The Polly Principle by Davina Stone

Chapter 22

Solo lay back and grinned at the ceiling.

She hadn’t tried to fend him off. Instead, she giggled and snuggled into him, her curls squashed under his chin and her cheek nestled on his chest.

Her toes curled against his calves, like a kitten making pillows with its claws.

“My toes are tingling,” she said.

“Is that good?”

“I guess it shows there’s been a fair bit of blood circulating.” A glance up, a peek of green before long lashes swooped down.

He shifted onto his back and brought her with him. Now her head rested against his shoulder, her fingers stroking circles between his pecs.

Solo opened his mouth to speak, shut it, opened it again; damn it, she might as well know.

“I’m finding this, whole thing—you know, us—pretty toe-tingling all round, to be honest.”

“Which means?”

“Which means I like you. A lot.”

“Oh.”

Long silence. Solo racked his brain. Then he realised she was feathering kisses down his neck. “I quite like you too.” Barely audible.

He guessed he shouldn’t push his luck, but he did anyway. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, I like you. I think you’re hot.”

“That makes me feel objectified.”

“And you’re a really nice, kind person.”

“Which sounds like any moment I’m going to be friend-zoned.”

“Jeesh, there’s no pleasing you.” She giggled and slapped his chest. “Okay, for the record I’m enjoying this; really enjoying it. And I guess, yeah, I could keep it going for a while longer.”

“What’s a while longer in Polly Fletcher terms?”

“Until you head back to Sydney.”

“Wow, thanks! Another couple of months.”

“That’s long-term in my books.”

His chest tightened. He tried to keep his tone light. “So, you don’t see any further than that. For us?”

He felt her shoulder against him bunch in a shrug. “I don’t know. I try not to think too far ahead.”

“Why?”

“What’s the point? It never turns out like you imagine anyway.”

“So after Danny there was no-one who floated your boat?”

“Not really. How about after Emma?”

“That didn’t end so very long ago, there’s only been you since.”

He sensed her grimace. “Urgh, I’m getting rebound vibes here. You said it was mutual, but in my experience it’s never mutual. How did it really end?”

He stiffened. And she felt it. She glanced up. “You don’t actually have to answer that. I just can’t help being a nosy cow.”

“No, it’s fine. She met someone else. But I guess we were already growing apart, so…”

It was true, they’d drifted into habit. A nice, warm habit, but after these few weeks with Polly, he realised he and Emma had lost that special something, long before Drew. He was the devoted type; the kind of guy who would have stuck by Emma without questioning it. So why couldn’t he tell Polly the truth?

She said, “But you wouldn’t have left first, right?”

Holy cow, her intuition was unnerving. He wasn’t going to tell her about Emma and Drew. Sure, it was pathetic ego stuff; not wanting to be seen as the loser who’d lost his girl to his best mate. Wanting to maintain his stud-muffin status in her eyes. And why the hell not? It was, as Polly had pointed out, only going to last for a month or two.

“No, I probably wouldn’t have left first.” He kissed her forehead. “But then I would never have met you.”

She didn’t answer, then changed the subject. “Tell me your career plans. You mentioned neuropsychiatry the other day. That sounds exciting.”

She was playing him, typical social worker, getting him to talk about himself.

“I can specialise in neuropsychiatry in Sydney. I’d like to get more involved in research. There is a position I’ve applied for. I’m waiting to hear whether I’ve got an interview.”

“Great!” She said it like it was the best news she’d heard all day.

Solo’s heart did another dive. This was crazy. They weren’t even an item. Christ, how were you supposed to do this? After ten years with Emma, he’d lost his knack of navigating new relationships. And was that what this even was?

Not according to Polly.

He tried to sound casual when he asked, “How about you? Where do you want your career to head next?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been asked to apply for management, but that means less clinical work and I love seeing clients. I guess I might go travelling… who knows… I could go rural, but… Oh, this is boring…”

“No, it’s not. I’m interested.”

She pulled away, lay on her back. “I’m not used to talking about myself.”

He kept his arm around her shoulder. She wasn’t escaping that easily. “I’ve noticed your tendency to focus on other people’s happiness before your own.”

“Bullshit. I am totally hedonistic and utterly self-obsessed.”

“I don’t mean the superficial stuff. Like losing a centimetre or two off your thighs.”

“Try ten.”

“Jesus, see what I mean? I mean the stuff inside. The stuff of dreams.”

“Wow! Dr J, the romantic. You should have been a poet.”

He laughed, some little seed of masochism pushing for more. “Go on, tell me a couple of your dreams.”

“Oh god. All right. Travel the world, marry off my friends—it makes them happy, and I’m kind of good at it.”

“Marry off your friends!” He scoffed. The question on his lips felt like walking into a field of unexploded mines. “Don’t you want to get married eventually?”

“Marriage ruins your sex life. Why would I want that? Especially after the orgasm you just delivered, Dr J.” She curled into him again, put a hand up to his cheek and brushed her lips to his. “Let’s stop talking, shall we…”

Her tongue circled his lips and his body shuddered an immediate response. He hustled his disappointment into some dark recess of his brain, smoothed a hand over her hips, between her thighs and heard her little gasp.

“Let’s just forget the deep and meaningfuls.” She jumped on top of him, grinning broadly and scissored his hips with her thighs. Solo’s brain turned to mush as her hands pinned him down and her head moved lower. “Right now, I’ve got a very different kind of deep in mind.” Polly giggled.

Solo groaned. Words got them into trouble.

But this… ah, this… Oh, fuck,

His eyes rolled back in his head.

With sex they were on the same page.

Every. Single. Time.

* * *

“Apple strudel.”Judith poked her head round the door of Polly’s office.

“The one and only?” Polly looked up from the computer screen.

“Nothing less than the gold-medal winner.”

It was true, Leon’s wife had taken the gold medal in a dessert competition for her apple strudel. It was something to do with the puff pastry offset against plump apples and raisins probably soaked in something very alcoholic, and then that thick crust of lemon zing icing on top.

It came onto Echidna Ward less often now that Maria had had a baby, but when it did, everyone congregated.

Polly felt a little zip of pleasure knowing she’d see Solo at morning tea. It wasn’t like they weren’t spending time together—every other night since last Wednesday, to be precise. (They’d both agreed they needed a night off in between to catch up on sleep). She felt juicy and, what had Judith once called her? Oh yes, fecund, which made her think of babies, and thinking of babies other than the one in Kate’s beautifully expanding belly was alarming.

And yet… and yet, being with Solo was making her feel broody as all hell. Which made her think of a mother hen. Admittedly a very sexy mother hen, but that old nesting thing really did seem to have a biological pull.

Of course, she was resisting it.

But she couldn’t resist strudel.

Sure enough, Solo was sitting in the staff room talking to Ben, both of them cramming strudel into their mouths. Solo had this way of sprawling when he wasn’t in meetings that drew her attention to those long, lean legs in his suit pants, the secret knowledge of what he kept tucked in there especially for her making her feel even more fecund.

Oh, dear. This wasn’t getting any easier, but she wasn’t going to think further than the weekend. Talking of which… she cast a glance at Judith, who was looking pretty and relaxed and chatting to another nurse. There was going to be some action between Jude and Carts, mark her words.

Judith had sidled up to her the other day after Dr Death’s ward round. “Can I ask you something, Poll? Seeing you’re an expert on this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“You know, the dating stuff.”

Polly had gathered up her files and watched Solo’s broad shoulders in his suit jacket (god, he was just as gorgeous in a suit as a bike jacket, wasn’t he?) disappear with Dr Death on patient rounds.

“I guess I’m good at the early stages.”

Judith’s blue eyes lit up. “That’s exactly what I need right now.”

“Okay, fire away.”

“Sooo, if you’ve kind of been seeing someone at, like, yoga, and having a drink after, and the vibe is good and then they invite you to something—”

Polly raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be a birthday party, would it?”

“Yeah, obviously, durhhh, I’m not trying to hide who it is. You are going, aren’t you?”

“I have been invited, so yes, probably.” Like with bells and whistles on, though how she’d keep her and Solo quiet after this, god only knew.

“So help me here, how do you take it to the next level? Like, imply you’re interested?”

“Don’t you think he knows?”

“We’re both so shy. I think he’s interested in me, but he’s so polite and gentlemanly. But oh, Polly, he has the nicest eyes and”—Judith rolled her own now—“his smile. That little snaggly tooth of his, it actually adds to his attractiveness.”

Polly smiled to herself. Wasn’t love the sweetest thing? Carts wasn’t exactly male model material but he had a lovely smile, that was true. How superficial of her to think that way. “Maybe you just need to ask him to dance.”

“Me ask him!”

“Jude, don’t go all 1950s on me. For god’s sake, woman, yeah. It’s always been up to the woman, she’s the decider, but nowadays there’s no need for the silly games to bolster the guy’s ego and pretend he’s the one making the decision.”

“Really, we decide?” Judith straightened her shoulders and almost preened. “Never thought of it like that.” Her face fell. “Made a bum decision with Mark then, didn’t I?”

“Maybe it was the right decision for back then.”

Judith’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Maybe. We were seventeen, he helped me with maths and I wrote his English essays for him.”

“Mutually beneficial, then.”

“Just shouldn’t have stayed twelve years.”

“How are things going between you guys now he’s moved out?”

“We’re talking. He’s happy as a pig in poo in his new apartment; all his computer screens set up for gaming for hours on end. And honestly, Poll, I don’t know why I hung around all those years, when the intimacy left and the sex fizzled, cooking and cleaning and being there for him.”

“Hmmm,” said Polly. She reminded herself that after twelve years, she and Solo would quite probably add up to something similar. Both slouched on the sofa after a long day at work with a TV meal and not much to say to each other. And a bed that didn’t get to see tangled sheets and waking each other up in the night multiple times because they simply couldn’t get enough of each other.

And then Solo glanced up with a piece of strudel halfway to his lips and that wicked gleam in his eyes, and her resolve immediately went AWOL. He winked at her and she felt heat creeping up her neck.

She flicked her gaze away and dived on the strudel.

As she cleaned up her plate not long after and went to leave for ward meetings, Solo was behind her. He held the door so she could pass through, his body brushing against her, and the scent of him, the warmth of his body, was electric.

She couldn’t help smiling up at him as they walked. Being around him made her happy, it was that simple. And that complicated.

“God, that strudel’s good!” he said, smacking his lips.

“I know, divine.” She rolled her eyes. They ground to a halt outside the doctor’s office.

Solo grimaced. “I’ve got to go and write three discharge summaries. Are you around later?”

“For a professional chat?” She glanced up at him flirtatiously.

“Exactly.” He was standing too close as Judith and Leon walked past and Polly stepped back, feeling them both casting meaningful glances at them. Were they being that obvious?

Solo didn’t seem to notice. Or care. “Want to join me for omelette?”

She hid her delighted smirk. Omelette was now code for staying over. Last night her bed had felt big and empty and she’d woken up practically humping her pillow, which was kind of teenage crass.

She gave a little nod. “I could do.”

“Great.” He grinned, that flash of white teeth against his dark stubble so enticing, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, those brackets in his cheek. It took so much effort to resist. It occurred to her that it would be so much nicer not to have to try.

Then his phone trilled. He dragged it out of his pocket, glanced at it, then flicked it off and pocketed it, but something about the tightening of his lips made her ask, “Was that Drew?”

He shook his head. “No, no-one important.”

But when he looked at her she knew he was hiding something. A knot tightened in her stomach.

She shrugged it off. What did it matter if there was another woman out there somewhere? So what? He’d be going back to Sydney soon.

Bye bye, Solo.

She ground back on her heels and slung her bag over her shoulder, tossed her head. Was tempted to say she was staying in to wash her hair tonight. But she couldn’t—just couldn’t.

She managed to keep her smile casual. “Text me later, and I’ll decide if I’m free.”

He looked at her, as if suddenly perplexed by the cool change, then he shook his head and grinned. “You sure like to keep a guy guessing.”

She winked, gave his arm a playful punch. “How it should be.” Then she sashayed off, loving the fact he was watching her arse for sure.

* * *

Once he’d closedthe door of the doctor’s office, Solo drew out his phone and looked at Emma’s message.

I’ll be arriving Saturday evening. Can we catch up Sunday? Drew is keen to FaceTime when we’re together. He really wants to talk to you.

He frowned. Saturday was Carts’ party, so he was glad she hadn’t suggested that, but if Polly and he spent the night together, what then?

Why couldn’t he just come clean about Emma? Because he knew it would be an awkward conversation. Any wrong move and Polly might back off. And now, to make life more complicated, it seemed Drew wanted to communicate with him via Emma. Was that Drew’s way of holding out an olive branch? There had been no abusive messages for two weeks now. Maybe that was a sign that Drew’s mental health was improving?

Gah, he needed to tell Polly and be done with it. What was he worried about?

It wasn’t anything to do with his feelings for Emma. He knew he was over her. But the precariousness of the whole thing with Polly felt like a pack of cards. Add one more complication and the whole thing might collapse.

Besides, he reasoned, Emma being a reed-thin model wouldn’t be something Polly would exactly be cool with. Behind that façade Polly was deeply insecure. He loved that about her, the complete contradictions of her personality. But the last thing he needed was her retreating because of some great big hang-up about Emma’s completely different brand of beauty. The fact that you could count Emma’s vertebrae even through her clothes wasn’t something any woman needed to envy in his book. And quite frankly, now he’d experienced Polly’s delicious curves, there was no going back.

Sometimes with Polly it was like dealing with a wild animal; as though he’d got her almost trusting him, and then, poof, one wrong move, and all the ground he’d gained was at risk of being lost.

He rubbed his forehead. He’d tell Polly Saturday after the party that he was catching up with Emma. He needed the next few days to build on their growing intimacy. To coax that shy, wild creature out into the light. To let her feel what it was like when a guy really fell in love with her.

He stared at the pile of papers on his desk. Yep, he was in deep. He’d fallen in love with Polly Fletcher. Every damn glorious, infuriating inch of her.

Quickly he texted Emma back.

Cool.

I’ll pick you up at your hotel.

Send me the address.

Any time after 10 a.m. is fine.

He startled as Pritchard put his head round the door. “I need you to go to ED, Jakoby. There’s a new admission, a young man with psychosis; they’re treating it like it’s drug-induced, but it sounds more complex to me. They need some psychiatry input.”

Solo sighed. Discharge summaries would have to wait again. But he’d bloody well work through his lunch break, because nothing was going to ruin his evening with Polly.