The Storm (Fairhope) (4 page)

“Man, it’s been a long weekend.” Andrew grinned, his dangerous blue eyes sparkling with excitement. He propped his long, tan legs up on our new mahogany coffee table. I noticed it still had a “sale” price tag dangling from the side, and I ripped it off. “But we’re in our new house. No more apartment. Awesome!”

I frowned at his dirty shoes on the table. “Feet down.”

Obediently, Andrew placed his feet back on the floor, sarcastically taking his time. His dimples flashed just as I was starting to get agitated, and he affectionately rubbed my shoulders.

“Anything for my Jana Banana.” He grinned. I hated when he called me that.

Five minutes until show time. “Don’t even think about it. I’m watching
CSI
in here. You can go watch Jesse’s girlfriend overdose again in the other room.”

“I know.” He gestured toward the other side of the house. Andrew’s grin widened. “Now we have a future room for Baby Cook.” He winked at me, massaging my shoulders and leaning forward to brush soft kisses on my neck, sending chills up my spine. Chills that never failed to remind me of the night we had met.

I still can’t believe Andrew Cook picked me. He could have had any girl he wanted, and he picked me. He had that special something you couldn’t put your finger on, the special something that made arguments over laundry worth it, the special something that spun your senses with novelty, and the sex never grew stale … that special something that left you living life on your tiptoes, waiting for what came next.

I was practically drooling the moment I laid eyes on him, but the connection was more than the wetness that soaked my lacy Victoria’s Secret thong.
Real
chemistry—that knock-you-off-your-feet infatuation you can’t fathom until it steals your breath away—the knowing that fate has chosen this precise moment for you to discover your soul mate.

He was chilling out with a group of friends, laughing and chugging two-for-one beers at a terrifying speed. Grace pointed him out to me immediately. She was bumming with me that weekend, recovering from failing one of her college courses after surviving a hellishly wild semester, most of it passed out in the Pike house with Gavin.

“He’s your type,” she’d insisted, her gleeful eyes glazed from one too many strawberry margaritas. “He is
fine.
But he’s for you.”

Andrew being strikingly handsome was an understatement, with his naturally wavy sandy brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Well over six feet tall, he was tall enough to make all five feet seven inches of me feel dainty. With a Calvin Klein model frame, deep dimples that hinted at his unmatched charisma, he attracted every female in his wake. Life with him was nothing less than a daring high. He broke my tentative shell in a million jagged pieces, edging me to skydive, race four wheelers, and ride the fastest roller coasters in the country, eyes open wide. He was a year ahead of me in school, but as I liked to remind him, almost two years
older.
Though raised in Orange Beach, where I spent nearly every weekend in my aunt’s condo, somehow our paths never crossed until that random, drunken moment in time.

Even with Grace’s insistent prodding and painfully obvious staring at his table, I couldn’t get my nerve up to talk to him. It didn’t matter because he stopped at my table on his way out and boldly asked for my phone number. Cheeks red and hands shaking, I scribbled it on a napkin stained with ranch dressing, ignoring Grace’s intoxicated snickering. Our schedules weren’t cooperating, so he took me along to play golf with him and his buddies the next Saturday, and after he realized I could actually play (thanks, Daddy), he was hooked. Our personalities were unquestionably of the opposites attract variety, but our tastes in music, food, sports … you name it … similar.

Now, I shot him a menacing glance and wolfed down a slice of greasy pizza. “Yeah … the key word being
future.”

With scenes from our dating relationship flashing through my mind—the all-nighters, the immense amount of alcohol and no telling what else he’d slammed before overhauling his morals—I never thought Andrew would have been ready to have kids before me.

“It could happen any day.” He chuckled. He had thrown out my birth control pills while the movers packed our belongings. When I could not find them, he grinned and explained it was time to leave our family in God’s hands. He was sounding more and more like his mother every day … I had day-mares where I found myself starring miserably in one of those reality shows where the parents made money off their endless childbearing.

“I hope not,” I replied, still unable to sort my feelings on the matter. “I just started this new position.” I realized I was chomping and shut my mouth. I had read in one of those Christian magazines that my parents’ church ordered that women should avoid cultivating annoying habits in order to keep their marriages strong. Sounded about right to me, and I thought I read the same article in
Cosmopolitan
the year before. “I bet it will take a while, right? Maybe we should be careful.” He would not be too keen on being “careful.”

Something like disappointment flickered in his eyes. He settled back onto the fluffy couch and turned his head toward the television. “There’s never going to be a perfect time, Jana.”

“I don’t think Mama is ready to work yet,” I added jokingly. “I’m not sure she’s ready for a rug rat.”

Au contraire—Mama would have fainted in delight at the notion of a grandchild. From our wedding day forward, I had fanned away her sly remarks about not getting any younger and the joy of children in a healthy marriage. She already had her future grandchild’s child care mapped out. The plan was for her to keep the baby Monday through Wednesday, since she picked up nursing shifts in the ER some Fridays, while Andrew’s mother would be on duty Thursday and Friday. Our baby would definitely be “Metholic” like us under that arrangement.

Andrew smiled halfheartedly.

“I don’t want to be an old dad. Think about all of our friends who have had trouble getting pregnant. I’m thirty, and you’re not far off.” We had multiple sets of friends who had tried for at least a full year before getting pregnant. Some still had not succeeded.

“What if we had twins?” I teased him. “What would you do then … say, twin girls?”

He rolled his eyes and groaned dramatically. “Don’t even joke like that. I could not handle twin girls. We will have a girl, then a boy … then another surprise. You watch.”

I giggled as he pulled me closer to him. “I want to make babies with you,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m glad we’re home.”

“Me too,” I whispered back, twirling my fingers through his thick brown hair. “It’s a new chapter in our lives.”

“I think we need to start writing this new chapter tonight. Let’s make it X-rated.”

“Does X-rated involve dessert?”

“It can if you want.”

So much for
CSI
.

“You’re scared.” Andrew wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips resting on my cheek. “You just climbed the next rung on the corporate ladder, and you’re not even thirty. You should feel like a badass.”

Self-consciously, I smoothed a wrinkle out of my scrubs, but couldn’t smooth the wrinkle that creased between my eyes. Staring at my wide-eyed reflection in the mirror, I realized I did look fearful.

“I know.” I critiqued my new hairstyle, a sleek low ponytail, and decided to leave a few pieces to fly in the wind. The style was much more chic than my ex-cheerleader top-of-the-head ‘do, like I was finally taking the leap from
Seventeen
to
Glamour.
“I’m excited, but this is a huge responsibility. There is no one ‘above’ me anymore. I am totally responsible for my surgeons, the patients, and my territory’s performance …”

“You deserve this. Be confident,” said my charismatic husband who never lacked confidence.

I took a deep breath and smiled. “You’re right. Today starts a new chapter in my career.”

“Where is your meeting?” Andrew started rubbing my shoulders, and I felt my tension release.

My smile got sweeter. “Maybe it’s a good sign. We are meeting at McAlister’s.”

Wistfully, I reminisced over the first time I stepped foot in the place. Andrew and I were home for spring break—he was fortunate enough to grow up in paradise, so there was no need for an expensive trip. Andrew and I grabbed a bite to eat before watching some Nicholas Sparks movie at the theater. I was so wrapped up in him that I did not notice Mama’s best friend two rows ahead, staring at us all over each other like two lovesick teenagers. That was the night I realized I was falling in love, over chips and dip and grilled chicken salad. Date one and I was certain the whisper was telling me he was the one, but heaven knows I kept mum about that. Every desirable guy is implanted with a psycho-radar, and I was fairly certain that would set his off.

“I like the way I feel with you,” he said. “This … feels right, doesn’t it?”

I blushed. “Yeah, it does.” He caressed my hand with his under the table, sending shockwaves of heat radiating up the length of my body.

Now, he returned my smile with a long kiss. “I should have taken you somewhere nicer.”

Kissing him back, I murmured, “It was perfect.” I paused, my body warming as our kiss lengthened. “
This
is perfect.”

Sighing, I forced myself to pull away and checked my watch. “Got to go. The meeting starts in half an hour.”

To kick off our new alignment, my new manager Jeff set up a business meeting with me and my new partner, Collin. For some unknown reason, Brooke Bennett, Covington Company’s infamous gossip girl, was joining us.

Why couldn’t it have been
anyone
but Brooke?

Brooke, an associate in a separate division of the company, was notorious for causing trouble, but unarguably had a malicious talent for wooing men. When she was a home health rep, her competitors nicknamed her “The Viper.” Paranoid and vicious, Brooke would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. She beat Grace for sophomore Homecoming maid in college after rumors about Grace having “mental problems” looped around school. Two weeks before elections, Grace literally ran smack into Brooke after leaving the campus pharmacy, her full bottle of Lexapro splattering all over Brooke’s designer shoes.

Needless to say, Brooke and I were never the best of friends.

When I walked in to our meeting, there was no mistaking the tension that hung thickly in the air. Jeff grinned and waved me over, but Collin and Brooke both stared at me, expressionless.

“Good to see you, Jana.” Brooke finally rose from her chair. Her soft curls were swept back into a low ponytail, a few gentle sprigs framing her pretty face. Her lips were painted a cherry red, her fake smile highlighting her blinding teeth, likely veneers courtesy of her rich daddy. When she hugged me, her hands were cold on my back. I shivered at their iciness through my thin scrubs.

I tried to force out the uneasiness dwelling in the pit of my stomach.

Collin didn’t smile at me. “Jana. Glad you could join us.” He didn’t
sound
very glad and made no effort to shake my hand.

Although surrounded with a formidable air, Collin was lacking in the looks department, with a large freckled nose and beady black eyes. His olive complexion was sprinkled with breakouts, stripping away the expected attractiveness of anyone lucky enough to have that skin tone. He looked like he lived at the gym, and his body belonged in a wrestling arena, assisted with steroids bummed from the local police department (according to Gavin) in exchange for samples of erectile dysfunction medications stolen from doctors’ offices.

“I’m glad to be here.” I smiled brightly at all three of them as I took my seat.

I had carefully researched my new accounts, focusing on the surgeons who would ultimately move business. It appeared as if I had my work cut out for me.

After Jeff casually welcomed us, we got right to business.

Collin cleared his throat loudly. “Jana, I hope you will catch on quickly. No offense, but this is a mature territory. These surgeons expect exceptional work from Covington Company.”

A bit stunned at his abrasive opening, I stalled with a sip of sugar-drenched sweet tea. “I have been an associate for years, and Chris trained me well.”

Collin shrugged. “The jury’s still out. We’ll see.”

My mouth dropped a little. Did he just say that? Two President’s Club wins in my arsenal, and the jury was “still out”?

I decided to ignore his negative attitude. “I’m looking forward to meeting my new customers.”

Reluctantly, Collin tossed me a packet that contained information about them—their schedules, nurses’ names, and sparse information showcasing his knowledge about their decision-making processes.

“I’m surprised you did not ask for a little direction. I thought you could use this to help you get a jump start.”

What the…?

I looked at him, confused. “I asked for information on our surgeons a few weeks ago, actually. You may not have received my email.”

He shook his head. “Um, no, I didn’t get any email from you.”

Was it my imagination, or was he trying to paint me as unprepared?