Crazy Imperfect Love Read online

  I jump up, grab the T-shirt he tossed aside, and tug it over my head. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate. Want some?”

  “Sure.” He reaches out a hand, and I help pull him off the floor, admiring just how handsome he is.

  Drake might not do physical labor at his job, but he puts in time at the gym, and it pays off. His chest is rock solid, his abs are cut into deep rivulets, and then there’s that perfect little V I’d only read about in romance novels. I always thought they were somewhat of a unicorn—something most men only strive for, but never get. I was wrong. They are real.

  Very, very real.

  “Keep looking at me like that, and you’ll be flat on your back with my cock inside you again.”

  My cheeks flush as I watch Drake hike his pants up. He leaves them unbuttoned, and I’m tempted to just throw my naked body at him and tell him to do his worst. But I’m cold, and my vagina is sore.

  Also something I didn’t know could actually happen.

  “I’m keeping this shirt,” I say, pulling the soft cotton to my nose.

  Drake laughs, plops down on the couch, and reaches for the remote. “You say that every time you put one on.”

  “You think I’m kidding. I’m not.” Turning on my heel, I head for the kitchen to make our hot chocolate. When I return a few minutes later, Drake is watching the evening news.

  “Here you go.”

  He takes the mug of cocoa. “Thank you.”

  I snuggle up beside him on the couch and watch the news. When the anchor reports on a house fire, my mind instantly jumps to the stove.

  Did I turn it off?

  I’m sure I did, but I don’t remember doing it.

  I set my mug down, and Drake mutes the TV. “Where are you going?”

  “To check the stove. I can’t remember if I turned it off.”

  When I get into the kitchen and see the kettle sitting on the back burner, I’m relieved. I can also see that the knob is in the off position, but I touch it anyway, making sure it’s there, and then I hover my hand above the stove to see how much heat it’s producing. There’s a little warmth coming off the burner, but not much, so I check the knob another three times (just for good measure), and to reassure myself, I say it out loud.

  “The stove is off.”

  My mom used to tell me the way I talk to myself is silly, but for me it’s a comforting measure. Later on when I start to worry about the stove again—and I will worry about it—I’ll remember saying it out loud. It’ll be a reminder that I’ve already checked it and don’t need to check it again.

  So, it might be silly, but it works.

  “The stove is off.”

  By the time I make it back to the living room, my cocoa isn’t so hot, and Drake is watching me. The TV is still on mute, and when I sit down, he clears his throat.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Here it is. I knew this conversation was coming, and it’s probably something we should’ve talked about much sooner than now.

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “Have you ever been evaluated for your OCD?”

  I take a breath, and Drake shakes his head.

  “I’m sorry. I hope that didn’t come off as rude. I didn’t mean anything bad by it; it’s just that I’ve noticed some OCD traits. I’ve wanted to ask a few times, but I—”

  “Drake.” I stop him by covering his hand with mine. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. My anxiety causes me to be embarrassed in certain situations, but I’m not embarrassed by my OCD. Most people are more uncomfortable talking about it than I am.”

  “Will you talk to me about it?”

  I nod and finish off my cocoa. Drake takes the cup and sets it on the coffee table.

  “My parents worked a lot, which meant I spent a lot of time at home by myself. One morning—I think I was in junior high—I left for school and forgot to unplug the curling iron. My dad was pissed. He yelled and screamed, said I was lucky I didn’t burn the house down. Every day after that, I started checking and double checking myself. It all sort of escalated from there. Did I shut the refrigerator all the way? Did I unplug the curling iron? Did I shut off the stove? Did I turn out the lights? Did I set my alarm? Did I lock the doors? My parents started to notice and took me to see one of their friends who was a child psychologist. I didn’t meet the guidelines for a formal diagnosis.”

  “Really?”

  “Shocking, I know.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that you seem to have a lot of the symptoms.”

  “I do, but I’m able to control them if I try hard enough. For most patients with OCD, their obsessions, compulsions, or both aren’t easily controlled.”

  “How do you control yours?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Will you try? I’m genuinely curious.”

  I think about it for a second and then put it into words as best I can. “When I’m doing what I call rituals: checking my alarm, the lock on the front door, or the refrigerator—”

  “Sponges in the surgical room?”

  I smile. “That too. When I’m checking those things over and over again, I know I’m being irrational. In my head, I realize I’ve already checked it, but it’s difficult to stop. It’s almost like I get anxious, and I keep doing the ritual until the anxiety subsides. Sometimes I’ll check something two or three times and sometimes thirty.”

  “Wow.”

  “Thirty is a little excessive. I haven’t been that obsessive in a few years.”

  “How many times did you just check the stove?”

  “Four.”

  “Why four? Is that a special number for you?”

  I shrug. “No. It just felt right.”

  Drake looks amazed. “Do you have triggers?”

  I nod. “Change. I don’t do well with change.”

  “But you moved here; that was a huge change.”

  “It has been.” I clench my hands into fists, release them, and then blurt out what I’ve been wanting to tell Drake since I moved here. “And you gave me the push I needed.”

  “Me?” He points to himself, and I nod.

  “Before I came here I was complacent—in a rut, so to speak. I was doing the same thing day in and day out. Consistency causes some of my rituals to diminish. When I’m comfortable, the anxiety isn’t as bad. And I loved it. I felt freed from the one thing that always seemed to be holding me back.”

  “So you secluded yourself?”

  “In a way,” I answer. “I still had close friends I spent time with, but I avoided meeting new people and new situations in my personal life. My therapist said I was actually hurting myself, and if I wasn’t careful I would turn into a recluse.”

  “And you don’t want that?”

  “Not at all. Hannah has been trying to get me to move here, but I was scared to make such a big change. I wanted to make it… In my heart I wanted to be closer to her and push my boundaries, but I couldn’t pull the trigger…until you.”

  “Why me?”

  “When you came up to me that night at the bar, I thought I was going to throw up all over your white shirt.” Drake laughs and I find myself laughing along with him. “I’m serious. I was so scared, and then…”

  Smiling, I look down at my hands and then into Drake’s warm, brown eyes. They’re as kind today as when I met him, and even though they still smolder when they look at me, tonight they’re softer.

  “And then…” he prompts.

  “And then you made me laugh—over and over again. And I think I made you laugh too.”

  “You did.”

  “That hadn’t happened to me in a long time. I kept waiting for the doubt and insecurities to creep in, but though they were simmering below the surface, they never boiled over.”

  “God, Abigail, I feel like such an ass.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I kept flirting with you, and then I pushed you to dance when you didn’t want to—”

&
nbsp; I shake my head. “No, I’m glad you did. You pushed me further than I thought I could go, and then you kissed me, and something inside of me exploded.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like my brain moves at warp speed. I’m constantly thinking about what I’m going to do next, and will it cause me anxiety, and how I’m going to relieve that anxiety—will I count or resort to checking? Will it be the thing that finally pushes me over the edge? Most of the time, my thoughts are a complete blur.”

  Drake is sitting on the edge of the couch, watching me as though he sincerely cares about me and what I’m feeling. Scratch that, I know he cares about me, and that’s why it’s easy to tell him everything, because I know he won’t judge me or laugh.

  “And then you kissed me, and the blur I’d gotten so used to living in was gone. It was just me and you. It was your lips against mine and the touch of your hand on my back. It was the steady beat of your heart and the way you held me. Nothing else mattered. I didn’t care about anything else in that moment except you.”

  I barely get the last word out of my mouth before Drake has me on his lap. My knees are pressed to the couch on either side of his hips. I run my fingers up his chest and link them at the back of his neck.

  “I felt the same way,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine. “You scared the shit out of me. When I saw you from across the room, it was like the floor had been ripped out from under me. I followed you to the bar, and next thing I knew you were laughing.”

  “What happened when I laughed?”

  Drake kisses me softly at first and then with more passion. His tongue pushes into my mouth, tangling with mine. He swallows my moans and when we finally part, I’m breathing hard and Drake looks like he could slay a dragon.

  “When you laughed, I fell. And I’ve been falling ever since.”

  “Drake.”

  “I know it’s soon. I realize we haven’t been dating long, but I’m falling, Abigail. My dad always told me, ‘When you know, you just know.’ I was a little skeptical of that theory, until I met you.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  Drake’s lips part, his eyes round with wonder. “You do?”

  Laughing, I nod and kiss him. “Yes.”

  Next thing I know I’m cradled in Drake’s arms as he strides down the hallway with purpose.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I need more than words right now. I need to show you how I feel.”

  “Oooh. I like where this is going. Will there be touching?”

  He kicks his bedroom door open, tosses me on the bed, and crawls up my body. “Lots and lots of touching,” he says, following each word with a kiss.

  He starts at my belly and works his way up, undressing me along the way.

  “And kisses?”

  “Lots of kisses. And if I’m doing it right, lots of moans and sighs.”

  “What the hell are we waiting for?”

  Chapter 12

  Abby

  “What are you doing?” I whisper as Drake drags me into an empty room along a hospital corridor.

  He pushes me up against the wall and presses the sweetest kiss to my lips.

  “Are you crazy?” I laugh, squirming away.

  “For you.”

  “Come on, Drake, seriously. You can’t do this. What if someone catches us?”

  “No one’s going to catch us.”

  “You don’t know that. Any of the other nurses could’ve seen us slip in here.”

  Drake puts a hand on the wall beside my head and leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my face. “I missed you,” he says, placing a kiss to the base of my neck.

  “You’ve seen me a hundred times today.”

  He shakes his head. “Not enough.”

  Damn it. Why does he have to be so sweet?

  “My lips miss yours. They demanded I steal a kiss.”

  “Well, you’ve stolen one. Now get back to work. Go save someone’s life or something.” I try to push him away, except he doesn’t budge.

  Warm lips capture mine in another gentle kiss. “There, I stole two. And don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

  “I did like it.” I smile, slipping under his arm.

  I manage to escape his wandering hand, and when he slaps my ass, I shriek and bolt out of the room, only to run into my charge nurse.

  Drake’s hand snaps out, catching her before she falls over.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I ask.

  She shrugs Drake off and looks between us several times before nodding. “I’m fine. What were you two doing in there?”

  “Oh, uh…”

  “Discussing a patient.” Drake dips his hands into his pockets.

  Cindy’s eyes narrow, and I know right away she doesn’t believe him. I mean, why on Earth would we walk to the end of the hall and discuss a patient in an empty room? We could’ve talked in a number of different places, and this isn’t one of them.

  Shit.

  “I was looking for you,” Cindy says, her eyes narrowed on me. “Room 212 needs a dressing change.”

  “That’s my patient. I’ll assist.” Drake puts a hand to my elbow to guide me away.

  Cindy steps in front of us, blocking me. She looks from Drake to me and back to Drake, who looks pissed. His face is as hard as stone, and when he lifts a brow, silently daring her to challenge him, Cindy backs down. She steps to the left, allowing us to pass.

  My heart slams inside my chest, and I pick up my pace, needing to get away from Drake for a few seconds, because clearly I can’t think when I’m around him.

  Why did I allow him to pull me into that room? I know better than that. He knows better than that.

  “Slow down,” he says softly. “You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

  “I think we drew attention to ourselves when you pulled me into that room,” I whisper-hiss.

  “Abigail, it’s fine.”

  “Really? Because I don’t think so. And this is my job, Drake. I need the money.”

  “Your job is fine. I told you I would never let anything happen to you.”

  We stop in front of room 212. The patient is on contact precautions, so as soon as I walk through the door, I pull a gown off the cart and slip it on. Drake reaches for one as well, and I shake my head.

  “No,” I whisper. “I don’t need you in here. I think right now it’s best if we’re not seen together.”

  Drake flinches as though my words deliver an actual blow. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me don my mask and gloves, and then I slip around the privacy curtain.

  Twenty minutes later, when I return to the hallway, he’s gone. Not that I expected him to still be standing there.

  The rest of the shift is nonstop busy, which is a blessing, and not once do I catch another glimpse of Drake. Three discharges, two direct admits, and a code blue in room 236 keep me hopping, and I don’t have time to think about what happened earlier, let alone analyze it.

  Four o’clock rolls around, and I collapse in a chair at the nurse’s station. Twelve-hour shifts don’t bother me, but today, my feet are on fire, and I’ve still got three hours to go.

  “Abby.”

  I’m so used to Drake calling me Abigail that the shortened version of my name almost sounds funny, which is why I’m laughing when I say, “Yeah?” And then I nearly choke when I see Cindy standing at the desk.

  “Can you come with me?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah.” I shut the chart and put it back on the rack. “If this is about Drake—”

  “This isn’t a discussion we’ll be having at the nurse’s station, Ms. Darwin.”

  Oh, hell. She used my last name.

  Cindy turns on her heel and stops beside Farrah. “I’m going to need you to cover Abby’s patients for a few minutes.”

  Farrah nods, her eyes darting to mine. I look away and follow Cindy down two halls and a flight of stairs to a familiar room. It’s the room I came to for my four-
hour orientation on my first day here. She opens the door, motioning for me to enter. The first thing I notice is the head of Human Resources—Sarah, I think her name is—perched at the end of a small conference table.

  She’s wearing a crisp black pantsuit, and her red heels are crossed at the ankle. “Please, have a seat, Ms. Darwin.”

  I turn, and that’s when my eyes land on the other person in the room.

  Drake.

  He’s sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the table, and when he looks up at me, I know whatever is about to happen isn’t going to be good.

  My stomach falls to my feet. I nearly trip on it walking into the room.

  My legs feel like Jell-O as I walk across the small space and take a seat next to Drake. Except I don’t dare look at him. Cindy shuts the door quietly, and she and Sarah sit across from us.

  Sarah’s smile is warm as she slides a binder across the table and taps it with a manicured nail.

  “Do you know what this is, Ms. Darwin?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s the company handbook,” I answer.

  She flips open the cover and points to the front page. “And is that your signature stating that you received a copy of the handbook and reviewed it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sarah nods and pulls the binder back. “Do you know why I called you in here today?”

  It doesn’t even cross my mind to lie. That’s not who I am, and though I’ve been acting out of the norm lately, there are some things that won’t change. “I believe so, yes.”

  Her eyes shift to Drake’s, and I feel the slightest weight lift from my shoulders. But the relief is momentary, because when she pulls her gaze back to mine, it’s at full force.

  “I’m going to be blunt, Ms. Darwin. Are you and Dr. Merritt in a romantic relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re aware of the company’s non-fraternization policy?”

  “I am.”

  “And you’re familiar with the policy, Dr. Merritt?” she asks, sliding her eyes one seat over.

  Drake’s jaw pops. “Yes, of course I’m familiar.”

  “Unfortunately, we only have one way to proceed. We refuse to break policy, which means one of you will be let go.” She angles herself toward me. “It’ll have to be Ms. Darwin.”