Contemporary
Kissing Trick
By Cynthia
Aug 11, 2007, 22:10

"Close your mouth, Trick, you look like a fish."

Dr. Patrick McCullough snapped his mouth shut but still gawked at the woman sitting on the end of his examination table. Regina Reynolds. His best friend from childhood through undergrad school, his one female friend, and the only person who called him "Trick".

"Please tell me you’re not here for a gynecological exam," Trick blurted. "I’ll barf."

"I haven’t seen you in five years, and that’s the first thing you say to me?" Reggie rolled her grey eyes and laughed. "In your dreams, Dr. Charm. OB/GYN or no OB/GYN, you’re not coming anywhere near my naughty bits."

You’re not kidding. "Stop sitting between the stirrups then. It’s making me nervous."

Reggie slid off the table, long and lean like a dancer, as always. "Stop being such a weenie."

"What are you doing here?" He went and stood next to her, wanting to hug her, but not sure if he should. A sweet scent wafted around her, though she’d never been one to wear perfume. And she looked round and feminine in all the right places. What am I thinking? This is Reg! He cleared his throat and peered into her face. "You look good," he said.

"So do you," she answered. "How’ve you been?"

"Good. Busy. Obviously." He waved the folder in his hand. Like a fin.

"If you didn’t live in Podunk, Nowhere, I might have come to visit you more often." Reg leaned against the examination table, crossing her legs at the ankles. He leaned against the table beside her, feeling their bodies touch. Trick slid down a bit, but not so far he couldn’t inhale her sweet perfume.

"Hadley Falls is in Vermont, not nowhere," he said.

"If I can’t take the subway to get here, it’s nowhere as far as I’m concerned," she said. "I drove for six and a half hours."

Trick bumped her with his hip. "I’m glad you made it, then. It’s good to see you, Reg."

"Good to be seen." She looked at him and her eyes softened; then she blinked and gestured at the folder in his hand. "I’m here because I need your help with . . . a problem."

"I thought you said I wouldn’t have to—I mean—I can’t—you—I . . . " He realized he was gaping again, and shut his mouth before taking a deep breath. At the hospital, he had a reputation of being unflappable; good thing Reggie was here with him in his office or his reputation would be dust. Of course, he’d never had to think about Reggie naked when at the hospital. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

"Enid made up that folder. Said it was procedure."

Enid ran his office, so Trick respected her decision. He opened the folder, looking over the information clipped to the front cover. One thing caught his attention. "It says here the patient’s name is Regina Snow."

"Yep." She leaned over his arm to look. "That’s me."

"But . . . your name . . . " He frowned. "Did you get married?" And didn’t invite me to the wedding? He felt his face harden. Some guy was married to his best friend and he hadn’t even had a chance to make sure the scumbag was a decent human being!

"You can wipe that big brother look off your face, Trick. No, I didn’t get married and there is no man in my life you’ll have to beat up."

Trick cleared his throat. "So what’s with the name?"

"Reynolds was my father’s name. Once mom died, I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, so I picked a new name." Her eyes darkened slightly. "It’s my pen name."

"Your professional name." Trick nodded, then frowned as a thought struck him. "You know, I saw a thing in the paper just yesterday about a writer named Regina Snow. She writes a series of kid’s books that are really popular and there’s talk of a movie deal . . . and . . . and that’s you, isn’t it! Why didn’t you ever tell me?"

Reggie’s eyes twinkled. "A woman has to have her secrets."

"That’s a hell of a secret!"

She shook her head. "You knew I was a writer. I just figured you wouldn’t care about children’s books."

"Yeah, but Reg—a movie deal!"

"Well, yeah. That’s sort of why I’m here." She gestured at the folder again, pointing to the words elderly primigravida.

"I’m not really excited about the term elderly, by the way."

Trick’s stomach plummeted to his knees. Elderly primigravida meant a woman over thirty in her first pregnancy. Pregnancy and Reg were two words he couldn’t make compatible. He slammed the folder shut. "How did that happen?"

"You’ve been a OB for seven years and you still haven’t figured out how babies are made? Houston, we have a problem." She elbowed him.

Trick opened the file again. Unflappable, he reminded himself. "So, you think you conceived on June 14^th?" He looked up to see her staring at the floor.

"I know I conceived then. It was the only time. And believe me, it doesn’t happen often enough to have been any other day." She coughed and Trick realized she was trying not to cry.

He’d never seen Reg cry. Ever. He put his hand on her shoulder. "It’s okay, Reg. It happens that way sometime."

"Lucky me, to pick the one day a month I’m hitting the numbers on the fertility roulette wheel." She sniffled. "Greg said he doesn’t want anything to do with being a parent. Says it’s not in his plans right now. Like, it’s in mine?" She wiped at her eyes, straightened her shoulders and turned to look at Trick. She cleared her throat. "That’s why I need your help."

"To . . . terminate the pregnancy?"

Reggie’s eyes widened. "Oh God, no! Never."

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and sagged against the table. "Good. I wouldn’t do that." He huffed another breath, relieved. "So, what do you need help with? You already said that New York City and Podunk are far apart. I know you don’t want me to be your OB—-and if you did, I’d have to refuse. I don’t want to see you naked."

"No fear, Trick. I’m not here to ask you to be my OB. I’m here to ask you to be my husband."

Trick always reminded Reggie of autumn colors. His eyes were the same blue as the sky on a clear, crisp day and his mahogany-brown hair had the same scarlet and orange red highlights as fall foliage. But as she watched him react to her request, Trick reminded her of moldy leaves. Especially when he floated down onto the little rolling stool at the end of the examination table and hunched there, sallow-faced. "I need a basin," he rasped.

Typical. Even Trick, her beloved, best-friend-forever Trick, acted just like a man. Collapsing at the thought of being a husband.

"I don’t mean husband for real. Or for good. Just for show, Trick. My agent thinks it would be a good idea for me to have a husband. My new book’s released this week and the movie deal hinges on its success. For that to happen, I have to do interviews. But an unmarried pregnancy could jeopardize everything. As a children’s book author, I can’t afford to have a non-traditional parental image." She grabbed a vomit basin off the counter near the table and flipped it to him. It went end over end, a blurring, whirring spiral of pink plastic that made her stomach flip-flop. She grimaced. "Besides, you owe me one. Or several."

He caught the basin and held it close to his chin. "How do I owe you?"

"Let’s see…shall I go back to sixth grade? Okay. Let’s start with Sarah Turner. Abby Monroe. Lisa Phillips—" Reggie started to list every name she could remember from their long friendship; girls and women from middle school on through college that she’d helped him meet. And date.

He held up his hand. "Okay. Enough. But for that, you’re asking me to be your fake—" he swallowed, "—husband?"

"You got it, chief." She reached over and leaned against the counter. It was hot in the tiny exam room. And that stupid basin still danced before her eyes. I will not throw up, I will not throw up, I will not throw up, she repeated to herself, hanging onto the counter until her hand cramped.

"He doesn’t want to do it?" Trick growled, pointing at her abdomen, his eyes narrowed and fierce.

As if the big brother routine could help her now. "He meaning the other half of this child I’m carrying? Right. Doesn’t want a thing to do with it." Reggie took a deep breath and a medicinal, green-kind of smell filled her nostrils. Her stomach rolled again. Uh-oh. She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Trick was watching her with that dumb big brother expression still on his face.

"That bastard!" He growled.

Reggie shook her head. "He’s just a typical man. About what I’d expect."

Trick jumped up then, his blue oxford shirt straining against his broad shoulders. Reggie wondered if he’d kept up with his workout regimen. Looked that way from here. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you mean, ‘a typical man’? I’m a man."

Yes, he was. A man who’d most definitely kept up with his workout regimen. She considered the way his sleeves threatened to pop over his biceps. Like the Hulk, only better-looking, especially now that he was no longer as green.

Not that his appearance mattered. "Oh, please, Trick," she said. "And you never slept with a woman and then dumped her?"

He straightened. "I never got one pregnant."

"Then you were just lucky. Look, I’ve watched you go through women like they were sticks of gum to be enjoyed until the flavor was gone."

"But…" Trick began, then sagged against the table. "Not you. I never left you."

"You never slept with me, either. Not sexually, anyway."

"But if I ever had—"

Reggie held up her hand, palm out. "—Forget it. The point is, Greg’s not interested in his spawn."

Trick clenched and unclenched his fingers. Reggie imagined he was picturing them around Greg’s neck. She felt relieved at that, anyway. Better for her cause. He might collapse at the thought of being her pretend-husband, but at least he might consider the idea, too.

Reggie swallowed back her rising nausea. "So, you can appreciate my dilemma," she said, feeling her cheeks start to burn. The small room was so stuffy. She wished he would open the door, or turn up the air conditioner. Didn’t he feel how hot it was? "Look, Trick. I didn’t mean to spring it on you, but a phone call or an email didn’t seem right, either. It’s just—I need help, and you’re the only guy I trust."

He pressed his lips together, drew his brows down low over his eyes. His thinking face, Reggie thought. She would have smiled except she would have lost her cookies right then. So she breathed through her nose and hung on to the counter.

"I suppose the fact that I’m an obstetrician doesn’t hurt, either, does it?" Trick waved her folder.

"I have one, already. What I really need is a friend. Can I count on you?" She swallowed, hard. The room began to spin, slowly at first and then faster. Suddenly, there were two Tricks standing there before her, swirling about in autumn colors. Oh my gosh, she thought, just before her knees gave way. I’m not going to throw up, I’m going to faint.

                             ***

Reggie frowned as the thrum of a motor sounded in her ears. She opened her eyes and blinked. "What the—where are we?"

"In my car. Figured we have a lot to talk about. You were my last patient of the day—thanks to Enid. We’ll go to my house, I’ll feed you, you can take a nap if you want." Trick reached into the back seat and produced a bottle of water. He handed it to her. "Here. Drink this. You need it. I want you drinking two quarts a day until you deliver."

"Two quarts! Are you crazy?" She frowned at him.

He shrugged. "You’ll need more than that if you decide to nurse, later."

Nurse? Reggie refused to think that far ahead. She sighed, unscrewed the top of the water bottle and took a sip. "Okay. Satisfied?"

"For now," he said, and nodded.

"Nazi," she grumbled.

He grinned, and he looked so handsome, Reggie wanted to touch him. But she didn’t. She was used to feeling that way about Trick. It was one of the downfalls of asking him to be her pretend husband. She knew she’d have to fight her attraction to him the whole time, which is why if he agreed to do it, she’d spend her time in New York City and only be with him for any photo shoots or interviews where he’d be necessary.

She wondered how she’d managed to be his roommate in college without giving her feelings away. Thank God he’d always had a trophy girl glued to his arm--or other parts of his anatomy. Otherwise . . . she sighed and turned her attention out the window before he caught her staring.

It wasn’t too long until they turned onto a one-lane road, drove over a bridge and up a lane lined with two big pastures on either side.

"Home sweet home," Trick said, pulling into a driveway. He shut off the car.

They got out and Reggie looked around. An old white farmhouse with barn-red shutters was to the right of the driveway. There was a huge barn at the end of the driveway that doubled as a garage. She could see a four-wheel drive SUV parked inside. Probably for the winter, since the car she just climbed out of was a low-to-the ground, bright-red sports car, a chick magnet—inappropriate for a Vermont winter, but just so Trick. She stifled a snort of laughter.

"Over there, there’s another barn that used to be for horses." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and Reggie saw the small white building in the field across the lane. "Maybe someday, I’ll put a horse there again."

"Big place," she said.

"Used to belong to Doc Phillips. I bought my practice from him, too." He nodded. "Come on."

Reggie followed him to the house. He stopped at the door and put his hand on her arm. "Wait a minute," he said.

The warm feel of his palm against her skin made Reggie tremble. She started to pull away. But then, he opened the door and two red dogs thundered out past her legs, nearly knocking her down. A pair of puppies tumbled down the stoop following the two adult dogs. "I don’t have family up here. But I’ve got dogs."

"I noticed," Reg said, watching them romp on the grass. "You could have warned me a bit sooner."

He laughed. "And miss that expression on your face? No way."

"Oh yeah? Here’s an expression for you." Reggie stuck out her tongue.

He grinned. "I’ve missed you, Reg. Here. After you, milady." Trick bowed from the waist in a courtly gesture and held open the door. "Welcome to my castle."

"What a prince." Reg stepped inside and was assaulted by smells.

Ever since she’d gotten pregnant, the whole world had become one big scent factory. Most of the scents made her sick. But these were good smells, ones she couldn’t describe in words. She tried to anyway. She wouldn’t feel settled until she could put words to it. Home, she decided. It was Trick’s description and it fit. These were the smells of home, comfortable, warm, soothing. She inhaled deeply and felt herself relax.

"Go on in. Kitchen’s to the right," Trick said from behind her. She walked through the door into the big kitchen. Picture windows took up two walls, giving views of the barns out one side and the Green Mountains out the other. And fields. Green mountains, green fields, and wildflowers.

"This is beautiful. I can’t believe you live here," she said and turned to look at him. She felt happy for him and a bit envious.

"I know. I wake up every morning and thank God." He nodded. "Feel free to look around while I get dinner started."

"You’re going to cook?" Reggie turned her gaze from the mountains to him. "Are you serious? Now I know I’m going to barf. What are we having? Franks and beans? Spaghettios?"

"You’ll see. Go explore. Go outside if you want. The dogs’ names are Shane and Timmi."

"You named your dogs after your brothers?" Reggie blinked at him then burst into laughter. She could just picture Shane and Tim learning they had canine namesakes.

Trick’s face lit up. "Yep. They’ll never know. They’re entrenched in Rhode Island. And it gets better. I named the puppies after JP and Shawn. I’m going to sell them."

"You’re incorrigible," Reggie laughed. She couldn’t help it. She had to reach out and hug him. It felt so good to laugh, truly laugh. "I’ve missed you, you know. Life just isn’t the same without you around." She put her arms around his neck, feeling his hands wrap around the small of her back.

She hadn’t hugged Trick since college. But the feeling hadn’t changed. She still felt her body responding to his touch in a way it never had with any other man, not even Greg, like all her senses opened wide as soon as Trick pulled her against him. For that moment, she felt--alive. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his hard chest, basking in the warmth of him like a wildflower in the sun, feeling his breathing, his heartbeat, inhaling his woodsy, manly scent. She felt his bristly chin rubbing on her forehead, his crinkly chest hair tickling her cheek and the strength of his arms and body.

She opened her eyes and lifted her face to his, searching for his eyes with her own, getting distracted by his mouth. "Thank you, Trick," she whispered, not sure why but meaning it from the bottom of her heart. She stared at the perfect fullness of his bottom lip, wondering as she had since she was eleven, what would it be like to be kissed by Patrick McCullough?

The phone rang. Trick jumped, letting go of the woman he held in his arms. Not just any woman—Reggie. His heart pounded. He’d almost kissed her!

Thank God for phones, he thought, backing away from her, his arm out behind him, pinwheeling for the receiver. He didn’t drop her gaze. He couldn’t. It was a magnetic force of immense proportions. Damn that phone.

This was Reggie! She was his best friend. She’d helped him build a tree fort when they were nine. They’d played baseball for hours. Come football season, she could throw the most beautiful spiral pass he’d ever seen. They’d gotten grounded together when his father found them drinking hoisted peppermint schnapps out of a peanut butter jar, behind the garage. They’d shared confidences, experimented with stolen cigarettes and laughed about when went on between his older brother and her teenage neighbor behind translucent curtains. They’d been roommates, study buddies and party pals in college.

But they’d never, ever kissed.

He knocked the phone off the base; it clattered to the floor. Wrenching his gaze from hers, Trick bent, picked up the phone and turned to stare out the picture window at the mountains or anything but her wide gray gaze. "Dr. McCullough here," he gasped.

"Hey Doc, it’s Andy. You all right?"

"I’m fine. What’s up?" Trick went through a mental list of names. Sheriff Andy Gower’s wife, Jillian, was a patient.

"You sure? You sound like you’ve been running."

"No, I’m just--I’m fine." Trick swallowed. "Jilly okay?"

"She’s fine. Not the reason I’m calling. Found a car in your lot. New York plates. The keys were right there on the roof."

Reggie’s car. Either she’d been nervous, or she had pregnancy brain. More likely both. "Belongs to a friend of mine. She left the keys on the roof?"

"Yep. I called Enid first. She told me to call you at home. Said you and your friend were probably there."

"Did she?" Trick narrowed his eyes. He’d have to talk to her first thing Monday morning. After he killed her, maybe, for letting Reggie ambush him in an examination room and then, leaving them alone. To do stuff. Like . . . kiss.

"She left her cell phone, too. She’s got two messages, by the way."

"Thanks, Andy. I’ll tell her." Damn that Enid. She was probably matchmaking. Enid was convinced that if he was in a permanent relationship, he’d have more obstetrical patients.

"I moved the car for you. Didn’t think you’d want to leave it like that, overnight. It’s at Harry’s. Parked it to the side of the service bay. Keys are under the floormat."

"Thanks, Andy. ‘Preciate it." Trick looked over his shoulder when he heard the outside door close. He watched Reggie out the other picture window, walking across the grass, holding out her hand for the dogs to sniff. She looked so different than he remembered. Though sometimes pregnancy gave women a special glow, this was different. She was just . . . beautiful.

She’d never looked like this, he thought. Did she?

Then again, had he looked? He’d always been too busy trying to score with other women to even look at Reggie. And besides, she was like a sister. She wasn’t someone he’d kiss. Or . . . anything.

Reggie started chasing Shawn and JP across the grass, her two long legs keeping pace with the dogs' eight.

"Doc? You still there?"

"Oh!" Trick startled. He was still holding the phone to his ear. "I’m sorry. I got distracted. What did you say, Andy?"

"Enid said your friend is that Regina Snow, the one who writes those Paddy Dimple books. My kid’s got the first two. The third one’s coming out any day, isn’t it?"

"I think so." That’s what the paper had said.

"I can’t wait either, truth be told. They’re really good."

"Uh-huh." Paddy Dimple? Did that mean her hero’s name was Patrick? He’d seen a pyramid of the books at The Dusty Shelves, Hadley Fall’s bookstore. But he hadn’t paid much attention to them. If he hadn’t stepped on one of the little Paddy action figures, sidestepped and knocked the pyramid over, he never would have noticed the Paddy phenomenon. It was a kid-thing. Trick thought about how he’d turn to avoid getting bashed in the head with a book and how the spiral binder of a Paddy Dimple diary had snagged the sleeve of one of his favorite sweaters.

No, he was not a big Paddy Dimple fan.

Outside, Reg undid the chopsticks from her hair. It fell down her back in a shining wave of gold, glinting in a stream of sunlight. She shook her head and ran her fingers through the strands then lifted her arms and stretched, her long, lean body taunt and strong.

"Oh my God," Trick murmured as his body reacted to the sight. I’m a big Reggie Snow fan. And getting bigger.

"Doc? You all right?"

"Huh?" Trick spun around, away from the incredibly sexy sight of his best friend to the safe view of the mountains and fields. He felt like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

Like lusting after Reggie.

"Do you think it would be all right if I brought my kid to meet her? Get an autograph?"

Trick imagined the children of Hadley Falls lined up at his back door waving their copies of the latest Dimple release. "I don’t know. I mean, sure, but I’d like to talk to Reg first about it. Maybe she’d want to set up something at The ‘Shelves."

"Good deal, Doc. Are you going to come pick up the car?"

"Tomorrow."

"’Kay Doc. Let me know about the autograph."

Trick promised to find out, hung up the phone and stared out the window. The sun was starting to set now and the Green Mountains were turning blue from the bottom up. Sort of like a very uncomfortably aroused part of his anatomy.

If he kissed her, would she think he was being the Trick of years’ past, trying to score? Probably. It was the reason she’d mutated his name from Patrick to Trick, after all. A hockey player who scored three goals in one game was said to perform a Hat Trick. She’d shortened it into "Trick"--though Hat-Trick was the name his brothers still used, in homage to one amazing night at a really good party.

Of course, she’d given him the name because he’d disappear faster than a rabbit in a hat. "Give me a silk handkerchief and a demanding woman," she told him once, "And I can make you vanish."

He’d always thought she was just sounding off at him, bitter with her father. But then again . . . she hadn’t been too far off the mark.

The urge to kiss her and tumble on the grass with her filled him, but Trick shook his head. Reg! This is Reg! No!

He clenched his fingers into tight fists and willed himself not to move, no matter how much he wanted to go outside and join her. Or kiss her. No matter what his body told him, there was no way he’d kiss Reg, never mind play her husband.