Page 54 of Wild

"Pretend this didn't happen. If you don't want to talk about it, say so—but don't act like it wasn't real," Mia says.

"I'm not pretending anything." Erin slips into survival mode, protecting herself the only way she knows how. "It happened and it was a mistake and—"

"Why was it a mistake?" the singer asks.

Erin exhales sharply. This is hard enough, and Mia interrupting her is making her more anxious by the second.

"For a lot of reasons, but let's start with the most important one: I'm your doctor. The only thing that can exist between us is a professional relationship, so I can do my job properly."

"I'm not asking you for a relationship, Dooley. Actually, I haven't asked you for anything."

Mia stops and digs her hands into her hair, pulling it back into something between a ponytail and a messy bun. She hasn't asked for anything—but she wants to, and the frustration is palpable.

"You and I have a major communication problem," Erin says. "We can't talk about anything without it turning into a fight over something stupid, and I'm not going to make this another one. Let's put it to rest right here. I know I'm the one who started it and I'm sorry—I promise it won't happen again."

A sharp, sarcastic breath escapes Mia, who lifts her gaze and bites her lips, furious.

"Why do we have to put it to rest?" she asks, frustrated. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the way you were gasping and moving against me—I think you wanted what happened just as much as I did."

Erin feels dizzy. Her legs have started to tremble, desire pooling low in her belly, and there's a desperate throbbing between her thighs that she can neither stand nor explain. She doesn't want this, doesn't want a relationship with a singer who picks women out of a crowd after a show and sleeps with them because she can't sleep—she doesn't want to become another one, a distraction for Mia while she's on tour, a body she can reach for whenever she feels like it and grow tired of the moment someone more interesting catches her eye. That's always been her perception of Mia: a singer with magnetic stage presence who doesn't commit to anyone and uses her fame to hook up. Erin can't be another notch, doesn't want to turn into that,especially now that she's starting to feel things she shouldn't—and she doesn't want to fly home to New York with a broken heart when the tour is over.

"I like you, goddammit." Mia decides to play the honesty card and put herself out there to convince Erin she means it—but the doctor isn't having it. "We can have both: a professional relationship and a personal one that starts slow, at your pace. I can—"

"That's not what I want."

Erin's sharp answer hits Mia like a wall. She stops talking instantly and goes very still, staring at her.

"We're in different places, Mia." Mia's chest tightens when she hears her name, because she's longed every day for Erin to say it again—just not like this. "You're very young and you live a life that doesn't fit mine."

Erin doesn't recognize herself when she speaks; she doesn't even know what the hell she's saying, because it sounds like a half-baked excuse even to her own ears—but she can't stop. She needs to protect herself from this, from what she'll feel when her contract ends if she doesn't get her desire under control now.

"And what does fit your life?" Mia's eyes are bright, and Erin feels her throat close.

"I don't know," she hears herself say—and realizes it's the only honest thing she's said so far.

She doesn't know what she wants, because nothing in her past has ever given her a template for what a relationship should or shouldn't look like. Her romantic life can only be measured by how much she didn't feel during the few dates she had with women who never became anything more. This is new, and unfamiliar, and she's so frightened that she doesn't know how to navigate it without getting hurt. The fact that the first woman to make her feel this intensely is a singer who travels the country for months at a time doesn't help; it fills her with insecurityand an irrational fear that makes her act against herself, turning away from what she wants because she doesn't know what to expect if she tries to build something with someone like Mia Wilder—a girl covered in tattoos with a lonely past that looks a lot like her own.

The singer crosses her arms over her chest for a few seconds and drops her head, staring at her bare feet while she tries to put her thoughts in order. She doesn't understand any of it. She knows the doctor is attracted to her, because nobody who doesn't feel something for you kisses you the way Erin kissed her a few hours ago. Erin was gone—she let go of control for a few seconds, and the result was that they almost ended up against the wall of the bus. Mia can't figure out what part of her Erin is rejecting, but it's clear there's something she doesn't like or won't accept, and thinking about it hurts so much she just wants to rip her own heart out and stomp on it until it stops beating and stops hurting.

"Okay," she whispers, still looking at the floor. "I guess you can't fight a wall. I want this and you don't, and there's nothing I can do about that."

Mia goes quiet, as if she hasn't quite finished but can't find the words—or doesn't even know how to say what she's feeling. What Erin sees is that she's in pain, that her rejection is genuinely hurting her, and that realization is so distressing that Erin seriously starts to wonder whether she should leave the tour.

"I don't want this, Mia," she starts, taking a step toward her as the singer looks up with her hands tucked under her arms. "I don't want you to suffer. I don't want either of us to."

"Very noble of you, but I don't think you can stop it."

Erin blinks and starts to wonder which of them is actually the more mature one—and realizes she's been judging Mia from the beginning without ever really knowing her. She decided early onthat this girl only thinks about women and having a good time. She's spent a month on tour with her and never once tried to have a conversation that had nothing to do with her medical chart or the schedule. She's the one who kept her at arm's length from the start, protecting herself from she doesn't even know what, because that's what she's always done: put up walls, because she's never had anyone to protect her or care about her.

"You're right, I can't." She goes still, looking at Mia as if she's seeing her clearly for the first time—and right now, Mia looks nothing like a girl who only wants to take her to bed.

"Grab your notebook." Mia holds out her right arm, and Erin takes a moment to understand she's asking her to do what she came to do and then go.

She reaches out and wraps her fingers around Mia's wrist to take her pulse. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft, and Erin feels thrown. She feels like she's just opened her eyes and is seeing Mia—not the singer, but the woman. She starts counting, and the act of focusing on that clears her head a little. She lets go, pulls out her notebook, jots down the vitals, and tucks it back in her pocket.

"Give me a little breathing room, Mia," Erin says suddenly, in that quiet tone that always disarms the singer.

"Breathing room for what?" she asks, confused.