It Takes Practice Read online

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  It Takes Practice

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-287-4

  ©Copyright Willa Okati 2013

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2013

  Edited by Rebecca Douglas

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 1.

  This story contains 59 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 7 pages.

  IT TAKES PRACTICE

  Willa Okati

  Let doubters doubt! Fitz means to convince Nathan that seven years isn’t too long to wait for a second chance at the love of a lifetime.

  Dr Nathan Rey, general practitioner, has endured a case of broken heart syndrome for a handful of years and counting, after his wild, bad-boy lover disappeared just before he received his licence. Though it’s got easier—one or two flights of erotic fancy a year instead of every night—Nathan couldn’t say it’s got better. He still can’t forget the charismatic Fitz, and no one he’s met since then could begin to compare.

  Still, Nathan’s certain he would have someday stopped daydreaming and moved on. He would have found someone else. Filled the empty spots in his life, his heart and his home. His bed.

  That is, if his part-time nurse hadn’t eloped overnight. If, unable to find someone local right away, he hadn’t called upon the services of a temp agency. And if the nurse the agency sent to him, certified and licensed, had been anyone but Fitz himself, with far more than work on his mind.

  Love isn’t always easy, and it’s very rarely simple. More often than not—it takes practice.

  Dedication

  To the ladies of the J_A_W Group, with thanks for their support and encouragement.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Jägerbomb: Mast-Jägermeister SE

  Jeep: Chrysler Group LLC

  Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

  Prologue

  Seven years ago

  Nathan stood barely awake beneath the stinging needles of the shower spray. He moaned as the heat began to work on muscles wrenched sore from—good God, how many hours had he and Fitz gone at it? He remembered the sun coming up, and not much else besides. Hot, wet, need. Hungry. More now, now, now.

  The cheap rings of the shower curtain rattled along the rod as, still warm and smelling of rumpled sheets, the cause of his sleepless night slipped in behind him and pressed drowsy kisses to his shoulder blades.

  “Fitz,” he murmured. “I didn’t think there’d be any getting you out of bed without a crowbar.”

  Fitz nibbled Nathan’s nape. “Shows what you know about me.” He sneaked an arm around Nathan and stole the soap, holding loosely and unused in the palm of his hand. “Gimme. You’re going to be late.”

  “Mmm.” Nathan stretched, enjoying the slick sensation of soap sliding across his skin, and Fitz’s body close behind his. “Whose fault is that?”

  “Not ashamed. I might not be good for much, but you got one hell of a graduation party out of me.” Fitz lathered the small of Nathan’s back and slapped his ass. “Course, you impressed me pretty good. Even before breaking the bed. Think you went deep enough to taste. But those Jägerbombs? That’s how you drink like a man.”

  Nathan snorted. “I’m four years older than you.”

  “I’m still more of a man. Unless you want to prove me wrong. And just in case I need to spell it out? That’s an invitation.” Fitz’s cheek was as rough as his lips were soft. The swinging tips of his hair tickled Nathan’s back, then his chest when Nathan turned around to face Fitz. Or that’d been his intention. Fitz butted his head against Nathan’s chest with a sigh of contentment.

  “I am not your pillow.”

  “Says you.”

  Not a problem, really. Nathan didn’t have to look to be sure of every detail about his boyfriend, from the gold barbell through the head of his cock and the bristling black tribal tattoos tracing their way from chest to neck. Fitz might not be an easy mouthful for future conservative colleagues to swallow, but Nathan had earned his M.D. and they’d have to like his boyfriend, or they could lump it all.

  Nathan could handle them, as long as he could handle Fitz too. The graceful sweep from his broad shoulders to narrow waist, the dip of his spine before the small, tight rounds and the length of his legs beyond. The aching press of fingers hard on his hips and the stretch of his thighs, and the burn of a lover’s bite on his neck where everyone could see.

  Fitz laced his fingers through Nathan’s and looked up at him, close enough to kiss the tip of his nose if he’d wanted. He nudged wet locks of hair behind Nathan’s ears. “You’ll cut this soon, won’t you?”

  “Doctors can’t usually wear fourteen different colours in their hair and sixteen studs in their ears.” Nathan avoided Fitz’s faux-indignant swat and bent in a fluid wave to bite the tip of his ear, whispering, “You’ll have to do it for both of us.”

  Fitz punched Nathan’s arm, playful, the sting only small. He took hold of the circular, stone pendant Nathan had given him the year before, strung on a leather cord Nathan had cut to measure himself, and tugged. The slate gleamed almost glossy when wet. His touch lingered. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at Nathan in a way that Nathan didn’t know at all.

  He didn’t think he liked it, either.

  Nathan settled back, shoulders to the wall. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Fitz shook his head. “I didn’t know it’d be like this, that’s all.”

  “What would be?”

  He tapped Nathan’s cheekbone. “Staying over for a night. What did you think I meant?”

  “We’ve been dating for months. It’s hardly the first time. I’m the one who got fucked stupid, not you.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “What is it they say about fools and love?” Nathan tossed out. He lifted Fitz’s chin to get a proper look at the man. He might be on the cusp of his last night in the last year of med school, and Fitz might be floating somewhere between sophomore and senior undergrad years, but what difference did that make? “No looking back.”

  “You never do,” Fitz said. “Never looking back, always running forward, that’s you.” Fitz’s smile was lazy on the surface. “Takes longer for some of us. But hey. Feel free to keep on being forward.”

  Fitz eased back beneath the spray, soap in hand but hands busy, sliding down and slicking Nathan where he was still open, still loose from the last round. Not that he wouldn’t
be glad of another go. Usually.

  “No. Not right now.” Nathan laid his finger across Fitz’s lips. “I know what you’re up to.”

  Fitz’s movements ebbed into stillness.

  “And I’m not about to be late for the run-through for graduation.” Nathan lifted himself away from the wall. When faced with a naked Fitz, saying no was no small thing. He’d follow his wild bad boy to the ends of the earth. “I know you’re majoring in beer pong and how many places you can shove metal in your face—” He hesitated. “You are coming for the real thing tomorrow, aren’t you? You promised.”

  Fitz pressed the pendant to his lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

  “Then do it. For me. I want to see you in the crowd.”

  Then he looked up, his shrug easy. Too easy. “You bet. Keep a lookout. I’ll be there.”

  * * * *

  After all the dust had settled, Nathan was the only one surprised that Fitz didn’t show.

  After a while, he wasn’t surprised at all, either.

  And in a handful of years, he’d forgotten about Fitz.

  Almost.

  Chapter One

  “Seriously? The temp nurse still isn’t there?”

  “Still not.”

  Chelle whistled. “How’s your blood pressure?”

  “Steadily climbing.”

  “I’ll bet.” Chelle, who’d been a friend and colleague long enough to talk to Nathan any way she pleased, was laughing at him while on her way out of town for a girls’ weekend. Nathan could sense the mirth was at his expense. He had an uncanny gift that way.

  Also, she didn’t bother to stifle her giggle.

  Let it pass, man. He had other things on his mind. Such as clothes, and an increasingly futile search through his laundry room. Apparently, since the exodus overnight of the nurse he’d employed since he opened his practice, Dr Nathan Rey’s housekeeping had also risen up in anarchy against him.

  “Who would have thought Ilse had it in her?” Chelle asked, naming said nurse when Nathan really, really would have preferred she hadn’t. Not that she was listening. “If she hadn’t left you in the lurch, I’d call it romantic. Fifty-three and she finds someone she loves enough to run away with?”

  “I’d think it was more romantic if she’d given me two weeks’ notice.”

  Chelle snorted. “Right. Love works that way—on a schedule. Not exactly, Nathan.”

  Nathan returned fire with an equally rude noise, partially drowned amidst the racket of his rustling through dry-cleaning and home-style wicker baskets. Just like being in college again, Jesus. Walking around shirtless, in jeans saved from those days, might have been all right for a graduate student most often found underneath an undergraduate, but not a doctor who had, oh, let’s see, thirty minutes before I need to start my rounds. He had house calls today to his more rural patients.

  Come to think of it, some of the elderly folks he’d scheduled probably would enjoy a shirtless doctor, but for heaven’s sake—

  “So, you think your temp’s a no-show?” Chelle asked. “Also, do you want me to stop on my way back into town Sunday and pick up your order from the medical supply store?”

  “As for the latter, yes please, and thank you. As for the former? He’d better not be.” Nathan had the man’s résumé laid out within grabbing distance of his front door. A male nurse, not quite the oddity it used to be, but it’d still raise an eyebrow or two, especially out there in the hinterlands—which perversely enough, he supposed, he loved. “Mike Smith.”

  “Sounds like a used car salesman, not a nurse.” She paused. “Wasn’t that—?”

  Nathan clicked his tongue to stop her before she pushed right past the inch he was willing to give when it came to the past, and claimed herself a mile. There were some roads he didn’t care to go down again. Ever. “It’s a common enough name. Plain and sensible.” He upended a basket and shook it until it rattled, watching mismatched socks fall in a perverse resemblance to autumn leaves. Fuzzy, lint-specked leaves. “Honest to God, did the washer and dryer eat all my shirts?”

  “Look in the closet. Where clothes usually live. There’ll be at least two you forgot you had from the last time you were on your own.”

  Nathan stopped. She was right. He remembered now.

  Chelle took his silence for its precise worth and pounced. “You know what you need? A keeper. A wife. Better yet, a wife that’s a nurse.”

  “Excuse me?” He slipped the phone out from between ear and shoulder and stared briefly at it. “Chelle, there are so many things wrong with what you’ve just said I hardly know where to start. Besides, wife? Woman?”

  “Wife doesn’t have to mean woman.”

  “It does if you look in a dictionary.”

  “Dictionaries are far too restrictive.”

  Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and lied through his teeth. It wasn’t too difficult. He’d had plenty of practice. “Not that you’re going to believe me, but I swear to you that, wardrobe malfunctions aside, Chelle, I’m fine on my own. I like it this way.”

  Her eloquent snort was her only reply. For a moment. He held his breath and hoped.

  “You have to get over Fitz sometime, Nathan.”

  Ah. Unfortunately, wishes weren’t horses and no one would be getting a ride.

  Fitz.

  Just hearing his name spoken aloud… Nathan hadn’t thought about Fitz in…years, probably. He’d got better when it came to dreaming about him, too. Once or twice a year. As opposed to, say, every night.

  “Seven years is a long time to nurse a grudge. Or carry a torch. I never could tell which.”

  You and me both, Nathan thought, but refused to give voice. He couldn’t quite see her letting him live that one down.

  She had more to say, but, thank God, necessity picked her moment. Had he heard—? Nathan muted Chelle momentarily to listen. A scratchy sound, not unlike a saw in need of sharpening. Someone on the porch? Doorbell might be on the fritz again. “Leave it alone, Chelle. I’m good the way I am.”

  “Alone and celibate? Nathan.”

  Oh hell. Her serious tone. He waited for it.

  “You shouldn’t be alone. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Not something I have to worry about.”

  “Patients don’t count.”

  “In what world? Women,” he grumbled, hand on the doorknob. “Forget Fitz. Fitz has nothing to do with this. I promise you, the person doesn’t exist who could be a partner in both senses of the word. Find them, or let them find me, and then we’ll talk. I’m answering the door, by the way.” He spotted the flutter of pale blue scrubs in the glass pane at the side of his front door. Finally. “It’s the nurse. At least, it had better be—”

  And it was.

  He didn’t recognise the man at first. There was no reason he should have. Not until he grinned, lazy and easy, settled back on his heels, and the surface trappings of a decade’s wear and tear faded away like silk webbing in a strong wind. No piercings. No beard, no goatee, either scruffy or neat. His short hair stood up in artfully dishevelled twists and spikes, the colour a gradient shading of blond and brown that shone red in the sun.

  But the eyes. The eyes had it, even without a lining of kohl.

  “Who is it?” he heard Chelle asking. “Nathan? Everything okay?”

  Nathan licked his lips. “I’m fine. It’s just the nurse,” he said, amazed he could come up with that much, but even those few words emerged rough and raspy.

  The man tilted his head back to look up at Nathan, still grinning. Never a care in the world. “Nathan. Long time no see.”

  “Nathan?” Chelle paused, then laughed. “Good Lord, how hot is he? Must be something to knock you quiet.”

  “You could say that.” Nathan couldn’t feel his lips. His tongue buzzed. Decision made. “I’m going to have to call you back.” He’d snapped the phone shut almost before he’d finished. She’d panic, she’d be pissed off, and she’d call him back to tear him a
new one, but that could all wait. It had to.

  Because—years later than promised—Fitz was on his doorstep.

  Nathan stared. “You.”

  “Me.” Fitz settled on the doorstep, his stance wide and his weight balanced. He could hold that pose for hours and there’d be no budging him before he was ready to move. Nathan remembered that about him, and more with every passing second under that frank gaze.

  The surface might have changed, but underneath he was the same man. Knowing that helped. Not as much as Nathan would have liked, but he’d take what he could get. Experience, that cruel teacher, reminded Nathan he might think he knew Fitz’s mind, but he could never be sure of his plots and plans.

  He could try to find out. Looked like Fitz wanted him to.

  Fine. But on his terms.

  And he wasn’t letting Fitz through the door to his home until at least one of the questions he’d stored up for seven years was answered. Any of them. Dealer’s choice.

  Start with the one that matters most.

  Nathan planted himself in the open doorway, one hand on the frame and one shoved in his pocket, calmed himself—or tried to—and settled for a flat, stony mask. It’d do.

  “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

  Fitz shrugged one shoulder, drawing attention to his scrubs. “My job.”

  “You. You’re the nurse?”

  “Trained and everything.” Fitz cocked an eyebrow. Not spoiling for a fight, but not as calm as a tranquil sea. “I take it you weren’t expecting me.”

  “I stopped expecting things from you a while back, Fitz.”

  Fitz raised one shoulder. “Fair enough.”

  Nathan gave him a deliberate once-over, up and down. He looked…different, the small changes more apparent as this older version of him offset fading memories of who he’d been. Healthier, for one. He must have taken to eating regularly. And exercising. The whipcord of his muscles and sinews had been replaced by sturdy cable. His skin was clear and he had a healthy colour to him.