Martin raises a perfectly waxed brow at my obnoxious response. “Well, since you are the one that’s been his sidekick for the last few months, you are likely the one that also gets the brunt of his asshole behaviors. I thought maybe you’d know why he’s looking extra ornery tonight.” He gestures with his free hand behind me, and I take that opportunity to peek slowly over my shoulder where I last saw Colt standing.
I’ve done my best to pretend he’s just another doctor at the fundraiser tonight. When Martin and I arrived, I pretended to gawk at the white holiday decor and the gauzy lace fabric billowing from the windows. I pointed out the ice sculpture replica of the hospital logo, murmuring about how ridiculously expensive it must have been before letting myself search the room for Colt.
When I found him standing by the fire, nodding along to whatever my dad was saying as he stared into the flames, I nearly choked on my own spit. The man showed up wearing a navy suit, one that fits him so well it might as well be a second skin. It accentuates his broad shoulders and the muscle that I know is hidden underneath. He’s as fuckable as ever, complete with an expensive watch that glistens in the flicker of the lights and a pinstripe tie. A burgundy pinstripe tie, I might add. One that perfectly matches the hue of my own dress, which he asked about last week. I blew out a rattled, sharp breath as my mind raced with all the ways I wanted to use that tie later.
Colt always looks like he’s pissed off. Or maybe a little constipated. In most work interactions, he’s frowning with those thick brows pulled together and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His stance usually says, “Hurry up, you’re wasting my time.” The only time he isn’t broody is when he’s in his element—in the OR with his angry boy playlist going and instruments in his hands.
That, or in the bedroom with me.
When I spot him across the room, it takes everything in me to school my expression. To pretend I’m looking at just another co-worker and not the man who consumes my every thought. Who I spend every day with, whether we are at work or not, and whose bed has become my own.
And with that, I can safely say these last few months with him have been the best months of my life. Even before the sex, working alongside him, and getting to learn from a surgeon as talented as him is something I’ve always dreamed of.
But Martin’s right. Colt looks crabbier than usual. He’s standing next to my dad and the Vice President of the board of directors, nodding along to whatever my dad says, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere.
My guess is he’s in the middle of a schmooze fest courtesy of my dad and that he’s freaking miserable. He says his dream is to be Chief once my father retires, but his lack of interest in hospital politics screams anything but that. I’ve heard the occasional whisper behind his back, jokes that he’d be a terrible Chief because he lacks patience or the desire to help. And I wish so badly he’d show others the side that he shows me. The side of him that cares, that teaches, that’s thoughtful enough to want to match what I’m wearing tonight even though no one knows we’re together. That’s the part of him I wish he’d show the world.
He grips the tumbler in his hand so hard his knuckles turn white, and I watch as he brings the amber liquid to his mouth for a painfully slow sip.
“You’re right,” I finally say, turning to address Martin. “He definitely looks more pissed off than usual.”
Martin eyes Colt for another minute over my shoulder before pursing his lips together as his gaze returns to mine. “But he can definitely wear the fuck out of that suit.”
My laugh rips out of me unexpectedly, and I reach out to grasp Martin’s forearm for balance as I nearly tumble over. My obnoxious outburst garners attention from some of the other party goers, and when I look back in Colt’s direction, I catch the faint hint of a smile on his lips along with the cold expression coming from my father. I school an eye roll before turning back to Martin and clearing my throat. “Excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom.”
I set my champagne flute on the table in front of me and reach for my clutch. I take a slight detour as I maneuver through the crowd, making sure to breeze by my dad and behind Colt.
I gently brush his elbow when I pass by, hoping the move was subtle enough that he felt it without catching the attention of anyone around us.
Once I leave the double doors of the stuffy, overcrowded ballroom, I inhale a deep breath and meander down the hall toward the bathrooms. My gaze falls on the floor-to-ceiling windows that parallel the hall, showing off a picturesque skyline view of the city.
Snow falls in thick flakes, clinging to the glass before they slowly slide down. I waltz over to the glass and raise a palm, pressing my skin to the frame and letting the cool winter weather seep in through the pane.
A blue blur catches in my peripheral, and I don’t have to fully turn to see who is following me out of the ballroom. I can smell the hint of his cologne and feel his presence surround me. I’d feel him with my eyes held shut. I let my hand slowly slide down from the glass, rubbing my fingers gently against my palm to wipe away the moisture as I continue my walk.
I pause as I reach the turn in the hall that leads to the bathroom and notice an intimate bar opposite the wall, the doorway nearly hidden by a towering plant. The singer strums his acoustic guitar in the dim lights, and I soak it in, letting myself sway to the music.
Sitting in this bar would have been so much more fun tonight. Instead of a stale ballroom filled with board members and surgeons, and instead of whispers over the silent auction with pricey getaways and raised brows over the size of the filet mignon, I could be here. Tucked into a corner booth in the dark with Colt, the music loud enough that he has to lean into me so I can hear him speak. I’d fit myself under his large arm and let it rest heavy on my shoulder while we sipped a drink, letting it go stale before we even cared to finish.
The clearing of a throat sounds behind me, and I turn away from the bar entrance, spinning toward the bathroom markedwomen.
I push on the handle, opening the door slowly and the lights flick on to reveal a single stall restroom. Holding the door open for another beat as Colt enters behind me, he takes the door from my hand, briefly sticking his head out to make sure no one saw us together before closing it behind him and locking it.
I watch his reflection in the mirror as I pretend to busy myself. I wash my hands under the tepid water, pulling a piece of paper towel to dry them. Grabbing the lipstick from my clutch, I make a show of reapplying even though my red pout is still perfect.
Tilting my head from side to side, I check for non-existent frizzy strands and lint on my back, a smile splitting my face when I hear Colt grumble behind me.
His hands reach out to grip my hips, snapping my back against his chest so abruptly I yelp.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs before his mouth comes down hard on the space between my neck and shoulder.
My hand comes up to reach behind me and grip his neck, forcing his lips harder against my skin, and my body vibrates with the sensation. His mouth works its way up my neck and under my jaw before his lips pause against mine.
Lipstick be damned. I spin around and pull him to me so I can run my hands up his neck to comb through his hair at the sides of his temples, knowing I’m messing it up, but every time he’s near I can’t help it.
I always want more. Another kiss. More pressure. He’s never close enough that the hole inside me feels fulfilled. And God, I hope that feeling never happens. I never want to wake up one day and realize I’m okay without him kissing me, or without feeling his arms pulling me into him at night.
Colter Andrews has become my addiction, and I’d give up nearly everything for another hit.
