Cheater''s Regret

  Chapter Thirty-One

  AUSTIN

  “I’m impressed.” My professor actually said those words. They came out of his mouth, and I could have sworn he was smiling; I mean, his teeth were clenched, but the point? He said the word “impressed.”

  “Thank you.” I grinned, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “It’s been really interesting.” Images of Thatch on his knees in front of me, his hands clasped around my hips as he pressed hot kiss after hot kiss against my skin, flooded my head until a burning heat erupted like goose bumps all over my body.

  “Has it, now?” He eyed me up and down. Yeah, I didn’t like that look. I quickly put all images of Thatch on lockdown. The last thing I needed was for my professor to think I was hitting on him. “I have an idea of what you could do to make it better.”

  My eyes narrowed. If he said sleep with him, I would take an F and then punch him in the face.

  Hands shaking with nerves, I put them behind my back and took a deep breath. “Okay, what’s your suggestion?”

  “Get one.”

  “I’m sorry?” A roaring sound exploded in my ears. “Get one, what?”

  “A breast augmentation.” He shrugged. “Imagine how many followers you would get if you blogged about it. Besides . . .” He stared at my chest longer than necessary before looking back at me. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  It. Couldn’t. Hurt.

  I waited for him to say something more, rather than start organizing his papers on his desk as if expecting me to say, Awesome, I’ll get right on that.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  Well, something was going to hurt.

  The feel of my sharp heel in his ass!

  “Great suggestion.” I tried to keep the venom out of my voice. “Although extremely sexual in nature, to the point where I’m pretty sure I could file a lawsuit against you and win—I’m going to have to reject that solid idea on the basis that I’m not a fan of going under the knife, and I’m happy the way I am.”

  The minute the words came out of my mouth.

  I realized how true they were.

  I was happy.

  Actually happy with my body.

  I smiled brightly.

  My boyfriend was a plastic surgeon, he worshipped my body, he didn’t tell me I had gained weight, and he encouraged me to have dessert.

  He was perfect.

  I’d dated guys like my professor all my life.

  He and Braden would be great friends, wouldn’t they?

  “It was just a suggestion,” he said in a clipped voice before meeting my eyes again. “You can go now.”

  Dismissed.

  I bet if I had sex with him, I’d get an A.

  Gross.

  I nodded my head and made my way out the door just in time to see Satan in all his glory waiting by my car.

  “Why am I not surprised to see you?” I was ten seconds away from slamming my books against Braden’s face. “You’re like a really, really, really, really—”

  He sighed.

  “Really,” I added for effect. “Bad cold. Like the ones that kill a person dead.”

  “You done yet?”

  “No.”

  “Whatever.” Braden shrugged. “Your dad told me where I could find you, and we still haven’t talked about the fund-raiser.”

  “So talk.”

  “It will look good for your father to have my family on his side. We have money, and money talks. All I’m saying is if you care about your father, you’ll do it.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Who was this guy?

  “No.” He shrugged. “I just think that with everything going on, it would probably be best to show a united front.”

  “‘Everything going on,’ meaning the fund-raiser?”

  He smirked; it was a cold look, one that chilled me to the bone. “Funny, and I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Ask your boyfriend.”

  “How did you know I had a boyfriend?”

  “Your father, how else?”

  “You’re not really making sense.”

  “I wasn’t really trying to. We’re going together, and that’s final.”

  “Hmm, let me see. When hell freezes over, and even then, I think I’d rather freeze right along with it.”

  Braden towered over me. “You always were difficult.”

  “And you always were threatening.”

  “You’d think if you had a plastic surgeon as a boyfriend, he’d at least do you for free.”

  Okay, that was too many insults in one day.

  I swung my arm back and punched him in the nose so hard I heard a crack.

  Only it wasn’t his nose.

  It was my hand.

  “Austin!” Thatch ran into the ER, pulling back the curtain with one giant swoop. He kissed me on the mouth before I could get a word out, then lightly held my hand. “There’s a lot of swelling, I can’t tell if it’s broken.”

  “You should see the other guy,” I joked.

  He swore as the ER doc walked in and shook his hand. “You must be Dr. Holloway, heard a lot about you.” He grinned widely. “Looks like it’s just a bad sprain with a pretty nasty-looking cut.”

  “Cut?” Thatch looked back at me. “How did you get cut?”

  “I think the force behind the hit sent me to the ground, my other hand landed on a sharp rock, and it lodged itself in my skin.” My lips trembled. All in all it had been a pretty traumatizing day.

  Both hands hurt like the fires of hell; the knuckles on my right were all bloody and turning blue. And my left palm felt like I’d grabbed a sharp rock and had been forced to squeeze.

  “Poor baby,” Thatch said gently. “You’re the only person I know who would actually punch someone in the face and walk away with more injuries.”

  I scowled.

  “I’ll treat her,” Thatch said without looking away from me. His eyes laced with concern. “Can you release her?”

  “Already done.” The doc handed Thatch my papers. “I figured you’d want to do the sutures anyways, no scarring.”

  Thatch thanked him and then shook his head at me. “You ready for me to sew you up?”

  “It sounds sexier on Grey’s Anatomy.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Just call me Dr. McSteamy.”

  I shivered. He was way better looking, if that was even possible.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THATCH

  I was just finishing up with my last patient when I got the call from Austin. I started running the minute she said “hospital.” My heart had nearly stopped.

  The fact that she was actually conscious and talking to me told me that she was alive, but that fear, that sinking feeling of loss, still clung to me with every step into the ER.

  I felt sick to my stomach.

  Nauseated.

  I couldn’t lose her.

  Just the thought of not having her—of her even being injured—hell, it was a glorified paper cut, and I was ready to scrub in and save her life.

  “Sit still,” I scolded. “Or you’re going to have zigzags on the side of your hand.”

  “Sorry,” Austin hissed as I tugged the needle a bit harder, threading the sutures together. “It just feels funny.”

  “Don’t puke,” I said without looking up at her. “It’s never the pain that gets people, it’s the tug they feel when their skin’s getting pulled and pinched together.”

  Austin sucked in a breath and whispered, “Yeah, I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

  I smirked down at my work as I made a final knot and cut the rest of the suture material. “Sorry.” Not too bad, she only needed six stitches around the base of her thumb. The cut had been deep, probably from the force of her entire body landing on the sharp rock. “Well, I think you’ll make a full recovery.”

  “I’ll live?”

  “As long as you don’t get the hand wet,” I said in a serious-as-hell voice. “So no showering, washing your hands,
or eating.”

  “Eating?”

  “Austin, we can’t have you getting Mountain Dew in your cut, do you know anything? You could die!”

  Eyes wide, she went completely pale. “But, but, that’s how I deal with stress and—”

  I burst out laughing.

  She went from panicked to pissed. “You big jerk!”

  “Whoa, careful there with that language.” I winked.

  She smacked me with her other hand, then winced and started shaking it, then blowing on it, like that was going to help.

  I grinned and examined the other hand. There would be bruising, but she’d be fine. “Remember what happened last time you picked a fight.”

  “And I can have Mountain Dew? And take showers?”

  I licked my lips and leaned in. “Sponge baths . . . but don’t worry, I’ll be very thorough.”

  “I think . . .” She met me halfway. “That you’re full of shit.

  “That’s the drugs talking. Believe me, it’s way easier if you just camp out at my place and let me take care of your . . . every . . .” I kissed her hard on the mouth. “Single . . .” Another kiss. “Need.”

  “You sure you can take care of all my needs?”

  I gripped her ass and pulled her onto my lap, kissing her neck, inhaling her skin like a drug addict. “Pretty damn positive.”

  “Well . . .” Our foreheads touched. Already her breathing was picking up, her eyes having trouble focusing on mine. “I have MoonPies in my nightstand, how can you really compete with that?”

  “Easy.” I shrugged. “More MoonPies and a Mountain Dew trail to the fridge, where I’ll stash extra chocolate milk.”

  She let out a little moan. “You know how I feel about chocolate milk, Thatch. Don’t joke about something so serious. I may never leave your apartment.”

  I paused and then licked my lips. “Would you believe me if I told you that was part of my evil plan?”

  Austin sighed and kissed my mouth softly. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “I can’t . . .” Shit, I needed to come clean. “I can’t live without you in my life. Not only that.” I gripped her face. “I don’t want to.”

  Air whooshed out of her lungs as she kissed me hard, her body plastered against mine, her breasts sliding across my chest. I let out a moan as I returned her kiss and blocked out every single conversation I’d had with Lucas that day.

  Why is he with your mom?

  Why indeed.

  The lie was on the tip of my tongue, but stole completely out of reach the minute my mom and the mayor grabbed each other’s hands and then let go whenever someone looked at them.

  One could never be too careful.

  And he was starting to become careless.

  I returned to the present.

  To Austin.

  To us.

  To tomorrow.

  She moaned as I started slowly dipping my right hand into the waist of her leggings.

  I’ll tell her tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  THATCH

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” I asked a guilty-looking Austin as she drank directly from the chocolate-milk carton. She froze and then slowly put the carton on the kitchen counter and wiped her face with the back of her bandaged hand.

  She had no idea how cute she was.

  Or how aroused I was by just watching her drink out of the damn milk carton. The light from the fridge cast a sexy glow across her smooth skin and nest of dark hair as strands fell across her face and long neck.

  She smiled, busted. “I was thirsty.”

  “And all the glasses were dirty?” I approached slowly, crossing my arms over my chest so I wouldn’t reach for her.

  Again.

  Because a man needs sleep.

  And ever since the day before—I’d been kissing her, taking her in the shower, and making sure that every single space in my apartment was christened with her presence.

  Including the kitchen counter.

  It still had remnants of chocolate sauce on parts of the granite. My blood heated at the memory.

  “Yes,” Austin finally answered. “Or, well, I didn’t want to get another glass dirty, because I know how you hate dirty things.”

  “Do I?” Was she sleepwalking? When had I ever said that to her?

  “Yeah.” She nodded encouragingly and smiled. “You hate it when things get dirty, so much, in fact, that you have to get them clean right away.”

  Why the hell was I getting turned on again?

  She reached inside the fridge, grabbed the chocolate sauce, and smiled.

  “Austin—”

  With a smirk, she held the bottle over her head and opened her mouth. I stared, slack-jawed, as she poured the chocolate syrup and gulped, only to have part of it spread down her chin and onto her white tank top, and farther into her cleavage.

  Shit, it shouldn’t have been hot.

  It was messy as hell.

  But she was right. I wanted to clean it up right away.

  And yet, I couldn’t look away.

  My dick jumped when she licked her lips and sucked chocolate off her thumb, only to eye me up and down and say, “Want some?”

  “Sure.” I uncrossed my arms and made my way over to her, but when she handed me the bottle, I pushed it away and licked the sauce off her chin, moving down to her chest. Then I jerked her shirt over her head, sucking each nipple until she started panting.

  “I didn’t get chocolate there.”

  “My eyes were closed—I just wanted to be sure,” I whispered hoarsely against her skin. “Look, more chocolate.” I moved down her stomach and tugged her shorts to the floor.

  She shivered. “Okay, now I know you’re full of it, I didn’t get chocolate anywhere near my—”

  I licked, then I sucked until I could have sworn she orgasmed against my lips. “You were saying?”

  “I was wrong.” And then she was putting chocolate on her fingers and spreading it wherever she wanted me to kiss.

  “A map, how thoughtful.” I licked each spot.

  “I’m a helper like that. Just think of me like your own personal compass.”

  I laughed against her skin, the vibrations making my lips buzz with each kiss and movement of my tongue.

  “I love your mouth,” she admitted, knees shaking together. “It’s the perfect mouth, have I told you that before? I may build a shrine—and here we worship Thatch’s lips, king of—”

  “And here”—I flicked her with my tongue—“I worship yours.”

  “Clever.”

  I sucked harder. “Yeah, I thought so.”

  Her ragged breathing was making it impossible to think straight as I gripped her by the hips and stood, then kicked my boxer briefs down and off while she wiggled against me.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” I groaned.

  “Are you filing an official complaint?”

  “Yes. And I’m charging you with making me lose sleep. Again. Death by chocolate . . .”

  “Chocolate should always give orgasms, Thatch. You’re a doctor, you should know these things.”

  “Yes, how silly of me to forget about that chapter during med school.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” She reached up with sticky hands and tugged my head down to her mouth. She tasted like chocolate and heat. “Take me.”

  “With pleasure,” I growled, sinking into her heat and pushing away every shred of guilt I still felt whenever I took more of her—without dealing with the giant lie that separated us.

  “Love you,” she breathed against my neck as I moved within her. “So much, Thatch.”

  “I love you too.” God, I was such a bastard. “No matter what.”

  I added that last part for myself.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  AUSTIN

  Things were going too well.

  And suddenly, that morning, I had that weird feeling where I could almost taste the tension in the air. Somet
hing felt wrong as I got ready for my last class to turn in my final assignment and found Thatch gone. I got the sense that the universe was shifting again and not in my favor.

  It was the same feeling I’d had the night of our breakup.

  He never left before me.

  Except for that one time when he was helping his neighbor.

  Concerned, I sent him a quick text and checked the time. The last thing I needed was to get docked points for being late to my final class, even though I’d completely killed that assignment.

  Five hundred people had started following my journey into plastic surgery—though I think most of it had to do with Thatch just being that good-looking. I’d have been addicted to the blog too—and Thatch being Thatch, he didn’t care that I added pictures of him to a few of the posts, as long as patients weren’t part of them.

  No text back.

  I eyed the orange juice on the counter and took a swig.

  Still cold.

  So he couldn’t have left that long ago, right?

  Shrugging it off, I grabbed my backpack and keys and made sure to lock up the apartment.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I nearly ran into a man coming up the stairs. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was thinning near his very deep widow’s peak.

  “Oh, sorry.” I smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t see you.”

  He snorted and then looked at the door I had just come out of. “You another of his one-night stands?”

  Bristling, I fought to keep myself from yelling at a stranger and said in a chipper voice, “Actually, I’m his girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend.” He crossed his arms. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. “He broke up with his girlfriend a few weeks ago.”

  And what? Got drunk with his neighbor and told him?

  “Yeah, that’s me.” I nodded and backed away slowly. “Well anyway, have a great day.”

  The man snorted. “Haven’t had a good day since that bitch ruined my life.”

  “Alright then.” I waved. “Well, I’m sorry about that.”

  His eyes were furious. “You should be.”

  Okay, I needed either to get the hell out of there or call the cops.

  “I have mace,” I whispered, my hand on my cell phone screen just ready to swipe and dial 911.

  He barked out a laugh and then another. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, sweetheart. This”—he pointed at himself—“is your future, especially if you marry Thatch.”