Best of Three (Counting on Love) (2 page)

Still, whenever he spent time with her—like the fifteen minutes they’d been together in the exam room—and she did her I-know-I-can-get-to-you thing, he wanted to strip her down and surprise the hell out of her.

She was seductive and flirtatious with him—when she wasn’t being sassy and sarcastic—but it was so blatant that he knew she thought he wasn’t interested.

That was one of the many things about him that she didn’t know.

She also didn’t know that he liked her trying hard to get his attention.

She didn’t try that hard with any other guy. She didn’t need to. But she was almost desperate in her attempts to get Nate to respond to her. And it amused him, in a way. He knew he was an anomaly in Emma Dixon’s world. He had a penis but wasn’t trying to get her up close and personal with it.

But when he wasn’t as riled up, he hated it. He hated not being able to tell her that she was gorgeous and funny and sexy as hell and smelled like heaven.

She didn’t need his attention. She didn’t really want his attention. She just hated that he seemingly didn’t notice her and fall at her feet. That helped him keep his distance. Because if he
noticed
her in all the ways he wanted to, neither of them would ever be the same again.

Nate shook off all the crazy thoughts of Emma Dixon and headed for his office. He had ten minutes until his next patient and he wasn’t going to spend all of his down time thinking about the last woman he should come within twenty feet of.

He flipped open his cell phone and noticed a voice message from his son, Michael.

Nate dialed in to his voice mail as he walked toward his office.

“Dad, hey, I’m taking Shannon out tonight for her birthday. There’s this…thing, she wants to do and… I don’t want to fight about this, okay? It’s her birthday and I’m her boyfriend, so I’m taking her out. I’ll be home. Eventually.”

As his son spoke, Nate felt his jaw and neck getting tighter and tighter.

Michael was an atypical teenager in many ways. He was exceptionally bright and clever and funny. He’d spent a lot of his childhood around adults. Adults who talked about the theater and politics and world events. He hadn’t watched a lot of cartoons, hadn’t played in the sandbox, hadn’t dressed up like a super hero. He’d had a nanny who read to him and took him to the park and to museums and music lessons and play dates with other kids who spent time with books and in museums.

He’d had the best of everything and he’d been mature and responsible and well-mannered and cooperative from a young age. Nate and Michael’s relationship had always been strong.

But he was a typical teenager in one very important way—as he got older, he got more independent. His thoughts and beliefs and opinions were influenced by people other than Nate and Nate’s grandfather, the other significant adult in Michael’s upbringing. He wanted to try new things and he’d gotten rebellious when Nate disagreed with his choices.

They’d started arguing lately. A lot. About what was important in life and goal setting and keeping focus on the future. Michael wanted nothing to do with medicine, his family’s legacy. He wasn’t even entirely sure he wanted to go to college. He had already started building a small business—something with computers that Nate didn’t entirely understand—and he wasn’t convinced that college had anything to offer him.

Nate didn’t necessarily want Michael to become a physician—though he’d be the first in four generations not to. But why couldn’t he get an MBA before starting his own business? Or even a computer science degree. Surely Michael didn’t actually believe he knew
everything
there was to know about computers. Michael might have the brains and talent to do whatever he wanted, but a degree would open more doors, would show potential employers or investors that Michael had discipline and drive, that he was committed to doing things right and that he was worth taking a risk on.

Frankly, Nate wanted Michael to get a degree because
he
would like to see his son’s discipline and drive and to see that he was committed to doing things right. He wanted Michael to be successful, but he wanted him to work for it so he would appreciate it.

It had taken Nate a long time to get to that point himself.

He’d been an orphan before he even knew his parents—his mother had been diagnosed with cancer while pregnant with Nate and succumbed when he was only eight months old, and his father drank himself to death after that—so he’d been raised by a grandfather who had far more money than patience and who parented with elaborate gifts, high expectations and little else.

Nate had been a single, teenage father, but he’d had nannies to take care of the middle of the night feedings and the colicky moments.

He’d gone to medical school, but getting in had taken nothing more than putting his last name on the application to the school where three generations of Sullivans had gone and where the medical school library was named after his great-grandfather.

Medical school itself had been as tough for Nate as for anyone, but he’d had his pick of residencies and been assured a job at the hospital where his great-grandfather, grandfather and father had worked.

Money and influence had created an easy path for Nate and it had taken him a long time to truly appreciate—and enjoy—what he had.

He wanted Michael to be more appreciative and humble than he had been. He wanted Michael to be a harder worker than he had been. He really just wanted Michael to be a better man than Nate had been.

And on top of all of their disagreements about college and his future, Michael was in love for the first time. Very much in love.

With Shannon Watson. The recently-turned-eighteen-year-old daughter of Emma Dixon’s best friend.

Not only was Shannon Michael’s first love—and everyone knew how stupid love made a guy—but she was beautiful, popular, vibrant, and loved to go out. Nate had only been around Shannon for fifteen minutes before thinking that if he didn’t know better, he’d assume she was Emma’s daughter.

Nate gritted his teeth as he dialed his son’s number.

Of course this most recent and gigantic pain in his ass had something to do with Emma Dixon.

Michael had met Shannon at a Hawks football game. Nate had played defensive back for the Hawks for the past two years and Michael never missed a game. Neither did Emma, their quarterback’s sister. Emma had brought Shannon and her mom, Dena, to a game last fall and Michael had fallen head over heels in the space of an afternoon.

Michael’s phone rang. And rang. Then went to voice mail.

Nate swore and disconnected, then called again. Michael was screening his calls, knowing that Nate was going to yell.

Nate could admit that he wasn’t crazy about Michael’s preoccupation with the young Miss Watson. She’d been distracting him for months from his schoolwork and other responsibilities—like spending time with his father.

But Nate especially wasn’t crazy about walking in on Michael and Shannon naked in Michael’s bed one afternoon when they should have been in school. Or finding out there were no contraceptives being used. Or realizing that Dena wasn’t at all concerned. Dena’s approach to parenting was incredibly laid back. She was more like an older sister to Shannon than a mother, as far as he could tell. And not a responsible, concerned older sister like Emma’s sister Amanda.

Michael’s phone rang and rang again.

Finally, Michael answered. “
Dad
.”

“You will not be going out tonight without providing a lot more information to me and having a
discussion
about it first,” Nate said. Since the afternoon he’d found them skipping school and skipping the condoms, he’d grounded Michael.

Or tried to.

Michael had turned eighteen two months ago, but he was also still living under Nate’s roof and on Nate’s tab. Which meant that they argued on a daily basis now.

“What information do you need to have?” Michael asked. “You’re going to say no to whatever I say.”

“I am willing to listen,” Nate said, working to keep his voice calm. “Because it’s a special occasion, I will
consider
suspending your grounding for one night. But I need to know where you’re going, who you’re going to be with and what you will be doing.” Maybe if he was reasonable and willing to compromise, Michael would be too.

For instance, if Nate said yes to Michael taking Shannon out, perhaps Michael would agree to buy and
use
a box of condoms.

Nate forced himself to unclench his teeth and relax his shoulders.

He also very much wanted his son to be more responsible than he had been. Nate had been used to doing whatever he wanted and having his grandfather bail him out of trouble. Consequences simply hadn’t been a part of Nate’s reality. Which was why he hadn’t paused for one second to think about a condom when Stacie Franklin—his high school sweetheart and Michael’s mother—had slipped off her panties in the backseat of his car.

He wanted Michael to understand consequences and being responsible. But he had no idea if he was handling this well. He’d never had to ground Michael before. The rebellions and the disrespect were new. Nate knew, on some level, that they were normal, but they’d started almost overnight and he was adjusting too. He also knew that his role model, his grandfather, would have never been in the running for Father of the Year, but Nate didn’t have a lot of other examples.

At least if Michael was grounded, he was safe.

Of course, grounding an eighteen-year-old was nearly impossible.

“I’m taking her out. Dad, you need to trust me.”

“I did. You messed up. Now you need to earn back my trust, Michael.”

“How can I do that if you never let me do anything?”

“How can I let you do anything when all I can think about is you skipping school to have unprotected sex in your bed in
my
house?”

“Is that what you’re upset about?” Michael demanded. “That we did it in
your
house? Which, by the way, I thought was also
my
house.”

“It’s the house you live in,” Nate said tightly. “But I believe I make the payments.”

“So that
is
what bothers you most?” Michael sounded amazed.

“No.” Though it did bother Nate that his son would be so brazen as to bring his young girlfriend to the house like that. “What bothers me is that you were irresponsible on so many levels—skipping school, having sex in the first place, having sex without a condom or any other protection. You’re going to be leaving home soon and I have to know that you’re able to make the right decisions.”

“Yes, I’ll be leaving home soon,” Michael repeated. “Thank god.” And he hung up.

Nate gritted his teeth and squeezed his phone tightly, resisting the urge to hurl it against the wall. Fine. He’d had his say. He’d expressed his concern. Michael was eighteen. Nate couldn’t babysit him.

Nate paced to his desk and tried to concentrate on his work messages, but his mind kept going to Michael. He was directly defying Nate. That had never happened before. Nate wasn’t sure what Michael expected to happen now. Did he think that Nate would respect his honesty and let him go? Did he think that Nate would realize it was pointless to try to curtail his legally-an-adult son’s activities? Right. Probably more the latter.

While it was true that he couldn’t send the cops to retrieve his son or anything, that didn’t mean he had to roll over and let this happen. Michael needed to understand that Nate was still in charge here and while he knew Michael had a lot going for him, the kid still needed guidance.

He needed to find Michael and talk to him.

After jerking his lab coat off and loosening his tie, Nate punched the button that would connect him with his receptionist.

“Shelby, I need Dr. Chapman to cover the rest of my patients or I need them rescheduled if he can’t see them.”

Chapman was a new resident. He likely had room in his schedule and could easily take care of the surgical follow-ups Nate had scheduled that afternoon.

“I’ll take care of it, Dr. Sullivan,” Shelby said.

And that was why he always got her very expensive Christmas gifts.

“Thank you.”

Tucking his wallet into his pocket and pulling his pager from his desk drawer, Nate strode to the door.

He knew exactly where to start his search for his wayward son.

That was definitely not Dena’s big-assed silver crew cab pickup sitting in front of her place.

Emma pulled up to the curb and shut her car off. Not only did Dena not have enough money to even make a down payment on that truck, Dena would never buy that truck. Dena was more a classic Volkswagen Beetle—a used, beat up, bright yellow classic Beetle—kind of girl. Cheap, compact and fun.

Emma glanced at the beat up, bright yellow classic Beetle in Dena’s driveway in front of the truck and grinned. Dena had come up with the “cheap, compact and fun” phrase herself the day she bought that car. Eight years ago.

Emma looked back at the truck and shook her head. She wished that the truck belonged to a new boyfriend who had come into Dena’s life to sweep her off her feet and shower her in lavish gifts.

But she knew exactly whose truck that was. And he was no Prince Charming.