Bedside Manner

Chapter 10

I have to remind myself that I am not a violent man, however, Emmett and his band of knuckleheads have me at my limit.

They got her drunk! Not tipsy. Not buzzed. But falling down, incoherently drunk.

I'll deal with Emmett on Monday; now Doctor Cullen must save the day.

Scooping Bella into my arms, I carry her to my car. Emmett follows, trying to be helpful I suppose.

He opens the passenger door. "Look, Doc, you know I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. I was in complete control. I'm not an asshole and neither are my friends."

"But she's not in control, Emmett. Do you have any idea how dangerous this could be?" Livid doesn't have enough power. "She's a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, but you had her doing shots of 80 proof? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Emmett takes a moment before responding, "I like her…"

I secure Bella in the seatbelt and face him. However I'm looking makes Emmett step back.

"Not like that, dude. That's all you." He looks a little embarrassed and rubs the back of his neck. "We hit it off, and … well … you know how there's just some people you're supposed to have in your life—for whatever reason you're just drawn to them?"

I turn to look at the murmuring sleeping beauty in my front seat. Yeah, I know.

"Bella's like that for me. I can't explain it. She's like my sister … my best friend and I just met her. It's fucking crazy!" Emmett's increased volume makes Bella jump.

"Sexy, hat-wearing fucker … " she mumbles, smacking her lips. "Wanna … face sit … " Her head lolls in our direction and she cracks a bleary-eyed smile. "Hi, Emmie."

"Hey, Bell."

"Hey, Doctor Sexomaphone." She wiggles her fingers at me in a coy wave and then, with considerable effort, turns the other way. "Keep the hat on."

I close the door to contain her crazy. Emmett wisely bites his lip.

"Not a word," I say through a growl, pointing an admonishing finger at him.

He throws his hands up, but his eyes show he's entirely too amused by all of this. "Did I say anything, Doctor Sexomaphone?"

"Asshole."

When I get in the car, Bella is snoring.

"Bella, sweetie. What's your address?"

Her response is a whine followed by a bit of flailing, and then more snoring. She has a little pocketbook in her lap, so I go fishing for her ID. This bag doesn't hold much except some lip gloss, a cell phone, a set of keys, some cash, and a couple of cards. I pause to admire Bella's driver's license picture. Beautiful. The woman is just naturally photogenic.

I plug her address into the GPS app on my phone, and we're on our way.

({()})

"Carlisle!"

My eyes snap to my passenger who has screamed my name, but it isn't in surprise, it's … pleasure?

From the passenger's seat, Bella moans my name again and writhes around. "Right there … "

Parking isn't too much of a chore; I manage to find a spot right in front. This building is nice—nicer than mine. My rent is a few grand. How does a starving grad student afford to live in a classic building like this? Judging by the cars parked out front, particularly this sweet T-Bird I've pulled up next to, the residents of this building live comfortably.

On the buzzer I see two lines for Swan with no other identifying information. After fumbling with her keys, I get Bella into the foyer. The first Swan is the ground floor apartment. I'm grateful; Bella's dead weight. I try a key, but it doesn't fit. I try another one, and—Huzzah!

Kicking the door open, I step into a proverbial bachelor pad. There is no trace of femininity here except a macaroni picture frame on the entry table. Bella wrinkles her nose and groans, then cracks her eyes open.

Looking up at me, she frowns. "Dad?"

Do I look that old? I'm only thirty-two. "No, Carlisle. I brought you home."

"Smells like Dad."

Shit.

Bella cracks an eye open and smiles at me. "I'm on the top floor," she says, jabbing a finger toward the ceiling, pointing me in the right direction.

I ease out the door just as Bella passes out again. The elevator, with its gate and heavy door is cumbersome, but I manage. Bella's apartment is easy to pick out despite there being two units on this floor. Painted on the door is the Black Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I stifle my laughter.

Once inside I'm immediately at home. Bella's place is minimally, yet comfortably furnished. There's an order to her whimsy with bright-colored trinkets practically jumping off white walls and shelves. A pair of french doors calls to me, and I carry Bella through them.

Her bedroom.

Soft. Warm. Sensual.

I take a deep breath, soaking up the concentrated essence of the woman in my arms. This is her den. It's a little messy with stacks of books on the floor near her unmade bed. Shoes litter a corner near an open closet. There are socks, bras, and panties on the floor just shy of the hamper. I need to school her on hamper ball. It's all about the follow through, baby.

Pushing a heavy quilt back, I gently lay Bella down. Her arms tighten around me, making me fall forward. I am pressed against her, caging her on the bed. Our hips meet, and I am blessed with moans and writhing. Her nose skims along my neck, causing me to shiver.

"So sexy." Her fingers caress the nape of my neck, and I am melting against her.

I need to extricate myself—fast—before I do something I'll regret.

"Bella?"

She goes limp in an instant, and I'm able to pull away.

"Bella?"

She's out again, so I go search for some pain killers. When I return, Bella has managed to get one arm out of her blouse, and her pants are halfway down her thighs, yet she's snoring again.

She's so damned adorable.

My awesome doctoring skills kick in, and I get Bella to wake up enough to down the pills and a bottle of water, and then I help her out of her clothes. I ask her about pajamas, but she responds by telling me she needs to give a urine sample.

We stagger to the bathroom; her lace-covered breasts press deliciously against my side. Her arm snakes around my waist, and this feels like the most normal, most natural thing in the world.

"You been to Golden Gate yet?" Bella surprises me with another bout of lucidness just before she disappears behind the bathroom door.

"Nah, I've been buried at the office. But things are leveling out, so I'll have more time for that kind of stuff." I lean my head against the door jamb—not listening to her pee.

"You promised me food if I was good."

I laugh at her selective memory. "That I did. How about you get some rest … sober up … and I'll come pick you up for brunch. Maybe you can take me to the bridge afterward."

"It's a date," she says as she pops her head out the door with a grin.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." I wink and offer her my arm again which she waves off, forcing me to watch her wobble away. Her ass looks delectable in some barely-there lace panties. I want to peel them off with my teeth.

She collapses onto her bed, and that ass giggles. I shove my hands into my pockets to stop myself from slapping each cheek. Instead, I pull the sheets and blankets over her and let myself out.

({()})

I am too tired to do much else but peel out of my clothes and collapse in my own bed. Thankfully, my sleep is dreamless. Morning comes quick, but I'm glad about it for a change. Why? Bella.

Last night, I forgot to program Bella's number into my phone, so I can't call to see if she's up. Some might call me eager, but I don't care. She's like a drug, and I am fiending. It's just about ten thirty; I expect her to be awake by now despite the massive hangover she'll most likely have.

I'm a doctor; I'll take care of her.

I need to quit before I burn in hell.

My cell phone rings, but I ignore the call. It's Esme ... again. I don't even know how many missed calls I have, and her concept of a text message reads like a book. Reading them is probably a good idea—maybe she's broken up with me. God, that's so junior high. Get a grip, Carlisle. I grab my phone and read through her messages. They all carry the same sentiment: She's sorry for springing New York on me, but this opportunity had been in the works since before we met. She hadn't counted on liking me as much as she does. It makes leaving that much harder. So on, and so on.

Maybe I overreacted?

I'll deal with unpleasant things later. I'd rather enjoy a lazy Sunday with Bella, vegging out—she seems like the type. That thought makes me smile, and think. Bella's probably not one for early Sundays; I take my time getting ready.

By noon I'm antsy ... anxious? to see Bella.

As her physician, I need to ensure her well being. Yeah. That's why I'm pacing my apartment: I'm concerned for her health. Double-checking the directions on my phone, I discover her apartment is just a few blocks from here. It's a decent walk, but the fresh air will do me good.

As I make my way to Bella's, I make note of the coffee shops and restaurants along the way. Russian Hill is a nice neighborhood. I like the vibe—a mix of old and new—a little bohemian, a little elegant. My walk takes me downhill and past several well-loved parks. Streetcars rattle by. Sidewalk cafés bustle with patrons enjoying this gorgeous spring day. Excitement bubbles. I can't wait to see this town through Bella's eyes.

There's a man waxing that sexy T-Bird in front of Bella's building. He's rocking out to The Doors. Good man.

"Mornin'," he says with a nod as I approach the door. "Who you here to see?"

I eye him with apprehension. I'm not sure if I should tell porn-'stache anything.

The small mammal on his lip twitches. Is he smiling? "Relax, kid. I'm the building manager ... I was gonna let you up depending on who you're here for." He sticks his hand out. "Charlie Swan, owner of this here dump."

Dump? This place is stunning.

My synapse fire and I make the connection. "Swan? I assume then you're Bella's dad." Yeah, his place was kind of a dump.

"Guilty." He steps around me and opens the door. "You here for Bells?" he asks with enthusiasm. I see where Bella gets it from. "I'll do you one better ... " He looks at me expectantly.

"Oh. Carlisle Cullen, sir."

"Weird name. Anyway ... I'll let you into her apartment."

"Oh, that's not necessary." I try to protest, but Mr. Swan is determined, like his daughter, to torture me. He practically shoves me into the elevator.

"Waddaya do for work, Carlisle?"

He doesn't waste time does he?

"I'm a doctor, Mr. Swan. "

"Oh yeah?"

I hum my reply.

"You can call me Charlie. Waddaya want with my daughter, Carlisle? "

How do I answer that? I want so much ... so much that I can't have. "We're supposed to go grab a bite to eat."

His dark eyes light up. "Like a date?"

({()})

I wisely choose to remain in the hall as Bella yells at her father about her state of undress and his presence in her home. They're an odd pair.

I like 'em.

Charlie slips out the door looking a little haggard. "Just wait in the living room. She knows you're here," he directs, barely giving me a chance to thank him before he closes the elevator doors.

Bella's moaning echoes through her small apartment. Despite knowing she's in pain, my body responds to her sounds—wishing I was the cause of them. If not for the occasional complaints of her throbbing head, I'd think she were having a "good time" in there by herself. I want to watch. Fuck. With my eyes trained on the glass panel door that separates us; I wait impatiently for a moment before tapping on her bedroom door asking to check on her.

"I'm naked."

Thank you?

"And? I'm a doctor." When I step inside, I have to bite my lip to contain the groan. Her hair is a dark, tangled mess against light green sheets. Sheets she has wrapped herself in like a bodysuit, showing off every delicate line and curve. Her breasts threaten to spill over the top ... maybe I see the outline of a dark nipple through the thin fabric.

She gives me a weak smile.

"Hey, gorgeous," I say through a chuckle, hoping that is enough to disguise how much I want her.

Bella laughs and rolls onto her stomach, revealing acres of creamy flesh; suddenly I'm ravenous.

I move closer to her bed. "I'd ask how you feel, but I see you aren't tip-top today." Grasping the sheet resting at the swell of her ass, I pull it up her back, softly grazing her spine with my knuckles before dragging my hand and the sheet over her shoulder.

Her skin deepens, but then turns pale again, reminding me I need to take care of her. It takes a while, but I get Bella through my requisite hangover drill: pain killers, hydration, a bath, and greasy food. We order from some Mexican place called Nick's, and feast on the best ... the only ... fried tacos I've ever had.

Bella must be feeling better because she is throwing down. I love a woman who can eat.

####

Y'all still with us?

Sorry for being misleading in my last A/N, I was deliriously sleepy.

Catch ya next time.