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“Have fun with that. I’m about to see what else the charge nurse wants me to know. Talk to you soon!”
Smiling, I headed to the computer to clock out. My mind and body were exhausted. If I never saw another woman’s vagina again in my life, I’d be okay with that.
Twenty minutes later, I was in my car, thinking about what to pickup for dinner and ready to get home to my shower. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a substantial meal. I’d been surviving off coffee, Goldfish crackers, and sheer will.
A quick stop at my favorite deli, and I was back en route to the gorgeous house I rented in an exclusive neighborhood at the heart of the city. I’d set my food in the kitchen and started the shower jets when I remembered that I’d missed my walk this morning. I tried to do at least two miles a day, four times a week.It was the only way I could ensure my curves kept their definition.
“Damn,” I groaned as I turned the water off and dragged into my bedroom.
Exercise was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I was so tempted to put it off until another day, which let me know that I needed to do it. Commitment started in the mind and was executed through actions. Exasperated, I pulled on one of the cute “athleisure” sets I loved, laced up my favorite walking shoes, and set out into the warm South Texas night.
It wasn’t quite dark yet, so I felt safe walking in my adopted neighborhood, the night air a pleasant breeze against my skin. I strode at a brisk pace, the frenetic sound of a New Orleans bounce anthem in my ears, my mind entertaining the idea of allowing myself the luxury of a full bath tonight.
Rest and relaxation were what I desired. I had been working non-stop toward my goals. Yet, all I kept imagining was vanilla scented bubbles infused with oat milk gliding across my skin. My eyes almost closed at the orgasmic thoughts.
It was that focus that almost made me miss the tell-tale prickling of my skin, the sudden awareness that I was not walking alone. A man strolled across the block from me, letting a small dog lead him down the sidewalk. He didn’t seem threatening, but I was always hyperaware now, preparing myself for anything. I turned my music off, wanting to be as tuned into my surroundings as possible.
This neighborhood exuded a small-town feel. My neighbors and shopkeepers knew me by first name. That’s why this man’s presence struck me as odd. I’d never seen him during my walks, although he could have just moved in.
Something about this situation made me want to turn around and hurry home, but then he’d be behind me, and I wasn’t feeling that, either. Reluctantly, I decided to continue my regular path, picking up my steps. But the worry was almost too much, one question circling in my head.
Has he found me?
I’d taken this job because I needed a change of scenery, but also to avoid running into my last “sponsor.” Unable to take no for an answer, he’d stalked me and begged. It’d gotten so bad that I finally broke down and called Emory’s husband, a very resourceful, very scary man. He’d gotten me out of there, and in his words, “addressed the problem.” I changed locations, hid my name and background. But maybe it wasn’t enough…
Has he found me?
My breathing changed, suddenly shallow and fast in a way that had nothing to do with walking. I tried to focus on the in and out as fear coursed through me.
I was overreacting. There was no way Raouf had found me. This man didn’t even resemble him. My brother-in-law was too careful, had jumped through too many hoops for this not to work.
“What are you doing, Assad?” A deep voice rang out followed by a chuckle.
My head whipped around to find the little dog had veered off the sidewalk and was crossing the street… headed toward me. Assad’s owner didn’t try to redirect him. He followed the dog until they were right in front of me. Even though the animal was small, I stopped abruptly and looked at them, fighting all the feelings that tried to swamp me. My stomach clenched as fear gripped my middle.
I was safe.
I could protect myself.
I chanted that over and over as an easy smile spread across the man’s face. He was tall and handsome, and looked to be of Arab descent with his dark hair and dark beige skin tone. Oh, God. He’d found me. Raouf found me! It didn’t help that something about this man was vaguely familiar.
I tried to tell myself I was probably being horribly racist, assuming I knew this man’s background and then jumping even further to link him to my Saudi Arabian ex-lover. But the primal mind doesn’t care about rational and logical thoughts. It cares about fear and fighting or fleeing or freezing. And right now, I was shook and wanted to flee.
“I am sorry,belle,” he apologized softly in a beautifully accented voice. “You are afraid ofle chien… umm, the dog? Assad, he is eager… friendly, but he will not hurt you.”
I looked down at the happy little Chiweenie with his lolling tongue and wagging tail, then back up at the slim, muscled man with the sharp, dark eyes. These two things did not go together.
“I’m… I’m not afraid of dogs. Assad looks delightful. If you would excuse me,” I said politely, taking a step forward, then stopping when he didn’t move.
Obsidian eyes slowly drifted over my frame, the appreciative gleam in them unmistakable. I crossed my arms over my chest, fear shifting into aggravation.
“I must say, I can’t blame him,” he murmured.
If I had been a dog like Assad, my ears would’ve shot up at his statement. As it was, they felt like they were burning.
“Him?” I repeated.
He chuckled. “Assad, of course.”