Intersect: The Parallel Duet, Book 2 Read online

  “I don’t think we —"

  “I wanted you first,” he says.

  My blood turns to ice and I put a hand on his chest to push away from him. “What?”

  The door opens. Light from the hallway illuminates the room, and Nick stands there, the blood draining from his face as he takes in my open jeans and my hands on Ryan’s chest.

  “No!” I cry, jolting myself awake. I sit up, struggling for air, and press my knees to my chest, my forehead between them, forcing myself to take controlled breaths. Beside me, Nick—grown-up Nick—is in a deep sleep. What did I do? Did Nick understand? Did he forgive me? Unlike all the other memories, even the bad ones, I feel tainted by this. I want it just to be a dream and I know it wasn’t. My head bumps against the frame of the bed and Nick rolls toward me.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. He pulls me down beside him. My leg slides over his and, half-asleep, he rolls toward me, pressing his mouth to my neck, his body far more awake than his brain. It distracts me from my panic of a moment earlier. I want him to keep distracting me. I want to forget it entirely.

  6

  QUINN

  Well, we made it through the night without having sex,” he announces over breakfast.

  In the bright light of morning, with Nick here, grinning at me like something miraculous has occurred, the dream last night feels distant. I tell myself it was just a nightmare, a figment of my imagination. I ignore the part of me that knows it wasn’t.

  I smile back. “As far as we know, anyway.”

  “If I managed to have sex with you while I was asleep I’m pretty impressed with myself, given everything else we did last night.”

  I look at him under my lashes. “I think you should be impressed with yourself either way.”

  “Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to insist on impressing you some more,” he says, shoving his plate to the side.

  The memory of Ryan hisses in my head, a poisonous snake I want to lock away in some dark corner and forget. I push my plate to the side too. “You say that as if you think I’d be threatened by it.”

  “You might be,” he says, pulling me into his lap, “if you had any idea how much more I’d like to do to you.”

  I feel a hum of pleasure in the middle of my chest. “Tell me more about these things you’d like to do.”

  “I’d like to have dinner with you every night,” he says softly. “And wake up with you every day.”

  My head tips back to look at him. “That’s way less filthy than I was expecting.”

  He grins. “There are plenty of filthy things I want too, but I’m trying to focus on the bigger picture at the moment. I want you to move in with me.”

  I blink, wondering if I’ve misheard him or if I’m somehow misunderstanding him. “What?”

  “Move in with me,” he says, pulling away just enough that he can see my eyes. “I want your face to be the last thing I see every night and the first thing I see every morning. I haven’t even been trying to find a new place and I just realized it’s because I want it to be your choice too.”

  My heart begins to trip in my throat, excitement that is joyful and frightened all at once. “We’re not supposed to be dating in the first place. Sharing a home might make it a little hard to keep this a secret.”

  “We’ll figure something out. We’ll get a house with a back entrance and I’ll sneak in at night.”

  I allow myself to picture it, him coming home to me, sliding between the sheets of our bed in the darkness the way he did in London. I want it so badly I can taste it, but this isn’t London and there are so many consequences this time around. “But we can’t even be together,” I reply, flustered. “Physically. You know what I mean.”

  “That isn’t going to last forever,” he says. His eyes darken in a way that makes me momentarily forget we were ever discussing anything other than sex, and us having it. “It can’t. And we’ve found plenty of other ways to deal with it.”

  We’ve found so, so many ways to deal with it since yesterday. Desire flares again and I struggle to ignore it. “But we’re only on, like, our fifth date. You cannot ask me to move in on our fifth date. God, I can’t even imagine how everyone would react if I moved in with you right now.”

  “Fuck everyone else. And this is more like our 15th date,” he argues. “What about the night we danced at the harbor, or when we went to Baltimore, or sat up all night at the hospital?”

  I laugh. “Okay. You cannot ask me to move in because it’s only our 15th date.”

  “Fine,” he says. “You’re right. I’ll wait til our 16th. Which is tomorrow, just so we’re clear.”

  I shake my head, but I also don’t say no. The sensible thing would be to wait…until we see where this goes, until my fear recedes. But I no longer have forever to put the things I want on hold.

  * * *

  We spend the day out on the water. He teaches me how to paddleboard and standing there, watching him restrain his grin as I struggle to maintain my balance, it’s easy to forget about the dream last night. It’s in the quiet moments, when he’s pulling the boards out of the water and I’m standing idly by, that I’m struck by a fresh wave of guilt.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, studying my face when he returns to the dock. I want to tell him the truth. He wouldn’t hold it against me, would he? It’s not even this version of me that’s responsible for what happened, if he even blamed me in the first place. Does it count as cheating if you don’t know you’re doing it?

  I smile. “Nothing. The wind is picking up. You think we’ll be cold on the boat?”

  “Why don’t you grab a sweatshirt while I store this stuff?” he asks. “There’s one in my bag. It’s still in the other room.”

  I make my way back into the house. The room he once shared with Ryan rests at the end of the long hall. A part of me doesn’t want to set foot inside it, wants to avoid any other memories that linger.

  The room is bathed in sunlight yet feels dangerous to me. Two beds sit there, with matching navy-and-white quilts, pillows shaped like footballs. It’s still the room of children. One of whom is no longer alive.

  A framed photo rests on the nightstand between the two beds. Nick and Ryan as boys. Baseball uniforms and big smiles. I put the photo back where it was, wrestling with this sense of dread in my chest. There’s more here, I know there is.

  And I’m scared to learn what it is, because I’m pretty sure it was my fault.

  7

  QUINN

  It’s dark when he pulls up to Caroline’s apartment on Sunday night. The streets are quiet and the air is balmy but not hot, and I wish we could just stay right here and not emerge from our bubble a little longer. He climbs out of the Jeep and grabs my bag for me.

  “Don’t walk me in,” I tell him. “Just in case Jeff is in the lobby.”

  He raises a brow. “You really think that would discourage me from walking you in?”

  There’s no arguing with him, but my stomach doesn’t relax until we’ve reached the elevator. He wraps an arm around me as we ascend and I rest my head on his shoulder, wondering what comes next. He hasn’t brought up moving in together since this morning. Maybe he’s giving me space, or maybe he’s come to his senses. It would be best for both of us if he had, but it depresses me all the same.

  When we reach Caroline’s door, sadness hits me hard, out of nowhere. I don’t want him to leave. He sweeps the hair that’s escaped my ponytail behind my ear, his fingers and his gaze lingering on my face. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” My smile is forced, fleeting.

  He presses his mouth to mine and in seconds I give into the pressure of his lips. Wanting more, as always. I arch against him and my bag falls to the floor as his hands grab my hips to pull me against him.

  His mouth is on my jawline, my neck. I purr like a cat in heat.

  “More,” I whisper, grabbing the neck of his T-shirt and pulling those perfec
t lips of his to my own.

  I feel the groan of need rumbling in his chest, feel the moment something snaps inside both of us and we stop caring that we are in the hallway. His hands pull at my ass, so that he is pressed to the junction between my legs. My dress slides up and all that separates us are his shorts and my panties.

  My leg wraps around his hip and my hand is on his zipper when the elevator dings and unloads a carful of laughing twenty-somethings. It’s the splash of cold water we need. In an instant my leg is back on the floor and he’s pulled my dress down, but by their suppressed laughter and raised brows as they pass, I intuit they got an eyeful of something.

  He presses his forehead against mine. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Stop apologizing,” I say, pressing my mouth to his. Within seconds his hands are sliding up my thighs again and almost as fast he pushes away, pinning me to the wall so I can’t chase him.

  “I’m not going to ask you to move in again,” he says, pulling his lip between his teeth.

  I nod, swallowing hard on my disappointment. “It’s probably for the best.” I stare at the floor to avoid his eye.

  His index finger tips my chin up to meet his gaze. “I want to move in with you more than I have ever wanted anything. Okay, there’s one thing I probably want more.” His eyes flicker over me, a half-smile on his face. “But I’m not going to be Jeff. It was pretty easy to figure out what he was saying to you on the phone yesterday. I’m not going to be one more guy who tries to push you into doing what he wants. Just know that I hate that I’m going home without you.”

  And then, pressing his lips to my forehead, he turns and walks away.

  * * *

  Inside the apartment, Caroline is lying on the couch with a huge smile on her face. “You look like you had a very satisfying weekend,” she says.

  I sink into the chair across from hers. “Not entirely the way you’re thinking, but yes.”

  Her mouth falls open. “You went away for the entire weekend and didn’t sleep with him?”

  I would like to tell her everything, but it sounds too far-fetched, even for a best friend inclined to believe anything I say. “We’re just taking it slowly.”

  “Oh my God,” she says, flinging herself dramatically across the couch, “a whole weekend with a gorgeous man and not a single orgasm? That’s terrible.”

  I grin. “I didn’t say there were no orgasms. I just said we’re taking it slowly.”

  She rolls toward me so fast she nearly falls right onto the floor. “I need details.”

  I laugh to myself. She’s going to be so uninterested in the detail I’m about to share. “He wants me to move in with him.”

  All the delight is sucked straight from her face. She sits upright. “Not what I was looking for. Tell me you’re not considering it?”

  “I am,” I admit. “I’m just concerned—”

  “Of course you’re concerned!” she shouts. “You’ve only dated him for a fucking week!”

  “That’s not what bothers me,” I reply. There are things I’ve been keeping from her and Trevor, but it’s gotten to the point that I need to come clean. I’m no longer optimistic Nick and I are going to discover some magical cure. “It’s mostly that it’s not fair to him, because I have—” I stop to take a deep breath. “I have a brain tumor.”

  Caroline’s ever-present insouciance fades. “What?” she whispers. “If this is some kind of joke it’s not funny.”

  My eyes shift away from hers. “It’s not a joke. I’ve known for a few weeks, but I didn’t want to mention it because I was worried you and Trevor would treat me differently. And I was sort of hoping I’d find a cure.”

  She stares at her knees, her cheeks sucked in hard. “I guess you didn’t, then, if you’re telling me now,” she finally says in a tiny voice.

  My heart aches. She’s been my best friend for a decade. I wish I’d found a better way to break the news. “Right. I didn’t.”

  She presses her fingers to her temples. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Her voice is barely audible.

  “I didn’t want everyone being upset and serious and talking in hushed voices, reminding me something’s wrong. I want you and Trevor to continue to be assholes whether I’m dying or not.”

  She heaves a sigh and throws her head back against the cushions, looking at the ceiling instead of me with eyes that are suspiciously bright. “I promise I’ll go back to being an asshole. Just give me a minute.”

  I wait for her to pull herself together. “This is bullshit, Quinn,” she says through a raspy voice. “You’re finally going back to school and you’ve jettisoned your loser fiancé and…this is just bullshit.”

  My throat tightens a little. I sort of agree, but I’m realizing life really doesn’t work out like the movies do. Sometimes things are unfair, and they just remain unfair. “But you see the issue,” I finally continue. “Nick should be finding someone he can have a future with, and that person might not be me. It probably shouldn’t be me, given that it could impact his job.”

  “He’s a big boy,” she says dismissively. “Just think about if the positions were reversed: if he had the tumor, would you want to be moving on, or would you just want to capture every day with him you could?”

  I know the answer in my very bones without even considering it. I’d want to capture every day and I’d be in agony if he wouldn’t allow me to do it. “I’d want to be with him,” I admit. “But even with that, I’m still scared. This won’t make sense, but I just feel like I might…care about him too much.”

  “That is literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, aside from a minute ago when you said you were going to move in with a guy you just met. You might care about him too much? What does that even mean?”

  I curl into myself. “I don’t know.” I really don’t. I only know it feels dangerous somehow to get even closer to him than I already am.

  Caroline shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m encouraging this, because I think it’s fucking insane, but you’ve spent most of your life cowering and—”

  “I haven’t been cowering,” I argue.

  She arches a brow. “Really, Quinn? Dropping out of college because your mom was a mess? Getting back together with Jeff just because he quit his job to follow you here? For whatever reason, you have been shying away from greatness your entire life. So tell me something: how’s that worked out for you?”

  My arms fold across my chest. I can’t really argue. I just hate what she’s saying. “Not especially well.”

  “No, it’s worked out fucking terribly. So I say if something you want scares the hell out of you, go for it. Because the other way isn’t working.”

  8

  QUINN

  The following afternoon, Nick steps into one door of the imaging waiting room just as I emerge from the other. Despite his sweet, lopsided grin, he looks more like an Olympic athlete about to take over a press conference than a doctor collecting a patient. My eyes move straight from his face to his shirt to his belt, cataloguing what I’d like to remove in precise order.

  “Escorting me back to your office?” I ask under my breath. “Don’t you have people for this part?”

  For just a moment he allows the back of his hand to tap the base of my spine before it falls away. “Yes, Miss Stewart, I do,” he says quietly. “But there are a few patients I escort from imaging personally.”

  I glance up at him. “The ones you’re moving in with?”

  His smile lifts high on one side and I get a glimpse of that dimple I love. “Yes. Those. The agent is meeting us at five.”

  He holds the elevator open for me and I walk in, shaking my head. I looked at the listings he forwarded. They’re way too expensive. I knew housing in Georgetown was insane, but I didn’t know it was this insane. “I could pay four months of my mortgage for the rent on a fixer-upper here. We should just look at apartments.”

  He bends toward me and his laughter b
rushes my ear, husky and warm. “I am a neurologist with no kids and no debt and nothing I would like to blow my money on more than this.”

  I purr under my breath at his nearness and he moves away, leaning against the opposite wall of the elevator. It’s a respectable distance for any security cameras, but the look in his eyes is positively filthy. Or maybe that’s just where my mind had already gone, because his shirt is unbuttoned just enough to get a glimpse of that chest I so enjoyed this weekend, and already I am picturing my mouth pressed to the hollow in his collarbone as I pull his belt loose.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he says, “but if these elevators weren’t monitored by security I’d make you demonstrate every one of them.”

  The doors open and I slide past him. “You’re all talk,” I say over my shoulder.

  “Such a smart mouth,” he replies, the words half spoken and half growled. “Let’s see how smart it is when I get you alone.”

  I raise a brow. “Easy to say when there’s no place we can be alone.”

  “You think?” he asks, opening his office door and pulling me inside. The moment the door shuts, I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my face to his blue oxford, and breathing in the smell of his skin beneath the starch of his shirt.

  “God, I’ve missed you and it hasn’t even been 24 hours,” he says, seeking my mouth. My hand palms him outside his khakis, and his fingers slide up my inner thigh, beneath the elastic of my panties. “You’re already wet,” he says with a quick, rough breath. “Get on the desk.”