No Attachments

chapter 9: A first date from hell

Ashton

My legs were still shaking as Nathan helped me into his Range Rover. I was embarrassed at my wanton behavior, but I couldn't help thinking how good his body had felt against mine. His lips heated me from the inside out while his movements had done things my body had never felt before. I'd seen plenty of movies and heard girls talking about it over the years, but I'd been pretty convinced they over-glorified what an orgasm felt like. I mean, really, how could it be so fantastic when girls often used the same word to describe a delicious bite of food or chocolate? Now I knew. What I had just experienced went beyond food or chocolate. Nothing compared to it.

"So, what are you thinking?" Nathan teased, climbing into the driver's seat.

I flushed, making it clear where my thoughts had just been. I glanced out the window willing my blush to disappear.

"Sweetheart, there's nothing to be embarrassed about," Nathan said, reaching over to pat my knee before resting his hand there.

The heat of his palm burned through my pants, making me shift slightly as desire slowly crept in again. I was shocked that I wanted him again so quickly.

"It's just new to me," I admitted, biting my lip.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked frankly as his hand tightened slightly on my knee.

"No," I answered, feeling myself blush all over again. "Would it matter?" I asked, curious to what he was thinking.

"Yes, no—I don't know. If you were, it would change things," he admitted.

"How so?" I asked, more than a little curious about what that had to do with anything.

"It probably wouldn't sit well if I took your virginity in this 'no attachments' arrangement we have going on."

"So, why were you unsure a minute ago? You first said yes, but then changed to no."

"That was the greedy bastard in me talking. I'd like nothing more than to be the only person who has had these legs wrapped around him," he answered, stroking my leg with his hand for emphasis.

"Oh," I said, licking my sudden dry lips at his words. It was overwhelming how a few simple words could leave me squirming with anticipation.

"You really need to not do that while I'm driving," he chastised.

"Do what?"

"Gnaw on your lip. You know damn well what you're doing," he said, tightening his hand on my leg.

The power I seemed to hold over him right now made me smile, but I settled back in my seat as he merged onto the highway. We rode in silence for several minutes as the desire that burned between us simmered down to a low sizzle.

"So, where are you from, Ashton?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I weighed my answer carefully before speaking. I was unsure how much of my past I was willing to divulge. "Florida," I finally answered, ignoring the knot of tension in my stomach.

"Really? Me too. Whereabouts?" he asked conversationally.

The interior of the vehicle felt like it was closing in around me. I instantly regretted my honesty. I should have made up another state. "Um, near Palm Coast," I lied, naming a city miles away from my true hometown. "What about you?" I asked, silently praying he didn't say Palm Coast too.

"Over near Tampa," he answered as I let out a pent-up breath.

"That's a nice area," I answered, breathing easier.

"Like every city, it has its good and bad areas. I've lived in both."

I nodded my head like I could relate, when in reality I couldn't. My family had never wanted for anything. My grandfather made a name for himself in computer software before anyone realized how much computers would affect their lives. My father followed in his footsteps by designing computer programs before he even graduated from high school. Money was never an issue for me. I had gone to the best schools, hung out with the wealthiest of kids and went to the college of my choice. My life had been steeped in privilege. Of course, no amount of money can protect you from the harsh cards life can deal you.

"Do your parents still live there?" I finally asked when the silence between us stretched.

He shook his head. "No, my mom died a while back," he answered.

"I'm sorry," I said, resting my hand on top of his. "Mine died when I was ten," I added before I could stop myself.

"Ten? That's rough."

"Yeah, it was a tough time for me. She was so filled with life that it was almost like someone had snuffed out the sun when she died."

"How did she die, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked.

"Ovarian cancer. She was bad about going to doctors when she felt crummy. By the time they discovered it, it was too late. My dad took her to the hospital when she finally confessed something was wrong. She never came home," I said, trying to forget how my father had looked the night he had come home after she died. He'd looked like he'd been hit by a train. The light in his eyes went out that night and didn't return until many years later.

"Shit. I'm sorry," he said, flipping his hand over so he could lace his fingers through mine.

"It's life," I said, shrugging like it didn't matter even though her death had shaped the person I was. I often wondered if my life would have turned out differently if she was still alive.

"It sucks, plain and simple," he said, seeing through my lie.

"What about your dad?" I asked, changing the subject. I was surprised when his hand spasmed in mine before abruptly releasing it. He gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his knuckles turn white and his expression became unreadable. I was taken aback by the tension that radiated off of him.

"I'm not sure. I haven't spoken to the son of a bitch since he left my mom and me practically homeless so he could screw his secretary full-time," he clipped out. Silence filled the vehicle. I wondered indecisively if I should comment or change the subject.

"F*ck, whose idea was it to talk about family?" he asked wryly as some of the tension finally began to leave him.

"I think that honor falls on you," I said, smiling weakly at him.

"Well, that was a shitty idea. Let's talk about something more interesting."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. "Did you always want to be a journalist?" I asked, taking charge of the conversation.

"Not really, I kind of fell into it. When I was younger, I wanted to be a cop. You know, catch the bad guys and save the day. When I was in high school, I discovered I was pretty good at writing. For a while, I entertained the idea of becoming an investigative journalist, but it never panned out. How about you?"

"You mean, did I always dream about working in some general store in the middle of nowhere?" I joked. "I actually wanted to be a children's psychologist in a hospital," I answered truthfully, ignoring the knots that had returned full force in my stomach.

"What changed?" he asked taking his eyes off the road long enough to peer at me.

"Life," I answered truthfully. "Sometimes life throws you a curveball and either you duck to avoid it, or you swing at it with all your might."

"Which option did you take?"

"Neither. I chose option three, which was to walk away."

"It's never too late to go back and swing," he said, pulling into the parking lot of quaint-looking Italian restaurant.

"I don't want to swing," I said, trying to keep my voice light.

"So, you plan on working at Fran's until you die?" he asked, sounding irritated.

"That’s not really any of your business is it, since this is supposed to be a no-attachments relationship?" I snapped.

"Hell, you're right. It's none of my business," he said, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Maybe a no-attachments relationship isn't possible. We can't seem to make it an hour without delving into no man's land," I said, staring out my window, waiting for him to start the vehicle back up and take me home. We'd have to chalk up the whole charade as a failure.

I jumped when Nathan opened his door and abruptly left the vehicle. He came around the Range Rover to my side. Opening the door, he stepped closer, unlatched my seatbelt and pivoted my legs around in the seat so they were straddling him where he stood. "We can figure this out," he said.

"Are you sure?" I whispered as his lips lowered to mine.

"I'm positive," he said, pulling my bottom lip gently into his mouth before releasing it. "It's like learning to ride a bike. Sure, we're going to fall over a couple times, but the important thing is that we keep getting back on," he added, settling his lips firmly on mine. "You willing to give it a ride?" he asked, pulling back.

"As long as you don't fall in love with riding that bike," I emphasized.

"Darling, I'm not going to lie. I'm going to enjoy riding that bike probably more than any other bike I've ever ridden, but I won't fall in love with it," he reassured me, hiking my leg up around his waist. "The question is: Will you fall in love with the bike ride?"

"It's not possible for me to fall in love with any bike ride," I replied earnestly. "Not anymore, anyway," I added, working to keep the pain the words caused out of my voice.

His eyes narrowed slightly and he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he reached out to help me climb from the vehicle. "Let's eat," was all he said.

"How'd you find this place?" I asked as he held open the door of the restaurant for me.

"I asked Fran. I figured she wouldn't steer me wrong. Have you been here before?"

"No, I really haven't ventured out of Woodfalls much since I moved there. I guess small-time life has not caught up to me. Although, now that I'm here, it smells delicious," I answered as the scents of herbs and spices enticed my nose.

"So, why Woodfalls?" he asked once we were seated.

"I wanted something that was completely different than Florida. Changing seasons, snow and ice skating, things like that, so I drove until I figured I was far enough north to get all of those. We never really went on vacation again after my mom died, so if I ever saw snow, I really don't remember it."

"No ski vacations while you were in college?" he inquired, handing me a breadstick from the basket the waitress had placed on our table.

"What makes you think I went to college?" I asked.

"Did you?" he countered.

"Well, yeah, but it's presumptuous to think I automatically went. Plenty of people never go to college."

"Why do you get so prickly when I ask about your past?" he asked.

I debated his question for a moment before answering. "I'm just not crazy talking about it. It's not a time of my life I like to talk about," I said, letting him know he was entering no man's land again.

"Fair enough," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "What's your favorite color?" he asked, switching gears.

"It depends on my mood. What about you?" I asked, grateful he'd let the subject drop without making a big deal of it.

"I would have to say the same. Although, I have found recently I'm quite fond of pink," he said, leaning over the small round table to brush his thumb over my bottom lip to emphasize his point. "I'm sure different shades of pink will be my favorite for a while," he added, dropping his eyes to my chest to make his point clear.

"Do come-ons like that always work for you?" I asked, working not to blush at his innuendo.

"You tell me," he said, sitting back in his seat with a small smile.

"We'll see," I answered, laughing breathlessly.

"Ooh, good answer. Okay, dogs or cats?" he asked, switching gears again.

"I'm not really sure. I never had any pets growing up. Probably a cat though. I always had this dream that my dad would surprise me with a kitten or something for my birthday," I said, surprised at the wistful tone in my voice. "How about you?"

"I have a cat that gets taken care of by my neighbor while I'm away on my extended trips. He's a cool cat, but he holds a slight grudge when I leave him. I know not to arrive at my condo without treats and a toy," he answered in a warm voice that melted me inside. Who knew a man who loved cats would come across so hot?

"A toy?" I asked intrigued. "Do cats play with things other than strings or a paper ball?"

"He's not into the typical cat toys. He has a particular lid fetish."

"Lid fetish?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Like off of hairspray bottles," he explained.

I looked at him blankly, not quite sure that I knew what he was talking about, although he looked quite adorable trying to explain it.

"You know, the small lids that cover the spray nozzles," he said, holding his fingers about an inch apart for emphasis. Seeing my amusement, he plunged on.

"Anyway, he likes it when you throw them across the ceramic floor. He'll run after it and bring it back like a dog. So whenever I'm gone, I make a point of getting several of the lids for him."

"Do you really go through that much hairspray?"

"Well, no. I guess you could say I save other consumers the hassle of removing the lids off their bottles," he said sheepishly while I laughed.

"So, you mean to tell me your cat has turned you into a lid thief?"

"Well, when you put it that way, I guess so. Did I mention he was a cool cat?"

"He sounds like it," I said sincerely. The idea of Nathan strolling down the beauty aisle of a store, leaving behind a row of lidless hairspray bottles cracked me up. "Your neighbor doesn't mind watching him?" I asked.

"Nah, she claims it's no problem at all."

"How old would this neighbor happen to be?"

"I don't know, early twenties," he answered as the waitress approached to take our orders.

"I bet she doesn't mind," I said dryly once the waitress had taken our orders. I tried to convince myself I didn't feel jealous. What did it matter to me if his neighbor had the hots for him?

"Is that a note of jealously I hear?" he teased.

"Of course not. As long as she's not on the bike while I'm on it, I have no complaints," I sniped.

"Now that is something I would like to see," he said eagerly.

"I bet you would," I said, tossing a small piece of bread at him.

"As enticing at it sounds to have both of you on the bike with me, I'm perfectly content to just ride it with you," he added in a husky voice that made me uncross my legs in anticipation. "I foresee a long bike ride in our future," he added, barely looking up when the waitress dropped our salads off at the table. I felt his leg nudge mine under the small table before rubbing seductively against me.

"Really?" I asked, working to keep my breathing even. "You seem awfully confident about your bike-riding skills," I flirted back, shocking myself at my innuendo.

"Darling, I can guarantee you've never had a bike ride like the one I'm going to take you on. It'll make what happened in your living room earlier seem like a tricycle ride," he murmured, rubbing his thumb across the pulse point on my wrist.

I was embarrassed over the reminder, but his words also brought back the mental picture of our bodies tangled together, and what he had done to me.

As if he sensed my thoughts, his own eyes darkened with desire. Withdrawing my hand from his, I focused on eating my salad so I could get my raging hormones under control. My efforts were futile. My appetite was nonexistent in light of what we could be doing. By keeping my eyes down and focusing on my salad, I felt some semblance of normalcy. I figured Nathan was having a similar issue of focusing when I heard him clear his throat twice in quick succession. It was only when he did it a third time that I finally looked up. I was shocked to see that his face looked slightly distorted. His lips seemed swollen like someone had blown them up slightly. His cheeks were puffed out like he was a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. He tried to clear his throat again, but it came out more of a gurgle.

Finally realizing what was happening, I jumped to my feet. "Are you allergic to nuts?" I asked, thinking about the salad we had just been consuming.

He tried to talk again to no avail.

"What's going on?" the waitress asked, placing our plates on the table as she eyed Nathan's rapidly swelling face in horror.

"Are there nuts in the salad?" I demanded.

"Crushed cashews," she said weakly as I helped Nathan to his feet.

"A warning label would have been nice," I snapped. "How far to the nearest hospital?"

"Less than five minutes," one of the other patrons said, joining us. "You can follow me," she said, grabbing her purse and her young daughter.

"Thank you," I said, helping Nathan out of the restaurant.

"No problem. My sister is allergic to nuts too. Normally she carries an EpiPen wherever she goes," she said, looking at me questioningly.

"Do you have an EpiPen in your car?" I asked Nathan, who was struggling to drag air through his windpipe. He shook his head no.

"Well, that's not very smart," I snapped, depositing him in the passenger seat. By the time I climbed behind the wheel, the lady from the restaurant was already waiting for me in her vehicle by the exit. Once I put the vehicle into gear, she tore out of the parking lot with me right behind her.

I glanced over at Nathan while I drove, not liking the purplish tint his face had taken. Gripping the steering wheel hard, I continued to berate him in my panic-filled state. I knew it wasn't the best time to be ridiculing him, but my frustration at the situation had me rambling on. Thankfully, the traffic lights were on our side as we sped down the road. Finally, I could see the hospital in the distance. The traffic light just before the hospital turned yellow and we were still more than a hundred yards back, but both of us stepped on the accelerator and ran the red light before screeching into the hospital ambulance bay.

"Hey, you can't park here," a nurse said as I threw open my door.

"My friend is having an allergic reaction," I hurled at her as I raced around the vehicle to open his door.

The nurse took one look at Nathan slumped over in the passenger seat before hollering out instructions to the other staff as the double doors to the ER slid open. The next few minutes passed in a blur as medical staff descended on Nathan's car. Before I knew it, they were wheeling him into the ER on a gurney. I stood in the now-empty ambulance bay, completely at a loss for what I should be doing. A kind security guard took pity on me and pointed me in the direction of where I could park. I got back behind the wheel and drove the vehicle to the proper location. Moving in a haze, I tried to focus on anything but my aversion to hospitals as I made my way to the admittance desk.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked without looking up.

"Um, yeah, I'm looking for my friend," I said, figuring bike-riding partner wouldn't be much of an explanation.

"Name," she asked, looking bored.

"Nathan," I said, tapping my foot impatiently.

"I don't see a patient by that name. Are you sure this is the right hospital?" she asked, resuming her typing.

"Considering the fact that I drove him here five minutes ago and watched members of your staff wheel him through those double doors, I would say yeah, I'm sure I have the right hospital," I answered sarcastically.

"What is his injury?" she asked, not responding in the slightest to my sarcasm.

"Allergic reaction," I said, working to keep my voice even while I fought the urge to grab her Snoopy-covered hospital scrubs and shake the hell out of her.

"Curtain five," she said, pointing to the other side of the room that was partitioned by curtains hanging from the ceiling.

"Thanks," I muttered, hurrying off.

Sweeping into the curtained-off area, I was unprepared for the sight that greeted me.

An elderly doctor was intently listening to Nathan's lungs with a stethoscope, but it was the actual sight of a shirtless Nathan that stopped me in my tracks.