It was like med school. No one had expected her to be a doctor, except for her dad, but she had made the decision and she’d stuck with it, and it had worked. She loved caring for patients.
She wanted Houston. If only for an affair, so be it. She was a big girl, in several ways, and she could walk away when it was over, with enough material to fuel hot dreams for the next twenty years or so.
He had said if he could get close to anyone, it would be her. Well, she’d show him close.
Bending over, Josie blotted her nose on her shirt to dull any shine that might be hanging around, and ran a finger through her choppy hair. Nervous about dropping by unannounced, she had gone to the mall and bought a denim skirt in an attempt to look something other thanscruffy.
It now occurred to her it would serve her new purpose even better, since he had said he wanted to see her in a skirt. He had suggested no panties, and barely covering her ass as well, but one out of three wasn’t bad.
The T-shirt she was wearing was a little on the tight side, too, and she decided maybe it would be therapeutic for him. Aid his recovery, get the old irons back in the fire.
The news from Houston’s surgery had been as expected. Both the FDP and FDS tendons to the index finger had been cut, and the FPL to the thumb, as well as the branches of the median nerve. Dr. Williams had retrieved the tendons from the forearm, where they had snapped back, and reattached them. He had then used a micro scope to sew the nerves back together.
So really, this wasn’t all about her. She was being a friend, that’s all. Houston needed a distraction, and if that involved oral sex, who was she to say no?
As she got out of the car and headed up his walk, she tried to imagine what he was going through and couldn’t. If she were to lose function in her hand, the medical field wouldn’t exactly mourn the loss. Houston was different. He was a brilliant surgeon, and loved it.
He had to be feeling frustrated, angry, scared. In pain.
But helping patients in recovery was one of her specialties, something she excelled at and enjoyed. She could help Houston recover, take care of him, be a friend. Give him an orgasm.
Her hand hit the doorbell hard. If he would let her.
A woman in her fifties, tall and trim, answered the door. She gave a friendly smile. “Can I help you?”
This she hadn’t counted on. Josie hadn’t stopped to think—big surprise—that he couldn’t possibly be alone, having just left the hospital the day before.
“Hi,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m Josie Adkins, a, uh, friend—colleague—of Houston’s. I just wanted to see how he’s doing.”
The door swung wider and the polite interest turned to genuine pleasure. “Come in, come in. It’s so nice to meet you, Josie. I’m Francesca Hayes, Houston’s mother.”
Hismother? This was such a bad idea.
“Houston’s in the living room, watching TV, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
Josie could argue that, but she just nodded.
Houston’s mother had a faint trace of an Italian accent and a welcoming smile. She leaned forward and whispered, “He doesn’t do so well with being injured, you know, and he’s growling like a bear.”
Josie could well imagine Houston had no patience for being dependent on others. She stepped into the condo and started down the hallway after his mother, hoping she knew what she was doing.
“Shit.”
They both heard Houston swear and the leather sofa squeak as he moved around.
Josie froze, a little unnerved, but his mother made a clicking sound with her teeth and called, “What’s the matter?”
“I dropped the fucking remote and I can’t pick it back up.” Oh, yeah. Bear was an understatement.
Francesca glanced back at her and gave a shrug of apology. “Houston, watch your mouth! You have company.”
“Dennis has heard me swear before.”
Josie stopped at the end of the hall and peered around his mother. Houston was on the couch, sitting up sideways, legs out straight in front of him. The wound on his leg was dressed, and his right hand was fully wrapped and splinted. He was wearing loose navy and green boxer shorts and a white T-shirt.
Her mouth went dry. He looked so delicious, so masculine, so pissed, as he leaned over the side of the couch and tried to retrieve the remote with his left hand, balancing precariously.
“It’s not Dennis, it’s your cute little friend Josie.”