Playing Doctor: A Standalone Office Romance

by JD Hawkins

“Listen, Mia… I don’t even know where to start. You finish your shift a little after me, right? Let’s meet after work…” I try to think of a place, then think of the only one I know we both know. “At the Three Flamingos. I’ll wait for you there.”

  Mia’s face relaxes into a concerned expression. “Colin… I thought we agreed we wouldn’t—”

  “No, it’s not like that. I’m not trying to… As good as it was, I was being sincere about not talking about it. I just need to clear the air a bit. I promise. Just to talk. That’s it.”

  Mia thinks about it pensively for a moment. “Just talk, right?”

  “Right. I want things to be cool between us, too. That’s why I’m suggesting this.”

  She takes a few more moments of thought. Dimples in her cheeks, even the frown in her forehead perfect.

  “Okay,” she says, already moving to the door. “I’ll see you after work. I’d better go find Doctor Choudhry.”

  “Right,” I say, feeling relieved as I follow her outside, waving the sheet of paper she gave me, “and I’d better go turn this boy back into a girl.”

  12

  Mia

  I feel like I’m missing something again. Like there’s a key piece of information that’s so obvious I’m overlooking it, or so small that I’m missing it.

  Did Colin just ask me out on a date? He promised he just wanted to talk, but then he swore after last night that everything would be cool between us, and today it clearly isn’t…

  I spend the rest of my shift laying the events out in my mind chronologically, looking for any missing links or an arc. Then I try to remember everything I know about Doctor Colin Pierce—hoping to build some sort of psychological profile like the FBI agents in movies do. Then I try to think of everything I’ve said and done, trying to figure out what sort of signals I’ve been giving off myself, lest I’ve been giving off the wrong ones.

  But the more I think about it, the more confusing it becomes. When I’m up against a medical situation this difficult and complex I at least have some experience to draw upon—but when it comes to men, I’m not exactly a PhD. I’m more of a dropout who occasionally has a half-hearted attempt at completing my master’s. There’s also plenty of literature to consult when it comes to medical issues, but they tend not to do one-night stands in old Russian novels, and as far as I know Dickens never explored what men actually mean when they say “no funny business.”

  If this were a medical issue, how would I solve it… Honestly, I’d recognize the boundaries of my skill and consult someone. But Maeve’s the only person I know who does understand these things, and I’ve already bugged her at work today. And to be honest, I need more than a pep talk, I need a running commentary.

  I’m busy with work, as well as my thoughts, so the time flies, and before I know it I’m at the end of my shift, finishing off a few forms before I change and go out to my car.

  When the door shuts and I’m alone in the driver’s seat, I take a moment to close my eyes and breathe. I’m tired and hungry. The last thing I want to do is go for drinks with someone, let alone the emotionally challenging situation of a guy I just fucked who suddenly started acting all weird. If it were anyone else, I’d cancel. I need a curry, a book, and a long night’s sleep more than anything. Who cares if things stay weird between us? It’s not like we’ve worked closely together since he arrived. And maybe just turning up will give off the wrong impression. Maybe all the guys who try to get laid are saying “I promise I just want to talk” these days, and I’m just too behind the times to know it.

  I go as far as grabbing my phone to text him, realizing I don’t even have his number, then opening the door and putting my foot on the asphalt in order to get it from the hospital, but I stop there.

  He’s probably already at the bar, waiting for me. I did tell him I would go, and ghosting him would be mean, more than anything. Maeve would tell me to go. And even if he did just want to hook up again, would it really be so bad if—

  I stop myself from finishing the thought so I can pretend I didn’t actually think it.

  When I pull in to the lot of the Three Flamingos, my doubts turn into near-certainties. The flashy cars in the lot, glamourous women in mini-dresses heading inside, thumping music so loud it can be heard outside—I am not up for this. Last night I went there with a diamond necklace on and still felt out of place. Now I’ve got tired limbs, frazzled hair wrestled back into a ponytail, and a pair of ripped jeans where the rips and fade are all my own.

  I park the car and reach for my phone, already thinking of how I can tell Maeve that I’m meeting Colin in as few words as possible without insinuating anything. I’m not even halfway through the text before a knocking on my passenger window makes me jump. I drop the phone and clutch my chest, adrenaline pumping through me.

  It’s him, leaning down to look at me through the window, his bicep flexing as he has his hand on the roof. He smiles and holds his other palm up as an apology. Anyone else and I’d have a few choice words, but for some reason his expression only makes me laugh at myself a little. I push the door open and step outside.

  He’s wearing a loose shirt, sleeves rolled up against those Michelangelo forearms, the top buttons undone. I struggle to push the memory of his naked torso out of my mind.

  “I thought you were going to wait inside for me,” I ask once I’m standing next to him.

  “Ah, I wasn’t sure you’d be up for it,” he says, looking back at the bar with a grimace. “It’s a bit too loud to talk in there. I only chose the place because I knew you’d know it.”

  “Oh. Yeah… Okay. Well, you just want to talk now? Here? In the lot?”

  Colin smiles at me and I instantly realize how silly that sounds. “Let’s get something to drink. Or eat, if you’re hungry.”

  I hesitate, still debating just calling the whole thing off, but it’s my growling stomach that decides for me. “Okay. Where to?”

  “Your choice,” he says.

  I don’t even pretend to think about it. “Do you like curry? I know a great place. I was going to go there anyway. I’m starving.”

  “I trust your judgment.” He smiles, then nods for me to follow him to his car.

  “No,” I say, gesturing for him to get in the passenger side of mine. “I’ll drive.”

  He looks at me with that photogenic smile for a second, then his eyes go to my car like he’s just noticing it. He moves slowly around it, taking it in like we’re in a showroom, a half-amused expression on his face.

  “Wow,” he says, then chuckles lightly to himself. “First the small apartment, now this. I thought you’d be driving something a little more…modern. A ninety-six Miata MX5? Christ! Pop-up lights and everything… Last person I know who drove a car like this was a high school girlfriend with a bubblegum and knock-off purse addiction.”

  He’s at the passenger side by the time he’s finished saying this, and I put my hands on the roof to lean over and smile at him.

  “It’s a ninety-five,” I say, “with a cold air intake, turbo, and modified suspension.”

  His amused expression flattens a little into one of befuddled awe. “You’re into cars?” he asks incredulously.

  “No. My brother’s into cars. But I’m into driving them,” I reply, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  He gets in beside me—having to push the seat all the way back so he can fit his muscular bulk into the small car—and is still looking at me like he’s trying to solve a crossword when I decide to answer him by showing off as I pull out of the parking lot. The turbo revs high into a whistle, I let a little tirespin smoke up the rear, then whip the car late and tight onto the street, surprising him with the g-force while I comfortably maintain composure.

  Once we’re flying on the freeway, he casts one more look in my direction, then out at the road, and starts to laugh. As much as I want to keep a straight face, I laugh along with him. He pulls the window down and lets his arm rest on it, enjoying the ride.

&nbs
p; A few minutes later, I exit the 10 freeway and flash Colin a grin. “It’s just a few more miles. I’ll keep to the speed limit now.”

  “You’re a real bag of mysteries, you know that?” he says.

  For some reason, it feels like one of the best compliments I’ve ever gotten. The kind of thing you never realize until somebody says it to you. The kind of casual, off-hand comment that your mind clamps onto and remembers years later. I try to hide how much it affects me by throwing us into another corner as hard as I can without spinning out.

  “I just like driving,” I say, shrugging as I switch gears. “My brother always liked fancy cars—as well as fancy other things—but he’s a terrible driver. That’s how I learned that I like going fast. I like the discipline of driving, you know? The way it’s just you and the car… And the road… And everything gets clear and focused and simple, because you can’t really… I dunno what I’m saying.”

  I trail off, not really even understanding myself. The driving, Colin beside me, the tiredness of the end of the shift—it all conspires to make me feel a little loose. I try to think of something to change the subject to, but Colin starts laughing slowly beside me.

  “You think that’s funny?” I ask, a little embarrassed.

  “No,” he says. “It makes total sense. You’re a control freak.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He backpedals. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. I get it. You like to be in control. You like to know how things are gonna go, how the rules work—the way you know that a car only does what you tell it to do, even if you get it wrong. Driving lets you get a thrill, excitement, without losing any sense of control to do so. You can go fast, take a corner aggressively, but at the end of the day it’s still you in the driver’s seat.”

  I glance at him quickly and see the mischievous look on his face. “I thought you were a pediatrician,” I say, “not a psychologist.”

  “I had to study a lot of child developmental psychology,” he replies, “and I ended up continuing to read psych because it was so interesting. And pretty useful, if I’m honest.”

  “I suppose you mean with women.”

  Colin lets out another laugh. “Well, Los Angeles is a big city with a lot of competition. Even when you’ve got abs of steel, you need an edge.”

  We drive on in silence. I go easy on the car as promised. After a few minutes, I realize Colin’s looking at me again.

  “So you think I’m a control freak?” I say.

  “I didn’t really mean—”

  “It’s all right,” I say. “I don’t agree, but I know a lot of people who would.”

  Colin takes a moment before answering.

  “Honestly,” he says slowly, “I was just trying to figure out how someone like you ends up single. It seems impossible. I mean, you’re…perfect.”

  The words are too intimate, with too many insinuations, for me to respond to. This is supposed to be a clear-the-air chat, and even I know that that’s flirting talk.

  “Colin…” I say, my tone both dismissive and reproving.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Too much, I know. Bad habit of mine. I can’t help myself.”

  Even after that, the rest of the drive is too nice to feel awkward. Something about Colin’s presence in the car—maybe his cologne, maybe the way he looks so big in my passenger seat, maybe how he holds the roof with his hand out the window so casually—makes me feel relaxed.

  We arrive at the restaurant, go inside, and order. All the while I barely think about being with Colin, and the strange circumstances around all of this—I’m too hungry. It’s about all I can do to try to at least eat without looking feral, and covering my clothes in mint chutney and popadam chips.

  Once we’ve wolfed down several dishes—Colin almost as hungrily as I did—we slow up a little and our attentions turn to each other again. Unfortunately, I once again start to wonder what the hell Colin asked me to meet after work for anyway.

  “You know…” I say, and Colin looks up from the mango chutney he’s been dipping into, “I thought we were supposed to… I mean, we agreed that we wouldn’t… I suppose it’s my fault in a way, I guess, because I suddenly confronted you and asked if you were avoiding me but… It just seemed—”

  Colin finishes chewing and nods like he understands what I’m struggling to say.

  “Yeah, I don’t blame you,” he says. “I acted weird today, I know. Things got kinda complicated all of a sudden. And what happened last night—I wasn’t kidding when I said I really didn’t want for it to happen. I know I give off the impression that I like to play the field and that I like women—which is true, in a way—but not—”

  As he’s talking, a thought strikes me so suddenly that I can’t help but act out my surprise at it.

  “Oh my God,” I blurt out, hand to my mouth. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before.

  “What?”

  “You’re… You’re married, aren’t you?”

  “Married?” Colin says, then breaks into a relieved laugh. “Are you kidding me? Hell no, I’m not married!”

  “Okay. Okay. Good,” I say, relaxing a little.

  “Christ! No,” Colin says, still smiling at the idea. “I’m never getting married.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he repeats. “Not my style. The whole wife and kids and mortgage and… No. Not for me. I’m thirty-four and still…no ‘paternal’ instinct has kicked in. No desire to settle down. I haven’t got it all figured out yet, not by far.”

  I smile with him.

  “I’m the same age. And the same attitude. Not for me. But it’s easy for you to say that—you’re a guy. Try being a woman in her thirties who says she doesn’t want a husband or kids. God. The hours of my life I’ve wasted while people tried to convince me otherwise… I could have learned another language.”

  Colin laughs and attacks the chutney again.

  “Yeah. I know I’m lucky,” he says. “People don’t expect me to say that, I guess, since I’m a pediatrician. But if anything, it just made me even more sure of it. I get to see them grow up over the years in neat little thirty-minute visits. I get to have fun with them, see them get stronger. All the sweet, postcard moments—without having to discipline them or get them ready for school every morning or worry about where they are every minute.”

  I’m nodding as he says this.

  “Exactly. Like, I’ve delivered so many babies now, I’ve lost count. And it never loses its magic. If anything, it’s just made me realize even more what a huge, life-changing thing it actually is. At this point, I feel like I’m all ‘babied out.’”

  Colin finishes chewing and then says, “My parents would be riding me about it to this day if my sister hadn’t given them three grandkids already.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “Yeah. Back in Phoenix.”

  “My parents have given up on grandkids,” I say. “I think they realized I wasn’t the type early on—and my brother is even less the type.”

  “Your brother who likes the fancy things?”

  I nod and casually tear off another piece of naan.

  “He’s a jeweler. He does pretty well for himself. Except he’s the sort of guy who balances out the good things in his life with plenty of bad decisions.”

  Colin chuckles, then points at me.

  “A jeweler, huh? That explains that necklace you were wearing when we—”

  He stops himself before bringing it up, and we awkwardly pretend to be interested in the food again. Suddenly I’m too self-conscious to take more than a tiny bite of the naan, and the sound of the other people in the restaurant seems far too quiet.

  “Thanks for coming to meet me, Mia,” Colin says, his tone a lot more formal now.

  I nod at him but say nothing.

  “I just wanted to say,” he continues, “that everything we said—that I said—is still the case. A one-off thing that won’t happen again. I respect you and your boundaries, and I want things b
etween us to stay professional, too.”

  I continue nodding, and reply, “Good,” though it comes out sounding less satisfied than I wanted it to.

  “And today, at work, I wasn’t trying to avoid you—or, I guess I kind of was, but I was avoiding everyone. See, there’s… It’s… Fuck… It’s complicated,” Colin says, seeming to get fed up with the weight of his own thoughts. He leans back in his seat and looks around, looking irritated and tired.

  “It’s fine,” I say, looking at him sympathetically. “As long as there’s no problem between us—”

  “No. It’s got nothing to do with you and me. It’s my own problem.”

  “Okay.”

  He continues to look around, and then his eyes rest on me, and some of the frustration seems to drain from him. His green eyes sparkle again, and he leans toward me.

  “The truth is, I meant it when I said I didn’t want to get involved with a colleague, because… I’ve done it before. And it didn’t end well at all.”

  Without realizing it I’m leaning in, hanging on his words, entranced by his eyes and the low firmness of his voice. But even so, as he says it I feel some part of my heart sink. The part that I never really thought about until now.

  I wanted him again. I wanted last night again. I wanted him to take me. To break the rules for it. And now he’s telling me how sure he is that he won’t.

  “Oh…right. That sounds…tough.”

  He nods. “Tough is an understatement. She was my boss.”

  “What happened?” I ask, trying not to sound as intensely, totally, desperately curious as I feel.

  Colin sighs heavily and reaches for his Coke, looking a little disappointed it’s nothing stronger, then starts talking.

  “It started a few years ago. I was…reckless. Didn’t think things through. Went with my gut. Well, I was the same as I am now. A little less cautious, a lot dumber. She was hot. Sexy. All that. Thing is, I don’t do relationships. The closest thing I’ve had is a friends-with-benefits thing that lasted a year. I thought this ‘office romance’ thing would be the same kind of deal. I mean, this woman wasn’t the ‘love poems and soulmates’ type. More the ‘kill your enemies and make belts out of their remains’ type.