good
, when a voice next to
her pulled Abby from her daydream.

“You looked lost in thought,” a man said. There was
swagger in his smile, and Abby returned it politely. “May I?”

She nodded absently at the empty chair next to her.

“So, you come here often?” he grinned.

“Uh…”

“Hey, medic,” Chris called from the desk. “Beat it,
she’s here to see me.”

Abby saw from the logo on his t-shirt that he was a
paramedic. He raised his hands in mock defeat as he left. Chris finished his
work and took off the glasses. Abby was a little disappointed to see them go.

“Hi,” he said, laying a hand on her back as he led
her down the hallway. When he held open the door to the familiar sleeping room,
Abby’s pulse quickened.

He flipped on the dim light again, and Abby’s eyes
went to his lips as he approached her. She thought of their evening out, and
how she had thought – hoped even – that he was about to kiss her as they stood
on her front porch.

“I think I owe you a massage this time,” she said
softly.

“No, I’m giving you one. Lay down on your stomach.”

Abby complied, eager to feel his hands on her again.
She reached back to move her hair, but Chris’ hand stopped hers.

“Let me,” he said. He gathered her hair into his
hands and piled it over one of her shoulders on the bed. Abby felt a tingle of
anticipation as she waited. All night, she had been telling men to take their
hands off her, but she wanted Chris’ to roam her entire body.

His touch was light and warm as he slid his hands
under the back of her shirt. Abby sighed happily as he massaged her upper back,
moving deftly up to her neck and shoulders. Her tension slid away as he worked,
replaced by arousal.

She reached back and grabbed her t-shirt, pulling it
over her head to allow him easier access. Chris inhaled sharply, his hands
pausing against her.

“Is that okay?” she asked, confused. Wearing a bra
with no shirt was second nature to Abby.

“Yes,” he said in a low voice, his hands wandering from
her neck into her hair. She felt fatigue setting in as his fingertips massaged
her scalp.

“I don’t want to fall asleep…” she murmured,
drifting into restful unawareness.

“Abby?” Chris said softly, crouching next to the
bed.

“Hmm? Oh, no, did I fall asleep?” she cried, sitting
up quickly. Chris’ eyes widened as he looked at her, wearing only her bra and
jeans.