I knew I needed to get off the good initiative, bad judgment track in order to be the kind of man who stood the ghost of a chance with Veronica.
I actually started putting work into getting my headspace sorted out.
HardCorps Gym was growing, clients practically walking in off the street for a little Marine-style fitness. The Retribution dudes had stopped busting my chops about the doc. Hunter was happy with my progress.
Hunter. Happy. I still chuckled over that one, wondering when my time would come.
I grabbed big boy Kinkaid for our own little business venture meeting, and he was on board. He was another one all paired up and joy-joy blissfully happy with his old lady Sadie. Even Brodie the Veep beamed fucking sunshine and rainbows like that shit was coming out of his ass whenever his woman Ashe made an appearance at the club.
I felt like the Lone Wolf once again, but this time I had backup, blueprints, new people at my six.
No Veronica though. Not even several more weeks later. May gained on us, and summer fucking love was in the air for everyone but me it appeared.
And I couldn’t believe I’d become this pathetic lovelorn loser over a lady I’d met precisely four times. That was kind of fucked up.
If I’d thought being interrogated by V was pure purgatory, not seeing her at all was a thousand times worse. She’d gotten under my skin so quickly it was impossible to turn off thoughts of her.
I’d left several voicemails on her professional service, and immediately wished I could delete them because apparently I’d reverted to puberty. In my defense, the messages were succinct and to the point. I hadn’t gone all true confessions with her.
I still wanted to hijack that shit before she listened to it.
“Hi. Veronica. It’s Bo. Bo Maverick. Your ex-patient, the ex-Marine . . . yeah, you probably remember. Uhhh , so I wanted to let you know I’ve been seeing Doctor Cartwright like you suggested. He’s good. I’m keeping my appointments. Shit. Sorry. Fuck. I don’t know if you care, not that you should, but . . . okay. Bye.”
If I ever saw her again it would be with my feet shuffling in a lame walk of shame.
Cheee-riist.
I couldn’t blame her for cutting me off. I’d practically assaulted her on her doorstep. What kind of woman—let alone a smart PhD doctor type—would want a man like me?
****
The second Friday in May, I’d finished up with my last gung-ho client whose ass I’d handed to him basic training style. I’d showered and was half dried off when the doorbell rang.
Hooking the towel around my hips, I peered out the peephole.
Veronica.
Oh yes.
To rush back to my bedroom and put on something more presentable before answering the door to her or not?
Hell no.
I had that shit unlocked and opened in an instant.
Bracing one arm on the doorframe, my free hand halfheartedly clutching the towel as it dragged along the muscles of my lower abs, I grinned. “Hello there, Doc.”
Her rich-colored eyes widened, her gaze clinging to the water droplets trailing through the line of hair from my belly button to the edge of the towel.
Biting her bottom lip, she visually traced the ripped and rearing-to-go muscles of my upper body. I knew when she’d completed return her route south. She hissed, and her wet lip popped out in a pout.
Oh yeah. She’d seen what she did to me. A thin towel was no defense against my thickening erection.
I cleared my throat.
Her eyes popped up.
“I can come back.” She turned on her heels, but my hand shot out and I grasped her wrist.
“Oh no you don’t. I’ve waited three weeks to talk to you. You’re not going anywhere.” Pulling her in, I shut the door.
“But you don’t like to talk.”
“What can I say? You got to me, Veronica.”
She stared as I stood with my feet braced apart and my arms crossed over my chest.
Heated spots deepened the color on her cheeks. Her breath rushed in and out of her lips. She leaned against the door in an open
I actually started putting work into getting my headspace sorted out.
HardCorps Gym was growing, clients practically walking in off the street for a little Marine-style fitness. The Retribution dudes had stopped busting my chops about the doc. Hunter was happy with my progress.
Hunter. Happy. I still chuckled over that one, wondering when my time would come.
I grabbed big boy Kinkaid for our own little business venture meeting, and he was on board. He was another one all paired up and joy-joy blissfully happy with his old lady Sadie. Even Brodie the Veep beamed fucking sunshine and rainbows like that shit was coming out of his ass whenever his woman Ashe made an appearance at the club.
I felt like the Lone Wolf once again, but this time I had backup, blueprints, new people at my six.
No Veronica though. Not even several more weeks later. May gained on us, and summer fucking love was in the air for everyone but me it appeared.
And I couldn’t believe I’d become this pathetic lovelorn loser over a lady I’d met precisely four times. That was kind of fucked up.
If I’d thought being interrogated by V was pure purgatory, not seeing her at all was a thousand times worse. She’d gotten under my skin so quickly it was impossible to turn off thoughts of her.
I’d left several voicemails on her professional service, and immediately wished I could delete them because apparently I’d reverted to puberty. In my defense, the messages were succinct and to the point. I hadn’t gone all true confessions with her.
I still wanted to hijack that shit before she listened to it.
“Hi. Veronica. It’s Bo. Bo Maverick. Your ex-patient, the ex-Marine . . . yeah, you probably remember. Uhhh , so I wanted to let you know I’ve been seeing Doctor Cartwright like you suggested. He’s good. I’m keeping my appointments. Shit. Sorry. Fuck. I don’t know if you care, not that you should, but . . . okay. Bye.”
If I ever saw her again it would be with my feet shuffling in a lame walk of shame.
Cheee-riist.
I couldn’t blame her for cutting me off. I’d practically assaulted her on her doorstep. What kind of woman—let alone a smart PhD doctor type—would want a man like me?
****
The second Friday in May, I’d finished up with my last gung-ho client whose ass I’d handed to him basic training style. I’d showered and was half dried off when the doorbell rang.
Hooking the towel around my hips, I peered out the peephole.
Veronica.
Oh yes.
To rush back to my bedroom and put on something more presentable before answering the door to her or not?
Hell no.
I had that shit unlocked and opened in an instant.
Bracing one arm on the doorframe, my free hand halfheartedly clutching the towel as it dragged along the muscles of my lower abs, I grinned. “Hello there, Doc.”
Her rich-colored eyes widened, her gaze clinging to the water droplets trailing through the line of hair from my belly button to the edge of the towel.
Biting her bottom lip, she visually traced the ripped and rearing-to-go muscles of my upper body. I knew when she’d completed return her route south. She hissed, and her wet lip popped out in a pout.
Oh yeah. She’d seen what she did to me. A thin towel was no defense against my thickening erection.
I cleared my throat.
Her eyes popped up.
“I can come back.” She turned on her heels, but my hand shot out and I grasped her wrist.
“Oh no you don’t. I’ve waited three weeks to talk to you. You’re not going anywhere.” Pulling her in, I shut the door.
“But you don’t like to talk.”
“What can I say? You got to me, Veronica.”
She stared as I stood with my feet braced apart and my arms crossed over my chest.
Heated spots deepened the color on her cheeks. Her breath rushed in and out of her lips. She leaned against the door in an open
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