Addicted to You - Suzanne Jenkins Page 0,14
lot tonight.”
“If you say so,” Ryan said.
It didn’t seem possible he’d had sex with her just a few hours earlier. The memory made him smile. She was so nice. Her body was soft and supple, she wasn’t an athlete, so she even had a little rounded belly that he wanted to bite.
“I’ve never had a guy so turned on by my fat,” she murmured as they lay together in his bed.
“You’re not fat. You’re perfect. I want you.”
“Well, thank heaven for that,” Caroline said, trying not to giggle. “This is me. And I promise I’ve never slept with a roommate before.”
“I didn’t think of such a thing,” he said, frowning. “Right now there’s no one else in the world for me. I hope I can make the transition back down to earth.”
“Aw, you’re flattering me.”
“I’m serious, Caroline. There’s no one else.”
Watching her eat pizza and laughing with the other roommates, Ryan wondered what the progression of time was going to do to the two of them. Would she move on quickly while he was stuck in the first throes of love? Or would she be just as crazy about him as he was about her and want to run ahead, get married, and start their life together?
It wouldn’t take long to find out. By Christmas the following year, they were in love, and although the premonition he’d made to Eddie Page was slightly delayed, he and Caroline decided they’d get married as soon as they were finished with their residencies in two years.
After they finished their residencies, they found jobs in San Diego at the same hospital. They bought a house in Scripps Ranch. Every morning, they went into work together, the handsome new anesthesiologist and the pretty new redheaded surgeon doing a fellowship for a year before joining a prestigious surgical group. They were the perfect match.
The fellowship went smoothly, and after joining the practice, that whirlwind occupied the next months until, finally, they could take a real vacation.
“Let’s go to Hawaii,” Ryan said. “Believe it or not, I’ve never been.”
“Why would you need Hawaii when you have Southern California?” Caroline asked, handing him a pile of folded laundry.
“Everyone says it’s different.”
“Well, I’ve been, and trust me, it’s not that different. We can go, but be prepared to spend a small fortune on food.”
“We can afford it,” Ryan said, kissing her cheek.
“I’ll be paying off my student loans for the rest of my life.”
“I’ll help you,” he said. “That’s what husbands are for.”
“Aw, you still want to get married! I must be doing something right.”
“You do everything right,” he replied. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes! Of course. We’re just going to run away, right? No white-dress, bridesmaids, flower-girl extravaganza?”
“We can run away if it will make you happy.”
“Okay, well, let’s get married and have a Hawaiian honeymoon.”
“Sounds perfect to me.”
So they took their well-earned vacation, got married at city hall, and flew that afternoon to Maui. Finally slowing down meant getting in touch with previously ignored issues, and once she accepted that, she knew there was something seriously wrong with her.
Home from Maui the following week, her head in the MRI machine, eyes closed, hands folded across her belly, Caroline thought of Ryan. She didn’t tell him her concerns that she was afraid she might have a brain tumor until they were home Sunday afternoon, returning to work Monday looming in the near future.
“What are your symptoms?” he asked, confused. She’d never complained until that very moment, and now she was talking brain tumor.
“I felt sick to my stomach last week, which was why I didn’t eat much.” He was on her the whole time they were in Hawaii about not dieting while they were on vacation. “Double vision, headache, syncope, weakness on my left side, memory loss, do you need more?”
“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking. “Call Albert, now.”
Albert was the senior partner in the practice she’d just joined. It took that one call for her to get an appointment to have an MRI done first thing Monday. Before she slid into the machine, she saw Ryan, Albert, the chief of radiology, and the head of neurosurgery watching her.
An hour later, she was sitting up on a stretcher with a glass of orange juice in her hand, Ryan at her side, telling her a bad joke, which included the president, a spaceship and the Three Stooges.
“Oh god, that’s awful,” she said, laughing. “I’m going to have orange juice coming out of my nose if you’re not