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First he took my V-card. Now he’s delivering our baby?
I was the daughter of his family’s housekeeper.
Ten years later, he’s back in our small town.
The first time we hooked up was supposed to be the last.
Uh-oh, Doc, special delivery in Exam Room 1!
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The first thing I see when I walk into the exam room is the dancer’s shapely round ass.
I’ve walked in on worse.
The woman’s bent over, reaching down to her toes to stretch out her hamstrings. She’s got legs for days, long and lean and lovely. She’s dressed in little more than a navy blue ballet leotard over sheer white tights. Her pink pointe shoes are off, placed beside her with their ribbons of matching color rolled up neatly and tucked into inside.
I clear my throat. Try to get her attention.
She doesn’t react.
I notice the white wires of her earphones dangling out in front of her, connected to an iPod that looks beat up as hell. I can vaguely hear the harsh bass line radiating out, combined with the low hum of the building’s ventilation system. The tiny screen’s cracked, the edges of the device are dented, and the circular track pad has been worn down over time.
Is that an original model? How’s it survived this long?
I don’t know what she’s listening to. Whatever it is, it’s loud enough that she still hasn’t noticed me enter. I think she has her eyes closed, too, concentrating on stretching her muscles.
“Miss?” I say. “Hello?”
She doesn’t respond. She just continues to stretch, completely oblivious to my presence.
I consider tapping her, but I’ve got no clue where I’m supposed to tap her when she’s folded over like that. I can’t exactly give her butt a quick poke, because that’s downright unprofessional.
In all fairness, though, it’s a very nice ass.
Stop it, Nate.
Don’t be a creep.
I choose instead to open and re-shut the door, allowing it to slam closed. The frame of the tiny exam room shakes, a gust of cool air rushing past me from the force. A couple of the laminated posters on the walls—detailed diagrams of human anatomy—momentarily lift where the corners haven’t been taped down securely.
“Sweet Jesus,” I sigh under my breath.
I wonder if she’s listening to death metal, because that’s the only way to explain her total lack of awareness. Except she doesn’t exactly strike me as a fan of that genre of music.
I tread over slowly and carefully place my hand on her back, unwilling to startle her. My touch is so light and gentle I don’t know if I’ve actually made contact. The dancer finally notices me, however, and shoots up from her bent position.
She whips around with inhuman speed, yelping as she swats my hand away. I pull away, my wrist stinging where her hit landed.
“Whoa, there.” I chuckle. “I didn’t know they taught ballerinas how to throw punches here.”
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” she blurts out. “You scared me. How long were you standing there?”
“I just got in,” I lie.
And I totally wasn’t staring or anything.
I get a good look at her face and recognize her instantly.
It’s been almost ten years since I’ve been back to my small hometown. Ten years since I last saw her. But she doesn’t look like she’s aged a day.
“Eve?” Her name rolls off my tongue.
The pit of my stomach sinks into my gut, knots itself with my intestines. What are the chances? What are the odds that out of everyone in Haven, I have to run into her?
She stares at me with those pretty almond-shaped eyes of hers, plump lips parting slightly in disbelief. Eve’s black hair has gotten a lot longer, strands of her silky locks pulled up into a bun atop her head. It’s messy from dancing, loose hair framing her oval face. There’s no denying that she got her mother’s eyes and her father’s straight nose.
No matter what I do, I can’t bring myself to look away.
She’s gorgeous. I’d argue she’s even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. She had shorter hair back then, a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose that have now since faded away. Standing before me is a confident, elegant young woman, not the same shy, quiet teenage girl I remember.
By all accounts, Eve was my first love. I thought the world of her. We were both young, and everything was so much fun back then. We’d sneak off after school and kiss beneath the bleachers. She’d come over to my house to study, but we did little else than study each other. I’d walk her home from school every day, happy just to be able to hold her hand.
And then the accident happened, and I had to leave. I regret how I left things, but I had no other choice.
In the end, it was just easier not to come back. Not since Jacob—
No. Don’t think about it.
Focus on the work.
I’ll be out of here soon.
Eve stares at me, her shock melting into something more bitter. Her otherwise soft face hardens. I’m pretty sure she hates me. The only problem is that she still looks adorable. It’s like a bunny trying to be upset with me.