She hesitates momentarily. “I stayed here too long and I have to leave here anyway.” She laughs. “I was getting too comfortable.” She waves her hand dismissively and purses her lips.
I don’t really understand her remark and wait for her to explain further, but it doesn’t come. Maybe it’s selfish, but at that moment, I finally felt some happiness come back into my life. Her support means everything to me, more than she will ever know. I won’t be braving the city alone and will have someone to share the rent with. My mind starts to spin with possibilities.
“I’ll call my job placement and make sure they can secure a place for two bedrooms. It shouldn’t be a problem, and it will allow us to look for a place we can both like living in once we get there.”
We say our goodbyes and promise to chat later.
I pack up more things and come across an old photo album. I pick up Emma’s wineglass and pour what’s left into my glass. I grab the album and plop down on the couch, abandoning my packing. I look at the cover but already know what I will find when I open it up. Brodie had made me a scrapbook a couple of years ago with memories of all of us together through the years. Being a phenomenal artist, the scrapbook was a work of art. Each page is decorated and filled with graffiti, along with pictures. The title of the book,Waves of you,is brilliantly painted across the front with a tumbling wave at the bottom. My fingers trace the outline of the words before I open them up. The memories come flooding back as soon as I see the first picture. Us as kids, times we played in the sand, field trips where I was feeding a seagull part of my sandwich, and a picture of Brodie super pissed off because the seagulls fighting for morsels of said sandwich flew above us and pooped on his jacket. I laugh to myself as I remember that day. He threw his coat off and wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the trip. As pissed as he was, I couldn’t help laughing the entire ride home. By the time we returned to my house, he was laughing too. Our giggles became infectious to each other.
My hand automatically comes up to my chest. I was rubbing at the same spot over my heart where I’ve had so much pain over the past couple of months. I continue to flip through the pages and am flooded with memories that lead us both here. I get up from the floor and go to wash my face, needing to wash away the tears I didn’t realize were falling as I leave the bathroom, a text message alert pings through my phone. I grab my phone off the kitchen counter and almost drop it when I see Dax’s name on the screen. With shaking hands, I place it up to my face to unlock the screen and prepare myself for what he could say to me. A million thoughts barrel through my mind. I haven’t heard from him in over a month, but I still think about him daily.
I click on the message, and it’s a link to Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” song we were listening to on the beach before the accident. When the possibility of there being an “us” was still there. The link underneath the music is the same message he texted me the first time.Thinking about you.
I’m speechless. My legs go weak, and I drop onto the couch, staring at the screen. What should I say? How can I explain what these past couple of months have been like for me?
Coming up blank and needing to calm down, I head to the bathroom to shower. Turning on the water, I undress and look at myself in the mirror. Staring back at me is a face I barely recognize—the hollowness in my cheeks, dark circles under my eyes, and a frown on my mouth. The reflection of guilt disappears as the mirror fogs, and the billowing steam rises from the shower jets. I hit play on the surround speaker, and the bathroom fills with the voice singing about lost love. I place my head in my hands and cry. I cry for the guilt I am overcome with. I cry for a love lost. And I cry for how the waves of you have now ceased to exist.
ChapterTen
Dax
I look downat my phone and instantly frown. The messages I sent to Liv have gone through, but I’m still waiting for a response.
“Great,” I mutter to myself.
I toss the phone on my desk and slump back into my chair. At some point, I will have to accept that she isn’t going to answer me back. Maybe I was wrong, and she didn't feel the same way I did. It must have been all one-sided. But I can’t help but remember the exaggerated way our bodies instinctively pulled toward each other. Sighing again, I slink further into my chair and feel the sting of rejection and defeat wash over my tired body. A ping from my phone stops my rambling thoughts. A glimmer of hope crosses my mind for a split second.Please, let that be her; Ipray silently to myself.
Instead, I see a text from Tatiana. I exhale gruffly in irritation and begrudgingly open the message.
Are you coming over later?
I take a minute to think of a response. Do I want to go over? Or would I rather sit here in self-pity? I take a deep breath and decide I need to move on. I need to get Liv out of my mind.
Sure
I responded.I see the three dots appear and then disappear.
Another message comes up.
Looking forward to it.
I drag myself to the kitchen, grab a beer and crack it open while I start to get ready for the night and what’s ahead.
Tatiana Belov was as true to her name as possible. She was a Russian beauty with ultra blond hair and signature red lipstick that matched the red sole shoes she often wore. She was sex personified. She carried herself on a lean, toned frame with long legs that were sinful to anyone that watched her glide through the hospital halls. For some reason, I had caught her eye, and she often sought me out in the halls during the day or at work functions. We met at the hospital while we were both in residency. She chose anesthesiology, so we often worked together in the operating room. She is now a full-time attending in a private anesthesia practice, and I decided to do a fellowship. Following in my dad’s footsteps was always the plan for me. I idolized the man, and one of my most significant life accomplishments is that I will soon be done becoming a partner in his practice.
As I drive to her ultra-modern townhome in the uptown Houston area, my brain ping-pongs back and forth between Liv and Tatiana. The hold Liv had on me after only a few days still feels surreal. I can still feel her hand in mine and how her hair smelled when she was near. I memorized the curves of her body, and on more nights than I can count, I thought of her as I found release alone in my bed. A car pulls out in front of me, cutting me off and returning me to reality. Three thoughts come to me clearly. Liv is gone. Probably moved on. I need to as well.
I repeat this new mantra to convince me further as I pull up to Tatiana’s residence. I grab the bottle of wine I bought before getting out of my ride and heading to the door. Before I even get there, she opens the door casually but oh so seductively leans on the door frame. Her gaze looks me up and down as I walk up the stairs toward her.
“Hey, handsome,” she purrs, pulling me in by my collar and kissing me.
Her kiss is soft at first. Her lips grazed mine before she pulled me closer and separated my lips with her tongue. I try to drop my keys and phone on the table inside the door but miss miserably, and I vaguely remember hearing the clatter as they hit the tile floor. My arms circle her waist, and I lift her up, pressing her breasts against my chest. Her long legs instinctively wrap around my waist, and I kick the door closed with my foot.This is what I need,I find myself thinking. A distraction. A physical lust-filled distraction. My hands drop from her waist to her perfectly round ass, and I move like a man on a mission toward the couch. I stalk through the living room until my knees hit the couch and throw her down roughly. A breath of air leaves her mouth as she lands on her back before seductively biting her lower lip and opening her legs. Her tongue darts out to swipe over her bottom lip while devouring me with her eyes. I take a step back to catch my breath and focus. Images of Liv pop into my mind, and I fight them back despite wishing more than anything that it was her writhing in front of me, not Tatiana.
“Come here,” she drawls in her sexy Russian accent, and my mind reverts to the present.
It’s only then I look at her and take in the view in front of me. Thin red straps run over her shoulders, and as my eyes move down, I see the lacy red fabric of the teddy that barely covers the rest of her body. It’s thin over her round tits, allowing the pale pink nipples underneath to show through. As her legs part, I notice the material parts right over her lower pelvis, the lace gone from over her most private area, revealing exposed, pink, glistening skin. My hands move on their own accord unbuckling my pants quickly as a primal hunger takes over. My pants drop, and the belt buckle echoes loudly through the room as it bounces off the travertine tile. I stand above her in my underwear with my aching cock, tenting the cotton barrier. She notices and licks her lips quickly, sitting up and crawling toward me.
“You want me to help with that?” she says, barely above a whisper.
