“IT’S TEQUILA SUNRISE TIME, baby!” Belle hoots, chasing me out the door of the hospital and into the unseasonably warm spring evening. She throws her arm around my shoulder and pulls me to her. “Stop moping now, Indie, darling. We have finished our nine-day stretch and we’re going to Club Taint as planned. We’re going to have a wild time.”
My lip curls. “My own bed sounds better right now.”
“No!” She halts me in my tracks and turns me to face her. “I let you mope these last few days at work, but now you’re done. You’ve earned the respect of the resident staff and most of the attendings. You should be feeling on top of the world after the week you’ve had. We need to celebrate!”
“I know,” I reply with a sigh, even though Prichard has been acting cold toward me ever since we finished Camden’s surgery. I keep trying to convince myself that maybe he wasn’t trying to kiss me in the OR, but his mood shift begs to differ.
“Who cares about that wanker, footballer Camden Harris? He’s probably gay. That’s the only logical conclusion.”
“He’s not gay,” I reply, horrified as the memory of his firmness creeps to the forefront of my mind. I can’t believe I groped him like that.
“Bisexual then. Who cares? He probably wanks off to images of football for God’s sake.” She turns, linking arms with me, and continues walking down the side of the hospital where we have to split off in different directions. “The Penis List is still a solid plan. You won’t convince me otherwise. We’re going to find an even better player tonight. One who’s much less needy. Footballers are dramatic pansies anyway. Let’s go for a rugby player. Or maybe one of those underground fighters. You need a bloke you won’t be inspired to break the rules for and then get to know him.” She pierces me with her dark eyes. “This is happening, Indie. We have five days off. Now is our time.”
I exhale at the knowledge that fighting a determined Belle is useless. Deep down, I know she’s right. The whole scene with Camden was horrid. It reminded me of a time in primary school when I explained that the poem Autumn by Emily Dickinson wasn’t about the changing of the seasons, but about death and the decline of Christianity. Everyone laughed, even the teacher.
I’ve just always seen things differently and still do. The way he was so aloof and brushing me off outside the hospital after everything we talked in depth about is ridiculous. I can’t let him or anyone revert me back to that guileless, insecure girl ever again. That’s not who I am anymore.
I force a smile and push my black-framed glasses up my nose a bit. “You’re right,” I agree. It’s time to move on from Camden, and I’m ready for a night out with my best mate. “I’m sorry and I promise I won’t let one stupid arsehole spoil our Tequila Sunrise time.”
“Too right!” she sings, breaking away from me to head toward her flat in the opposite direction. Walking backwards she shouts, “Go home. Shower. Shave your wobbly bits…Do whatever you need to do to get tarted up and ready for our night.”
I turn the corner, still watching her retreat and frown when her face falls. “Indie…look out!”
Smack. I run right into a large hard object. I let out an embarrassingly girlie yelp and hunch over to grab my aching knee. I wince at the searing pain and glare at the metal pedestrian sign. The bastard has a lot of nerve being stuck in the concrete so firmly. As I release a slur of expletives, a pair of helpful warm hands wrap around me from behind.
“Holy fuck,” Belle says. Her voice sounds far away, though. If they aren’t Belle’s hands on me, then whose are they?
I turn around and find myself in the hands of The Penis Prodigy himself: Camden Harris. The setting London sun is bathing him in golden light, turning him into a beautiful bronze, god-like wonder.
“Are you kidding me?” I groan, looking down to rub my knee.
“Are you all right?” he asks. His deep voice is soft and low, vibrating through my body with concern as he hovers over me with his hands on my back.
I shuffle away from him as he tries to inspect my knee. “I’m fine,” I snipe. “I don’t think I’ll need The Wilson Repair.”
He huffs out a laugh. “If you did, I know a good doctor.”
I hobble over to a nearby bench and silently curse the universe for making me look like such an arse at this particular moment. Camden tries to help me sit, but I reject his assistance. “What are you doing here? Something wrong with your knee?”
“I came to see you.” He looks down at me, shoving a shaky hand through his hair and scratching the back of his neck. “Can we talk?”
I look over and see Belle walking backwards away from us. “I’ll pick you up for the club in two hours!” she sings merrily as if it’s completely normal for a hunky, famous footballer, whom I’ve just operated on, to pry me off a street sign. She gives me a “toodles” sort of wave and I squeeze my knee to stop myself from giving her a wave of my finger.
A rueful smile tugs at Camden’s mouth. “Are you off work tonight?”
I lick my lips slowly. “Yes. Belle and I are off for five days, and it’s sort of a tradition after we work long weeks to go out on our first night.”
“I can understand that.” He sits down beside me, propping the side of his leg on the bench and draping an arm over the back. He smells better than ever.
“Are you doing your therapy I hope?” I ask, eyeing his denim-covered knee and noting how annoyingly hot he looks in dark jeans and a fitted, black T-shirt.
He nods thoughtfully. “Yes. The physical therapist is about as exciting as dry toast, but I feel great during our workouts. Normal even.”
I purse my lips and let go of my knee to sit up straight, mindful not to sit back and brush against his arm. “That’s sort of the point.”
A fleeting look of nerves shadow his eyes before he blurts, “I just started reading my book again.”
I frown. “What book?”
“My Cross novel.”
My face falls. Fudge. In my anger, I’d all but forgotten about the note I wrote inside of it.
“I’m guessing by your reaction that note was from you?”
I look away. “That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you turned into a prickish footballer who gave me the cold shoulder.”
He deflates and shifts closer to me. “Indie—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off and slide down the bench away from him. “I’m not some baby who needs coddling.”
“I know it. I was the baby,” he replies while running a hand down his thigh. “I saw Dr. Prichard with his hands on you in the OR and I didn’t like it. And I didn’t like that I didn’t like it.”
I actually have to shake the stupor from my brain before I can reply. “The Prichard thing was nothing.”
“Well, I’m not a sharer,” he adds, piercing me with his stunning blue eyes. “Then you left the night before and it all just got to me. A bloke’s ego can only take so much.”
“You’re a professional footballer. Your ego should be bigger than London.”
His lips form a line. “It usually is…but not around you.”
I shoot him an “are you kidding me” expression. Does he really expect me to believe that I have the ability to make him insecure?
“Look, this is my fault. I’m taking full blame here. I just let what Dr. Fuckwad said get to me.” His jawbone ticks with obvious anger.
“Who?”
His eyes narrow. “Dr. Prichard. He made it a point to tell me about your published research on The Wilson Repair and it made me feel like I was being manipulated.”
“Manipulated? How?”
“Well, I started questioning everything after that. Why didn’t you mention it to me before? I’m usually the player, not the playee. It’s not like we didn’t have the chance to discuss it. You slept in my room two nights.”
My jaw drops. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
“What the hell does that mean?” He looks offended as his jaw muscle ticks violently.
“Nothing! I didn’t mention it because it didn’t occur to me. I don’t seem to make the best choices when I’m around you, Camden. I have a bit of a one-track mind when you do that glittery eye thing to me. But fine, let’s air it all out,” I bark, feeling as if I’m on a roll now. “Yes, I have a heavy interest in your surgery. I have a heavy interest in ortho. It’s what I’ve chosen to focus on. I don’t have any reason to hide that. I probably didn’t tell you because—” I pause and he urges me on. “Because I was embarrassed by my behaviour. What happened to you was the surgical opportunity of a lifetime. It was great for my career, yet I was risking it all by getting involved with you. I didn’t want you to look at me as if I was a silly little girl with half a brain. I don’t like feeling as if I’m being run by my hormones.”
He jeers, “I wouldn’t have thought that.”
“Well, what I did was unethical and I still don’t know exactly why I did it.”
“Could it be because you want to fuck me?” He slides closer to me. His vulgar word mixed with his scent of soap makes my mouth water.
I scoff at how he’s managed to simplify a whole slew of personal and ethical issues into one stupid sentence. “No, definitely not.”
“Maybe it’s my glittery eye thing you mentioned?” He’s doing an absolute horrid job of hiding his smirk.
“God, you’re an arse.” My shield drops like the adulterous Brutus it is. How does he make me lose myself so quickly?
“Indie,” he whispers, leaning in. His close proximity confounds my mind so much that I want to fall into his warm, manly embrace. Somehow, I manage to resist…but just barely. “I was a wounded, egotistical jerk. But that was temporary. Your note cured me. I’m sorry for being jealous and brushing you off.” The feel of his breath tickles as he inhales over the skin exposed along my neck. “It’s okay to want me.”
“No, it’s not. You suck.” My voice is raspy, which makes me roll my eyes. “Did you even get what my pun meant?”
“Yeah, you’re considering becoming a juggler of testicles after you finish this whole doctor phase.” His face is expressionless and, like a silly girl, I smile.
I turn to shove him away. “You don’t deserve my pun.” He catches my hand and holds it against his chest. I nervously look around to confirm that no one is watching us. I shouldn’t be touching him. I should be pulling my hand away from him and act halfway professional. But then I feel the ridges of muscle beneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt and the pounding of his heart as he clutches my hand. I take a quick guess that it’s beating around 80 bpm, which is fast for a resting state athlete. His eyes sparkle with so much desire, and the danger of the whole scene makes it impossible for me to look away.
“You’re scared,” he says. “But why?”
Embarrassment forces me to look down. “I’ve never made men a priority in my life. I’m not like this. I don’t sleep with patients and jeopardise all that I’ve worked for.”
“It looked to me like you were just living a little.” He releases my hand. “And I’m sorry if I was pressuring you too much.”
The remorseful look on his face gives me pause. “You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Just…this place,” I say, gesturing to the hospital behind me. “I’m normally a different person in that building. I don’t live my life in there. I save lives in there.”
“I completely understand.” He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets as if he’s getting ready to leave.
“Okaaay?” I ask as he looks at me expectantly.
“How about I escort you home and we get to know each other away from the hospital.” He winks and gestures for me to follow him. “Let’s have a do-over, Specs.”
I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to say no. It wasn’t because he’s hot or charming, or because he apologised profusely, or because I still want him to be Penis Number One. It’s because I’m genuinely curious about him. I get a sense that there’s a lot more to Camden than what he shows on the surface. He feels like a brand new textbook just waiting to be read, and God I love textbooks.
“I don’t live far,” I say as we make our way down the sidewalk and away from the glow of the hospital. A weight lifts off my shoulders when I can no longer see it behind me.
Camden squints as a thought strikes him. “You sleep at the hospital, though.” He looks at me curiously. “Even though you live so close?”
A twinge of anxiety fleets through me at his perceptiveness. “It’s…complicated.”
“Try me,” he states.
“I’m impressed by how you’re getting around,” I deflect, eyeing his movement appreciatively. This is the first time I’ve seen Camden Harris at one hundred percent. No limp, no favouring. Just long, powerful strides, eating up the pavement of East London. I can only imagine how incredible he looks on the pitch.
“Yeah, it’s been good. The therapist has been working with me all week.”
He shows me some of the movements he does with the therapist and how when he twists it a certain way, he can feel the graft. I tell him that’s normal, relishing in the fact that we’re talking in my comfort zone right now and not about the fact that he’s coming back to my flat.
“Stitches still there?” I ask.
“Yes. They haven’t dissolved yet, but I hardly notice them. The incisions are small. You and Dr. Prichard are true to your words.”
“Don’t you mean Dr. Fuckwad?” I laugh and he smirks knowingly in response.
“You have to admit he’s got a creep factor to him.”
“But you luring a naïve doctor into your patient room at night is so innocent?”
“‘Naïve doctor sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and narrows a playful gaze at me.
I bob my head from side to side. “Experienced in books, but not in life I’m afraid.”
He winks and responds, “That’s all right. Life happens to be my specialty.”
We arrive at my basement flat, and he follows me down the exterior concrete steps. I’ve lived here since I was an intern because it was the only place close to the hospital that I could afford. Belle and I talked about living together after med school, but she comes from a lot of money and I knew she wouldn’t let me pay my way.
Being a doctor in England isn’t as lucrative as it is in the States. Since Royal Hospital is partially private owned, I make more than a lot of residents working for the NHS. But as a second year, it’s still pittance considering what we do for people every day. Thanks to my scholarships, I don’t have the outrageous student loans that so many others have to pay back. That, along with my parent’s guilt money, helps keep me comfortable.
I feel Cam’s warmth behind me as I unlock the door and it all feels strangely ordinary. He’s a famous London footballer. He plays in a stadium that’s a mile from my flat. People chant his name in the crowd, and girls throw their bras at him in hopes he’ll just look at them. What on earth is he doing here, and how is this my life?
“No roommate?” he asks, walking around my studio flat and taking in the tight quarters. He looks so large in here, his head only six inches from the ceiling. Everything looks tiny with him in here, right down to my gold, floral loveseat.
“No roommate. I erm…grew up in all-girls boarding schools with roommates all the time. So…” my voice trails off as I drop my keys in a bowl and desperately wish I had something to do with my hands. I also wish I wasn’t in my scrubs at the moment. I also wish he wasn’t peering into my closet.
“That’s right. You mentioned boarding school before.” He turns back to face me, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against my closet door. A dirty smile teases his mouth. “Have any pillow fight stories you want to share with me? Girl on girl experimenting perhaps?”
My cheeks heat as I laugh through my nose. “I’m afraid you’ll find my boarding school stories quite dull.” If he only knew what the other girls did there.
He steps back for me to place my trainers in the closet and makes his way over to the adjacent wall. He grabs hold of what looks like a shelf and pulls out my Murphy bed as if he’s done it a thousand times before.
“I share a flat with Tanner. I envy your solitude.” He flops down on my multi-coloured quilt, and the view of him on my bed is…disarming.
“Do you want something to drink? I’m going to have something to drink.” I walk over to my refrigerator and rummage for something alcoholic. I could sing when I find a bottle of Prosecco that Belle left here last time she was over. I grab two tumblers and pour generous portions into each, turning around to find him watching me.
His brows arch. “Nervous?”
“No,” I baulk. I reassess. “Yes.”
“Indie…” He says my name in that way again. That way that makes my knickers feel warm and my heart feel fast. “I’m not expecting us to fuck right now.”
“You’re not?” I ask, deflating a bit but still affected by his cavalier use of that word. I don’t know why I assumed he was coming here for sex. I don’t know why I thought that I’d even be ready for it right now. In a way, I wish we would do it right now so there’s no time for me to overthink it. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Why doesn’t he want it?
“Well, not entirely.” He stands up and walks up to me, placing his hands on either side of the counter, caging me with his hard body. I clutch my sparkling wine to my chest as my back presses against the worktop. He’s so close he has to bow his head to pierce me with his eyes. “Not tonight away.”
A playful twinkle in his gaze relaxes my nerves. “Then what are we doing?” I ask, pulling my lips into my mouth and rubbing them together.
“We’re reacquainting.” He leans down, and just when I think he’s going to brush his lips against mine, his hand comes up between us and he grabs his glass from me. A smirk plays on his lips as he takes a drink. “It’ll make it that much sweeter.”
A soft smile creeps across my face as I muse over his playful demeanour. Suddenly, I’m taken completely off guard when his lips land firmly against mine. The sweet, fizzy bubbles of the Prosecco are still fresh on his lips as he works himself into my mouth. I nearly drop my glass when his hand blindly takes it from me and places it on the counter somewhere beside us. He bends and grips behind my thighs, hoisting me up onto the counter to give himself better access to my face.
When he presses himself snuggly against my centre, I want to moan. Or sing. Or whimper. But definitely moan. His tongue enters my mouth, but it’s not greedy and demanding. It’s passionate and warm, sensual and hot. It’s delicious and even better than I remember it being at the hospital.
His hand slices into my tied up hair, snagging in the messy bun. As a result, he grips my top-knot with need and a command that has me arching into him and sliding myself closer. When his other hand slides up under my shirt, tickling my ribs, I stupidly realise that my hands have been frozen in fists on the countertop this entire time.
I quickly reach up and grip his biceps, shoving my hands under his short sleeves to stroke the tensed muscles. They’re smooth and hard, promising and powerful. They’re exactly what I want.
“We should stop,” he groans against my lips while need courses between us like bolts of electricity with every exhale.
“I’m not the one who started,” I murmur.
He swallows and presses his forehead against mine, further separating our mouths. “You’re always the one to kick it up a notch, though.”
My eyes widen. “That seems unlikely. Who’s the virgin here?” I ask, laying it all out there in my lust-induced state.
He laughs and pulls his head away from mine, glaring at me through his lash-framed eyes. “It’s the innocent ones that are the most dangerous.” His jaw muscle ticks as he appears to be pondering something while tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Maybe you should blow off your friend tonight after all.”
His caress on my face is so sweet that I almost forget he’s a slutty footballer. Pursing my lips, I shake my head. “I really can’t. Belle is my best mate. We have to go dancing at Club Taint for our Tequila Sunrise tradition.”
He moves out from between my legs and crosses his arms over his chest. “This sounds interesting.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I just can’t bail on her. It’s her night, too.”
“Which is…?” He waits for me to fill in the blank, and I can tell by his expression that he’s not going to let this go.
Exhaling, I try to come up with a way to funnel this philosophy down as much as possible. “It’s our thing. Our jobs at the hospital are anything but typical. My drama at work isn’t someone eating my labeled yogurt out of the company refrigerator. It’s the fact that I’ve had to call the time of death on three patients and I’m only twenty-four-years-old.”
His face falls at the sharp turn this conversation has taken.
“I don’t mean to be a downer, but we see death or immense sadness every single week. A terminal diagnosis, telling a wife she lost her husband, a kid in a horrible car accident. The entire gamut of emotions all happen inside that hospital. So outside, we make it count. We have fun. We act our ages.”
“Tequila Sunrise,” he finishes.
I shrug. “Tequila Sunrise.”
A look of respect is evident on his face. “So…tomorrow then?”
I nod my approval, a flurry of excitement and possibility overcoming my insides. He’ll be my most exciting adventure so far.
His smile suddenly falls. “But you’re sure you don’t want something more, right? I don’t want to mislead you into thinking I’m someone I’m not, because I don’t do girlfriends. I do casual and safe. But never girlfriends…Except for a girl in fourth grade who kicked me in the balls and told me she’d do it again if I didn’t agree to be her boyfriend.”
“Oh my God, is that true?” I ask, poorly concealing a laugh, which makes him laugh, too.
“Yes. I cried real tears and was so afraid of her that we stayed together for a whole year. Eventually I convinced myself that the pain couldn’t have been that bad, so I broke it off with her. But I did it in the car with her mum there just to be safe.”
I laugh so hard my side hurts. I’m not sure if it’s the story that’s so funny or the tiny bit of horror I can still see in his eyes as he retells it. “That’s awful.”
“It was. Ruined me forever I’m afraid.”
“Well, you’re safe with me,” I add after my fit has subsided and I can breathe again. I slide off the counter, using his shoulder for balance. Patting him in a matey way, I assure him, “I have a plan all worked out and latching myself on to you isn’t a part of that. This is a one-night thing. I promise. My adventures in life have only just begun, Cam.”
He loses a little brightness in his eyes and looks down.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He looks toward the door. “Right.” He purses his lips and leans in, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then he leaves without a look back.
My Penis List is finally going to start.
Tequila Sunrise, baby.
