Jennifer Greene - Kiss Your Prince Charming

“That’s exactly what I told the doc this morning. It’s time to throw me out. Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon for me.”

“I don’t blame you for being impatient. If I’d been cooped up this long, I’d be going just as nuts. But this started out almost as scary as the Humpty Dumpty story, Stoner. They had a lot of pieces to put back together.” She cinched the belt on her trench coat and then clipped toward him. “Just for the record, I am going to make you that steak and French fries as soon as you get home. You just have to stay cool a little longer and do what the docs tell you, okay?”

She bent down. He saw her wispy bangs, the faint spray of freckles on her nose, her soft mouth. He knew she was going to kiss him. Before the accident, she’d never touched him, but she’d pulled this kiss-good-night routine fairly often since he’d been in the hospital.

Now, like those other times, her lips had to search for a spot to kiss because almost everything above his neck was covered with white gauze.

Now, like the other times, her blue eyes flashed on his first. For two years Rach had been allergic to men, never went out, never gave a guy a chance to hurt her. Greg was positive that he’d earned her trust, yet still she needed to do that affirming quick eye study to remind herself that he was different—a proven friend, not a predator, not a male where sex or intimacy was an issue.

Now, like the other times, she seemed to decide it was okay to express an honest affectionate gesture with him...and did. Her lips touched down, softer than satin, gentler than a sigh. He caught the faint drift of the spicy scent she wore, saw her silky blond hair sweep down in pale, fine curls, inhaled the rustle of girl clothes and the pure delicate femaleness of her. And the first time she’d kissed him, all he had to do was brace because it was all over in two seconds.

But now, like the other times, Rach seemed to unconsciously stretch it out. Past two seconds.

Past five.

Past the point of a good-night-smack between pals, although Greg was meticulously careful not to touch her, not to move, not to breathe.

When she finally lifted her head and straightened up, her eyes flashed on his again, then swiftly shifted away like a nervous gambler’s. Color streaked her cheeks. Her hands restlessly tightened a belt that was already securely tied.

“You really need to get out of here.” Greg covered the sudden awkward silence. “I’m going to worry about your driving on ice if you don’t get home.”

That coaxed back her natural smile again. “I’m going, I’m going.” She snatched up her purse and hiked toward the door. “Give the nurses hell, I love you and sleep good, okay?”

Once those orders were delivered, naturally she whisked out of the room before he could respond. For a few seconds longer he could hear her heels clicking down the hospital linoleum, and then she was gone. Greg sank against the pillow and squeezed his eyes closed. It was worrisome. Not just her recent habit of kissing him, but her brand new habit of leaving him with that light, blithe, “I love you.”

Only a few moments passed before Maeve ambled back in. “Hi, darling’. Your company finally gone?”

“Yes.”

“As many visitors as you get, she’s my favorite. Such a sweetie. And cute as a button.” Efficiently Maeve wrapped his arm in the blood pressure cuff, then did the temperature and the pulse routine. “I got a secret for you. Dr. Webster says we can try you on real food tomorrow. And if that goes okay, you’ll be out of here in a matter of days. Now I’ve got some juice and couple of pills for you....”

Greg sipped the juice, ignored the pills, and when Maeve had moved on to badger the patient in the next room, he twisted to a sitting position and slowly stood up. He made it the five steps to the window, but the sensation of dizzy weakness was exasperating.

All the broken parts on his torso were healing fine. It was his face that had kept him trapped in the hospital all these weeks. From the broken jaw to the reconstruction surgeries, he’d been drinking dinners for weeks now. He could do physical therapy, but he simply could not build up strength when his diet maxed out at soft foods like tapioca.

Bracing both hands on the windowsill, Greg scanned the rain-slick parking lot below, hoping to spot Rachel. Headlights blinked and glared, but it was too dark to identify any cars, even anything as distinctive as her classic-survivor yellow VW. He was about to give up and step away, when he caught his mirror reflection in the glass pane.

The tall, lean man in the reflection was stunningly—eerily—unfamiliar. Yeah, he’d always been tall, but even from childhood, he’d been chunky and stoop-shouldered. Now his body felt like a stranger’s. The new lean build and straight posture just didn’t feel like him, and he was increasingly edgy about the mystery face under the bandages. The plastic surgeon had repeatedly promised him that the reconstruction surgeries had gone “fabulous” and he was going to look great. Truthfully, Greg didn’t care what he looked like, as long as he didn’t have scars that would scare children or draw attention to himself.

But suddenly he did care.

Something was happening between him and Rachel. Something new, something different. Something threatening. She just wasn’t behaving the same around him. Sooner or later Rach was always going to realize that she wasn’t allergic to men anymore, that Sacred Mark hadn’t wounded her for life, that sleeping alone wasn’t any fun for grown-ups. Greg had loved helping her. Loved feeling a part of her healing. Loved knowing he was one of the few men in the universe that she trusted.

But once he got home from the hospital, he just wanted to feel sure their next-door friendship went back to the way it was. He was the frog. She was the princess. Everything had always gone well between them as long as Greg never tried coloring outside those lines.

Slowly he turned around, then went through all the stiff contortions it took to get himself ready for bed and covered up again. Once the lights were off, he stared at the black ceiling, remembering Randall Conrad, the class bully in fourth grade. Greg had taken one beating from the bully and never told. Then another beating. It seemed that was around the time he started wolfing down extra snacks, playing the bumbling brain, making good-natured jokes no matter what anyone said to him. Randall had quit hounding him. Nobody had really picked on him after that.

In fact, girls had always liked him. Greg couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have close female friends. He didn’t threaten women. Didn’t inspire them either— but Greg knew himself incapable of doing that. By age thirty-two, naturally he’d had some serious relationships. If none had ended in marriage, none had ended badly or cruelly, either. They just seemed to fizzle out like champagne left uncorked. Personally, he never thought sex was worth all the hoopla. He seemed to bore the lovers he’d chosen, almost as badly as they’d bored him. He’d like to marry sometime. He’d like kids, like a family. But just to have another body in the house was no justification to pursue something where Greg had already proven to be mediocre.

Unlike the old song claimed, one wasn’t the loneliest number. Two was. Being with someone you really didn’t want to be with was not only exhausting, but the most painful brand of loneliness.

Greg was pretty sure Rachel felt nothing but sympathy for him. He was also pretty sure she had no clue he was in love with her. Her sympathy should die a natural death once he got home and back to normal life again, but he treasured their friendship and worried doing anything to screw it up.

The second he met Rachel, he’d known she wasn’t for him. He had money. He had brains. But he’d never had the kind of zesty style and people skills and innate guts for life that she had. She’d shoot him for using the word class but there it was. It’d be like trying to pair a Chevy with a Jag. A guy could admire a Jag. Could lust after it. Could look. But a grown man with character knew better than to touch something that couldn’t belong to him.