The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) (21 page)

His list of awards and accomplishments made her nauseous. Which, of course, also made her the official worst person on the face of the planet. Who wanted to take away the chance for underprivileged children to eat and smile? Who wished double amputees a botched surgery with scars twisting their bodies?

Dr. Jared Fine brought out the very worst in her. Of all the things she disliked about him, that one scared her the most.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry, you guys. I know this would be an easy solution, but there has got to be another way. More time. More money.” She paused. “I
am
a surgeon. I could probably find a good home for our kidneys.”

“May I?” Jared asked gently, returning to the room. Whitney immediately stiffened, but since neither John nor Kendra made a move to oust him, she was forced to stand there and remain calm. That was what life would be with him around. The whole world would embrace him with open arms and keep moving, leaving Whitney standing furious and alone.

“I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you guys. Too long.” Jared smiled, and for one painful moment, Whitney was wrested back over a decade, to a time when that smile meant everything to her. His coarse features, unattractive by modern standards, meant that he almost always looked like he was scowling, that smile a break of sun in a world of clouds. “And I know how much time and work you must have put into this project already. It’s presumptuous of me to ask to be brought in as a fourth partner after I’ve done almost nothing to help with the groundwork. But this was
us
, remember? We used to stay up until dawn every weekend planning our future, drinking coffee and subsisting entirely on nachos. We had so many dreams, so much passion. Those were the best months of my life.”

Kendra smiled mistily, watching Jared with rapt eyes. Even John seemed a little smitten, nodding in time to Jared’s words. They were giving in.

And then Jared landed the clincher. Turning to Whitney, he added, “I can’t believe you guys were going to make it all happen without letting me know. After everything we’ve been through, I think I at least deserved a phone call.”

Whitney couldn’t stay to hear another word. It was all too easy to imagine what it would feel like to be the odd man out, how hurt she’d have been if Jared, John and Kendra opened a spa without her. It would break her heart—almost as much as losing the man she loved in a Central American outpost.

Without waiting for any of them to try and stop her, Whitney stalked out of the room. Hatred of Jared, dripping into her veins as if through an IV, had been her nourishment for years.

She wasn’t sure she could live without it anymore.

Chapter Sixteen

“That was not okay, Mom.”

Whitney stood opposite her parent in her bedroom, where her mother had been searching through her shoes for a lower pair of heels. Apparently, the Louboutins hurt her arches.

“You have about forty pairs of shoes in here, and all of them look exactly the same. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I’m not talking about you pilfering my shoes.”

Her dad poked his head in the room, most likely beckoned by the sound of Whitney’s teeth grinding together, and took in the situation at a glance. “I told her it was a bad idea, but you know how your mother gets. Tunnel vision. I hope you gave Jared our love.”

“I’m sorry—what with the being blindsided by my parents and best friends and all, being polite must have slipped my mind.” Not since her teenage days had Whitney leveled such a perfect tone of sarcasm at her parents. Wisely, her father ducked his head back out.

“Oh.” Her mom slipped on a pair of silver-spangled sling-back kitten heels and nodded her approval. “I thought he wasn’t coming by until next week. He looks well, doesn’t he? That hard, on-the-go lifestyle suits him.”

Whitney fell to her bed in an exhausted heap. She didn’t have the strength for this. She’d be turning thirty-four in just a few short days, stood within arm’s reach of her professional goals, and her parents still possessed the power to reduce her to a wreckage of overwrought emotions.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice muffled by her pillow. “He looked really good.”

The end of the bed sank with her mother’s weight. “Don’t you think it’s time you forgave him and moved on with your life?”

Whitney turned over, still clutching her pillow to her chest, gazing on her mother with wary eyes. “That’s the exact same thing he said to me today—about me not moving on. Frankly, I don’t get it. In what respect does my life look like I’ve been at a standstill? Why can’t anyone see how far I’ve come?”

Pearl paused thoughtfully, taking the question at face value. That had always been one of her most irritating attributes. No matter how cruelly or peevishly a question was hurled at her, she took her time answering, as if they were having a rational conversation instead of a one-sided sullen fit.

“If you’d have asked me that question one week ago, I would have had an easy answer.” She pulled Whitney into a hug, the pillow wedged between them. “I know you’re a beautiful, single, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to feel complete, and your father and I are proud of you for it.”

“But?” Whitney braced herself. No matter how many degrees lined her walls or how much money she earned, it always came down to this.

Her mother squeezed. “We just want you to be happy. And all those men, those short relationships that meant nothing...I don’t know, Whitney. They never seemed to make you happy. We always thought that maybe you hadn’t yet faced the lingering Jared feelings. Closure is a good thing.”

“So you don’t want me to get back together with him? This isn’t some archaic matchmaking move?”

Her mother’s laughter rang out over Whitney’s head, and she dropped a kiss on her hairline. She could almost feel the lipstick imprint being left behind. It was comforting, that relic of her childhood. “It might have started out that way. But now that I’ve met Matt, well, I can see that I was wrong. He’s fantastic, and I can tell by the way he looks at you that he’s a man deeply in love. What does Jared matter, now that you have him?”

Whitney smiled blandly and proclaimed to have a headache—not her most creative excuse in the world, but the lack of blood in her face probably helped add a hint of authenticity. She needed to be alone with her pillow right now, wallowing and acknowledging that her mother was, as always, right.

Because Jared didn’t matter, as long as she had Matt.

Too bad she didn’t have Matt—not really. He was over at his ex-wife’s house, a place she’d driven him by her continually pushy behavior. A place a small part of him would always reside, that sweet and unyielding part that made her long to rage at the world.

Yes, some might call his forgiveness an admirable trait. And yes, a large portion of the blame for their troubles could be laid at her feet. She’d been the one to set the rules, to constantly hold him at arm’s length, to ensure he didn’t get attached.

Are
you
sure
those
rules
were
laid
out
so
he
didn’t
get
attached
?

She punched the pillow a few times before tossing it across the room, watching it smash satisfactorily against a pile of books that cascaded to the floor.

She hated drudging up the past. She hated when her friends were right. She hated this town.

But most of all, right now, alone and with no one else to blame, she hated herself.

* * *

“What are you wearing right now?”

Matt looked down at his lap, the phone nestled in the nook of his neck. “Um...khakis? And that blue button-up shirt you like. Though you will be happy to know I left the elbow patches at home today.”

Whitney made the sound of a buzzer. “That answer is so wrong it doesn’t even land you in the qualifying round. Haven’t you ever done this before? You should either be bare-assed naked and at half-mast or in an erotic state of undress. Do you want to hear what I’m wearing?”

Matt turned abruptly around. Even though he knew the two women in the living room couldn’t hear his phone conversation, he was pretty sure they’d notice the sudden flush of color in his face. “Under normal circumstances I’d give you an enthusiastic yes, but...”

“I’m wearing white lace panties and a tank top. Nothing too fancy, but this top is so tiny my breasts are straining at the fabric. You can totally see the outline of my nipples, all dark and firm, just like you said. Now I’m touching one of those nipples. Gently, around and around in a tight, twisty knot. Oh, it’s too much. I’m slipping my hand inside my shirt...”

“Jesus, Whitney!” Matt shot out of his seat. Both Laura and Natalie looked up from their places on the couch, both of them frowning at the sound of Whitney’s name. Cupping one hand over the mouthpiece, he hissed, “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Mmm. I’m busy too.” She let out a moan. “My other hand is moving lower, just inside the lip of my panties. Do you like that word, Matt? Panties? Paaaannnties. I do—oh, just like that.”

Matt gave up all pretense of trying to get off the phone unaffected. It didn’t take much in the way of imagination to picture Whitney sprawled out on her bed the exact way she described. She’d be rosy, flushed, her fingers exploring without a care for proprieties.

There was no need to lie about his clothes anymore. He’d skipped half-mast and gone straight into hard-on erection mode.

“I’m, ah, just going to take this outside,” he called into the living room, not waiting for a response. Stumbling out the back door, he didn’t stop until he reached the far side of the yard at Laura’s cottage. There, at least, a large elm tree hid him from the view of most of the neighborhood. He pressed the phone back to his ear. “Whitney, are you still there?”

“Mmm, yes. I’m still here. I wish you were too. Want to know why? Do you want to know what I’d be doing to you at this exact second if you were?”

Matt swallowed. He did. He really, really did. “I don’t think—”

“Oh, you’re so right. Thinking would be strictly forbidden. All you’re aware of is how hard your dick feels right now, how much you want me to take it in my mouth. And I’m about to. Oh, how I want to taste the length of your cock, so big, so full, all for me. In fact, I’m on my knees in front of you, and my lips are parted and wet—just like my pussy.”

“Whitney, you have to stop.” Normally a man who prided himself on a little control in this arena, Matt was seconds away from becoming the creepy guy who whips it out and masturbates in public. “I’m begging you. This
really
isn’t a good time.”

“What?” she said innocently. “Aren’t you stroking yourself right now? Isn’t the weight of your big, glorious cock in your hand, pumping for me?”

“Actually, I’m crouched behind a tree, trying my best to keep my hands as far away from my pants as possible. The neighbor over the fence is pointing her hose at me.”

Whitney laughed, and he could hear the shift in her voice. From sexy to matter-of-fact in five seconds flat. “You’re no fun. Point your hose back.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to help your situation any.”

Whitney groaned. “Not you too. I am so tired of hearing about how my dirty, slutty ways are getting in the way of Pleasant Park’s code of ethics.”

“Under normal circumstances, I fully approve of your dirty, slutty ways,” Matt said gently. She wasn’t going to like this next part. “But I’m at Laura’s right now.”

The silence on the other end of the phone was heavy with recriminations.

“The good news is, I’m not alone,” he offered, striving to be cheerful. It was a little bit easier now that he wasn’t fighting a painfully mounting arousal.

“Oh?” she asked flatly. “How comforting.”

“That’s because you haven’t heard who’s over. It’s a friend of yours.”

Whitney’s sharp intake of breath was so strong he almost felt it. “What can he possibly want with Laura?”

“Him? You mean John?” Matt shook his head, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “No, it’s Natalie Horn. Remember her? The dressing room incident? The PTA? She had quite a bit to say on the subject of your new medical spa.”

“I don’t want to talk about Natalie Horn or her stupid moral high ground. The dressing room incident, however...”

“Don’t you dare start. I’m just now able to stand up again.”

“I miss you.”

He paused. Those three words, uttered softly and without pretense, meant more to him than all the dirty talk in the world. “I miss you too, Whitney.”

She sighed into the phone. “So what’s my favorite banker’s wife doing there with you? Does she make it her personal mission to intrude on the lives of everyone who’s down on their luck?”

Matt glanced at the house to see Natalie staring at him through the kitchen window. He lifted a hand and waved, but it didn’t get her to do anything more than purse her lips. “Actually, she’s coming to stay with Laura for a bit. As much as you might hate her, she’s as outraged at Laura’s obstinate refusal to seek medical attention as I am.”

“My hero.”

“This isn’t forever, Whitney. I promise.” He waited for her to say something more, to ask about Laura’s health or discuss anything other than the current state of her nipples. It never came. “Rain check on the phone sex?’

“You know I’m good for it,” she said. But even though there was a smile in her voice, Matt didn’t share it.

Laura wanted him to feel more than he actually did. Whitney wanted him to feel less. But he wasn’t made for either kind of deception.

With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, he made his way back into the house.

Chapter Seventeen

As Whitney saw it, she was a woman of limited options. Her birthday dinner wasn’t until that weekend, a grand bash that was to consist of her parents, as many friends as she could convince to make the drive up, and at least fifty bottles of wine—and she somehow had to get through the week, spiraling-depression-free, until that happened. The most appealing of her options, to call Matt and have him drag her out of the sulks with his dimples and bad taste in menswear, was one she refused to consider for the time being.

He was probably off gallivanting with Natalie and Laura, the twinset terrors, anyway.

That left groveling at Jared’s feet, begging him to solve all her problems or...what? Oh, yeah. Fixing the damn problems herself.

Which was why she ended up at the local golf dome, sneaking in through the emergency exit while she struggled to conceal a five-iron in her pants.

This fight wasn’t over. She could still play nice with the locals, show her softer side. Not every crisis in the world needed Dr. Fine to come dashing to the rescue.

The golf dome sat like a pustule on the outskirts of town. Big, white and bulbous, the dome had to be one of the worst beautification petition transgressors in the world. Yet, if the state of the parking lot was anything to go by, beloved by the community.

Once inside, Whitney sidled up to the tee on the farthest end of the dome. She swiped a few of the balls from the bucket belonging to the guy next to her and lined up. With a little ass wiggle and her arms primed to hit a homerun, she swung.

Miss.

She screwed up her nose and tried again. Slowing things down this time, she was able to actually make contact with the ball, though it skittered off at the wrong angle and almost took out an advertisement on the nearest wall.

Doctors golfed all the time, but she’d be damned if she could figure out why. This stupid sport had none of the precision, none of the finesse of a well-done periareolar incision. She was pretty much hacking away here.

“Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d see,” drawled the last man Whitney wanted as a witness to her failure. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re wearing golf shoes.”

“That’s because I
am
wearing golf shoes.” Whitney spoke with a composure she was far from feeling. She was also wearing sedate, flamingo-free clothes. Khaki slacks she’d pilfered from her mother and one of her less colorful shirts completed what had to be the most boring outfit she’d ever worn, but her goal, for once, was not to antagonize.

She turned to face Jared, also dressed in casual golf wear and looking as uncomfortable as she felt. His powerful build was made for military-style fatigues and field scrubs, which, of course, had always magnified her own ass about twelve times.

“What a strange world we live in these days.” His smile said he was laughing, but no real sound came out. “Back when we were dating, you couldn’t tell the difference between a putter and a driver.”

“The women of Pleasant Park golf. Therefore, so do I. It’s no different than you putting on a suit and showing your suitcase full of slides to a committee. It’s called networking.”

“Oh?” Leaning against the separator wall between tees, he pointed toward a group of women clad in similar attire as Whitney. “You going to join those ladies over there? Talk manicures and slip gin in your afternoon tea? ’cause that woman in blue is giving you a major case of the stink eye.”

Whitney ignored him. It wasn’t Natalie—just one of her cronies. If the Ice Queen herself had been here, she’d have already been escorted far, far away. “What are you doing here anyway? Are you stalking me or something?”

“Yes.”

Disarming her with the truth. That was new. “I don’t know why you think you can show up after all this time and pretend like we’re best friends on our way to the jungle to save the world. Maybe Kendra and John think you’re the answer to our problems, but I don’t.”

“I know I messed up, Whitney. Believe me, I know.” His words were so soft she almost had to lean in to hear them. But she didn’t lean—at least not in. When his voice dropped like that, so low it was almost a rumble, it meant danger loomed on the horizon. She knew and her body—the stupid, thoughtless thing—knew it too. She straightened and gripped her club tighter, wielding it like a weapon.

“What is it you want from me, Jared? Do you need me to fill your bucket with warm fuzzies? Because you’re knocking at the wrong lady’s door for that. My warm and fuzzy for you ran out a long time ago.”

“Ah, Whitney. You are, as always, a class act.” A mocking smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you let me start making it up to you? Fifty bucks says I can walk over there and book your first nose job.”

“Oh, please. Even your arrogance has its limits. You couldn’t possibly.” She scanned the group of women carefully just in case. There was one woman, a petite blonde with a recessive chin, who could probably benefit from a hump rhinoplasty to even out her features. Her friend, drinking from a water bottle, was in desperate need of a cervicoplasty to get rid of her double chin. It wasn’t that they were unattractive—it was simply that there was always some sort of recommendation to make, some flaw every person saw in the mirror. The smallest mole had a way of making an otherwise gorgeous woman feel like a hag.

“Is that silence the sound of you picking up the gauntlet?” Jared teased, his hand cupped around one of his ears as he tilted his head close. “Or are you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” Whitney muttered, returning her attention to the tee. “I just don’t want you ruining our business even more than it already is. In fact, it would be better for all of us if you’d hop back on a plane and resume your charitable actions.”

Aware that Jared was watching, she took care placing her feet. By the time the club came down, chipping just at the edge of the ball so it veered off in yet another left angle, she was sure he must have taken the hint and sauntered off again.

But his laughter rose to greet her ears, followed almost immediately by the tinkling of three female voices appreciating his sense of humor.

She ignored them and returned to her golf clubs. It probably wasn’t the best way to go about making friends, but she wasn’t about to head over there and ride on Jared’s coattails.

She’d made that mistake once. Never again.

Surprisingly, the balls flew much straighter and much harder as her sense of irritation grew. Maybe these golf people were on to something. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to—

Her club stopped in midair. Her first reaction was completely immersed in an
Oh
shit
moment, thinking that someone had stepped in the way. But then her club dropped and she saw that Jared had stilled it with his hand.

“Are you insane?” She turned. “I may not have been playing the sport for very long, but even I know you don’t come up behind someone midswing.”

“Dr. Vidra, I’d like for you to meet Lila Tucket.”

At the invocation of her title, Whitney immediately dropped into professional mode. It was an involuntary response, the result of years of jumping whenever the attending doctor made so much as a peep.

“Oh, how lovely to meet you,” she said, stretching her lips into a smile and extending a hand. “If you walk away from this conversation with anything, please let it be my solemn vow that my medical skills far surpass my golfing ones.”

Jared coughed heavily.

Lila offered her a tight smile, looking as though the only thing less pleasant than their meeting would be a coffee enema.

“I believe you’re a friend of Natalie’s, right?” Whitney persisted. “Maybe you can tell me why my ball keeps shooting off to the left. Is it a stance thing?”

Lila ignored her. “We weren’t aware that your practice participates in charity.”

“Oh.” Whitney’s club clomped to the green plastic grass. “Well...you know.” What was it Kendra had said? All the businesses here were charity-minded? “I hate when businesses go on and on about their nonprofit contributions, as if that somehow replaces solid customer service. When we perform a service, we do it for us.”

There. That should do the trick.

“Dr. Fine here—” Lila said his name as though it were a sigh, “—was just telling us about his work with the orphans in Borneo. The Ladies Golf Club has been putting on an annual luncheon for Borneo for the past five years—we had no idea you had such an incredible team of doctors at your back.”

That was close, but it wasn’t a nose job. Jared promised her a nose job.

Whitney smiled. “It’s always been our goal to match the quality of organizations and people here in Pleasant Park,” she said, parroting Kendra’s mission statement. “But thank you for noticing. We hope to become a positive influence in the community.”

Ugh
. The schmooze tasted like hydrogen peroxide on her tongue.

Lila nodded, eating it up. “Maybe I could set up a tour of your facilities later this week. Strictly between us, of course.”

Her heart took a strange tumble in a war of excitement and irritation. Jared had just booked her first surgery. In a matter of five minutes. At the golf club.

Jared grabbed the club from Whitney’s hand and gave it a tentative swing. “Work can wait, don’t you think, ladies? Next bucket of balls, warm and fuzzy, is on me.”

Lila actually cracked a smile and squeezed Whitney’s arm before taking her place at one of the tees. The other two women followed suit, all of them perfect in the way they positioned their bodies. A quick slice went straight and true, sailing through the air in a perfect arc somewhere near the 200-yard mark.

Whitney sighed and lined up with them. This was a game she wasn’t sure she’d ever like playing.

And she wasn’t talking about the golf.