“Hello?”
“Hey, Paige. It’s Cannon.”
I’d never been so mortified in my entire life. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The need to right this situation before it spiraled even further out of control flared up inside me.
“I am so sorry about last night. I never meant to make you feel awkward.” I released a slow, shaky breath, waiting for him to say something.
“So you don’t want to fuck me?”
I flinched at his words. Physically, of course I did. But it wasn’t worth the emotional turmoil that came with it. Even now, deep in emotional turmoil, my body still reacted to him. But he clearly didn’t want that. He was repulsed, in fact. God, I was such a fucking idiot.
My voice quivered as I tried to salvage whatever personal pride I could. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to cause any issues. I don’t want you to think you have to move out.”
“Move out?” His tone was unsure. “Who said anything about moving out?”
“There are men here removing the futon from your bedroom.” Crossing the room to the front window, I peeked out. They had a huge white mattress wrapped in plastic and were hauling it from the back of the truck.
“What? Crap, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Let me start over. I got called into the hospital on short notice and forgot to tell you I’m having a bed delivered today. I couldn’t sleep on that futon anymore. But they weren’t supposed to take the damn thing. It’s yours.”
The men squeezed the mattress through the door and headed for Cannon’s room. Suddenly everything made sense. Cannon wasn’t mad. He wasn’t leaving. In fact, he was making himself more at home.
“Paige? You there?”
“I’m here,” I said after a few moments of silence. “Don’t worry about the futon. It wouldn’t have fit with the bed in there, anyway.”
“Are you okay?” he asked. “If you changed your mind about us . . .”
“Did you?” I asked, my heart resuming its gallop for very different reasons than before.
The delivery crew marched past with the bed frame while I waited for Cannon to answer.
“I’ve been hard since last night thinking about it. I’ve wanted you for ten years, Paige.”
His admission sent a fresh wave of desire rushing through me. “I didn’t change my mind.” My voice was uncharacteristically soft.
“I’ll be home at seven thirty,” he said.
“Dinner?” I asked.
“I take my break at five, and I usually eat then.”
“Okay. Seven thirty,” I repeated. I’d probably be too nervous to eat anyhow. “I’ll see you then.”
Once I’d closed the door behind the delivery crew, I wandered back to Cannon’s bedroom, feeling almost dazed. The huge king-sized bed took up most of the room, an imposing and ominous sign.
Am I really going to go through with this?
Chapter Ten
Cannon
“Have you decided yet?” Dr. Stinson asked, standing beside me.
I looked down at the options again and frowned. Turkey meat loaf or lasagna. If I was going to rock Paige’s world tonight, I wanted to eat light. I didn’t want a stomach full of heavy food to impact my performance.
“I might just hit the salad bar,” I said, turning to see if the offerings looked wilted.
Dr. Stinson chuckled. “I wasn’t asking if you’d decided on dinner. I meant your specialty. You have a clear talent for setting the opposite sex at ease. You’d make a great women’s care practitioner.”
Grabbing a tray from the stack, I followed him to the salad bar. “I’ve been thinking more about, uh . . .”
The first thing that jumped into my mind was cardiology. That was what I’d said when Paige had asked. But that was Dr. Stinson’s specialty, and I knew if I said that, he’d start talking my ear off. And I really wanted a break from intense career discussions right now.
“Plastic surgery,” I finally blurted.
“Hmm. A tit man, eh?” He chuckled as he heaped his plate with spinach.
I wasn’t sure how to take his reaction, but it didn’t really matter. It was my decision to make.
Actually, maybe plastic surgery wasn’t such a bad idea. With the aging baby-boomer population and Hollywood’s obsession with appearance, plastic surgery was a growing field. The money would be damn good. I could build up a nest egg for Mom, then change focus to something like pediatric craniofacial surgery. That would give me a chance to travel abroad—get involved in one of those international charity missions that helped kids born with cleft palates and other facial deformities, providing minor reconstructive surgeries they wouldn’t otherwise have access to.