“Have you informed Mr. Moretti about the incident?”

I winced a little. “No. He’s in New York.”

Detective Long gave me a disapproving frown. “Do you have any way to contact him? He should know about it. Tell him as soon as you can.”

I promised I would. I was then instructed to call her if I saw the woman again and given strict orders to always have a walking buddy.

Before the detective left and just after we shook hands, she dropped her official persona and said, “I’m a big fan of the show.” She gave me a polite smile then swiftly left.

I stared at her retreating form until it disappeared around the corner, wondering how a smart, seemingly capable woman like Detective Long could be a fan of Nico’s misogynistic show. For that matter, how could Sandra be a fan of his show?

I didn’t have much time to meditate on this disturbing fact as I was paged with the results for Angelica’s screening tests. They came back positive, and she was officially eligible for the study. I felt a twinge of relief on her behalf. The results thus far looked promising, and I was very pleased for her and her family.

My next call was to Rose to inform her of the results and work out the next month’s calendar. Administering Angelica’s infusions at the hospital every eight hours for twenty-eight days meant that my schedule for the next month would be completely rearranged.

We settled on the timing of her infusions for 6:00 a.m., 2:00 p.m., and 10:00 p.m.. This meant I would have to be at the hospital at these times regardless of whether I had a shift or not.

But I didn’t care. I could give up four knit nights over the next four weeks with no complaint if it meant a lifetime of improved outcomes for a patient. No big whoop. Besides, other than knitting, my social life was basically nonexistent and had been since before college. Now with Janie missing in action, making kissy face with Quinn Sir Handsome McHotpants Von Fiancée, I was free as a bird.

You can’t miss what you don’t have.

Of note, I didn’t count my future benefit sessions with Dr. Ken Miles as part of my social life. They fell more into the recreational category. Like seeing a movie or window shopping.

Speaking of window shopping, Wednesday evening I pulled together a first day infusion survival kit for Angelica. I’d noticed earlier in the day that her blue blanket had a My Little Pony patch; therefore, I purchased a purple purse with an obscene amount of lace and fringe and filled it with pony paraphernalia. I also packed pineapple slices for after the infusion.

When Rose and Angelica arrived Thursday I tried to hand the purse off to Rose, but she waved me away.

“Lizzy, what is wrong with you?” She gave me a mother stare, the where is your common sense? kind. “You went through all that trouble to put this together for Angelica and you want me to give it to her? Why can’t you take credit for your good deeds?”

I groaned. I complained. I didn’t want to give Angelica the purse because just the thought of doing it made my hands damp. Rose held fast and in the end—with sweaty palms and a nervousness I didn’t really understand—I gave Angelica the purse.

She loved it. Her smile was brilliant. She squealed with happiness, and her eyes twinkled in a way that reminded me of Nico. It made my knees wobbly and my heart melt.

The infusion portion of the visit was uneventful, which was a big relief to everyone. When it was over, while one of the research nurses was taking Angelica’s vitals, I pulled Rose to the side and asked her to have Nico give me a call when he had a free moment. I didn’t want to tell Rose about the fancy stalker lady, worry her unnecessarily, but I did need to inform Nico about the issue.

After Rose and Angelica departed, the stars aligned such that I had the remainder of the day off. From 3:00 p.m. until Angelica’s 10:00 p.m. infusion, the time was mine to spend, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

It was high time for a panty dance party.

Sometimes, when I had an afternoon off, instead of going to sleep right away like I ought, I liked to dance around my apartment wearing nothing but underwear. Usually sexy underwear. Sometimes paired with high heels. I’d introduced this concept to my best friend Janie some years ago, and she’d joined me on more than one occasion. We’d bonded over lip-synching to ’N Sync and bobbing to the Back Street Boys.

Even I, Elizabeth the tomboy, wanted to feel beautiful, feminine, and desirable every once in a while; even if no one was there to see it. It made a difference in my mental wellbeing. This behavior was usually precipitated by periods of dressing in nothing but scrubs. I felt like an asexual blob of teal cotton and sensible shoes.

I left the hospital with a panty party plan in mind.

I’d perfected a method for avoiding the paparazzi by tucking my hair in a hat, changing into civilian clothes, and leaving via one of the lesser-known back doors. If the photographers were loitering around my train stop I would cross the street and walk to the next closest, several blocks away. Also, I was diligent to keep an eye out for the fancy stalker.

I arrived at the apartment without incident.

A certain amount of preparations were required in order to maximize the benefits of my plan: I needed to take a bath, shave everything that could be shaved, lubricate my legs and body with fancy lotion, apply light makeup—just enough to make me feel girly—paint my nails, and brush my teeth. I blew out my long hair and it fell in soft waves over my shoulders.

Once I felt clean and pampered I pulled out a full set of pink-and-black lacey lingerie, thigh highs, pushup bra, garter belt, lace panties—the works—and strolled over to the stereo in the living room in stocking-clad feet. I felt and smelled fantastic.

I briefly considered listening to the CD that Rose had given me from Nico, my music homework, but quickly dismissed the idea. I wasn’t in the mood to broaden my horizons, and I’d already spent too much time fantasizing about him recently. I was in the mood to dance like a crazy person and enjoy being in my own skin.

The first few beats of “As Long As You Love Me” by the Backstreet Boys reverberated over the speakers. I allowed the cotton-candy, feel-good rhythm and lyrics to carry me off on the fiction of sublime happiness and true love. I slid around the wood paneled floor, I spun on my tiptoes, I tossed my loose hair from side to side with wild abandon, all while mouthing along with the song and meaning every syllable. I jumped up and down on the couch during the chorus and felt the fantasy of the words to my bones.

It was during one of these jumps that I caught sight of a figure standing just inside the entranceway from the corner of my eye.

Startled beyond reason I spun, sucked in a gasping breath, and lost my footing. I fell ass over ankles off the couch and landed with an unforgiving thud on the area rug in front of the sofa. I also made weird yelping, moaning, screaming sound. The figure ran toward me; his face half-amused, half-concerned.

And that’s when I realized that Nico Manganiello had been watching my panty dance party.

Chapter 15

When I opened my eyes I found Nico kneeling at my side. His forehead was creased with worry. It took me a moment, only a moment, to realize his hands were on my body. One hand cupped my face; the other moved from my hip slowly down my thigh.

“Elizabeth? Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I rolled on my side and toward him; my hands automatically clutched my bottom. It hurt.

“Janie gave me the key. Are you hurt?”

“Where is Janie? And why did she give you a key?”

“I’m looking at . . . Wait, are you sure you’re okay? Did you break anything?”

“No, but my bottom is going to be sore tomorrow.” I rubbed the painful curve of my backside.

Nico released a breath, sat back on his heels, and gently pushed my hair from my face. His fingers threaded in the long strands, and he carefully brushed the waves over my shoulder. “I can massage it for you if you want.”

I glared at him and his teasing face. Stupid handsome face. Stupid twinkling eyes. Stupid kindness.

God, I wanted him.

“No, thanks. I’m sure I’ll recover without you needing to get all handsy.”

He half-smiled and his eyes decided to choose that precise moment to lazily scan my scantily clad body. He loitered for a prolonged moment on the straps that held up my lacey stockings and also where my bra snapped together between my br**sts.

“See anything you like?” I meant for the words to sound biting and sardonic, but the breathy quality to my voice might have derailed my intent.

“Mmm. Yes. Quite a few things.” His gaze felt like a touch, his eyes heavily lidded, his tone distracted, all velvet and soft and soothing.

“Hey! Buddy!” I was surprised by the tremor when I spoke; I removed my hands from my bottom and tried with no success to conceal everything that was exposed. “Do you mind? Eyes up here.”

“I’m not finished.”

I stared at him for a shocked second then shoved him. “Nico!” I rolled away, my face flaming as I grabbed the only thing nearby that could serve as shelter from his scrutiny—a sofa pillow. I held it in front of my torso as I stood. It was ineffectual.

A wide, crooked grin spread over his features and he chuckled—actually chuckled—and watched me from his position on the floor, on his knees. “I’ve seen you before.”