by R.S. Grey
“I’ll just eat a salad,” I tell my mom.
She slams on the brakes and then threatens to drive me to the hospital for a checkup. I lie about having had a hearty lunch. Then, I zip my lips. I don’t trust myself; I fear thoughts about Lucas will slip out without my approval. I KISSED HIM, I shout in my head. Fortunately, she doesn’t push the issue. Even when she’s shampooing my hair in the sink later, she steers the conversation toward fluff.
“Did Dr. McCormick like the cookies?”
“He loved them.”
“Oh?”
She’s fishing.
“He raved about them. I’ve never seen him so happy,” I continue.
She glows, my exaggeration doing nothing to dilute the compliment.
“Mom, you’re getting shampoo in my eyes.”
“Oh! There—better?”
“No. Ow! Stop poking my eye with the towel.”
This is how my week has gone. First, the intrusive thoughts. Then, Dr. McCormick forces me to share. Now, I’m treated to melted corneas. My flimsy rock bottoms just keep giving way to deeper, darker depths. While Lucas is walking on clouds, I am a hundred miles below the Earth’s crust.
It isn’t until Madeleine’s call Wednesday afternoon that I’m reminded of the real rock bottom waiting for me. I am at a seafood buffet for a Hamilton Singles event. All you can eat, all you can meet. There is a bevy of both shrimp and men. So far, the former has held the lion’s share of my attention.
“Any good prospects?” Madeleine asks.
“Personally, I’m enjoying the coconut-crusted. Oh, and the scampi.”
“Human prospects, Daisy. Put the shrimp down, already.”
“Look Madeleine, the way I see it, I might meet a great guy tonight, but these shrimp are a sure thing. Take that guy there, he’s put away at least four plates. He’s getting his money’s worth.”
“Well for one, you’re a fifth of his size. Two, I think he’s under the impression that this is a speed-eating event.”
“Maybe we’re soulmates,” I croon. I am the heart-eyes emoji.
Madeleine has had enough of me. I know because she takes my plate and hands it off to a pimpled waiter with an exasperated sigh.
“There’s a nice guy who’s been asking about you. He’s over by the soft-serve machine.”
She nods in his direction and I get a wink and a smile from the lonely cowboy. Instead of a six-shooter, he’s holding a child-sized sugar cone. It ruins the appeal.
“That’s a little too much denim for me.”
“He’s good-looking! In some parts of the world they call that a Canadian tuxedo.”
“Well in my part of the world they call it a virginity force field.”
She tosses her hands in the air and gives up on me. Finally.
For the next thirty minutes, I’m left to sit next to the speed-eating yin to my yang. We don’t talk until I’m cutting into a slice of cheesecake. He’s as old as my grandfather; if he was younger, we’d already have eloped. I look over for his name.
“Where’s your nametag?” I ask, finally aware that this man might have sneaked into the event.
“My what?”
“Are you here for the singles thing?” I ask, pointing to the herd of grazing singles I want nothing to do with.
“Singles what?”
He’s hard of hearing, but I’m not discouraged.
“Yeah, me neither. You gonna finish that?”
He nearly forks my hand as I try to steal a bite of his brownie. He isn’t one for sharing desserts. I respect that.
“That a friend of yours?” he asks, pointing a pudgy finger out past the front of the restaurant.
I glance up and come face to face with my worst nightmare.
Lucas is standing on the other side of the smudged glass, looking like the cat that caught the canary. He holds the Hamilton Singles event poster in one hand and my dignity in the other.
“He looks awful happy to see you.”
“That’s because he is,” I groan, sliding down in my seat until I’m completely under the table.
Chapter Twelve
Lucas
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Unsent Email #350
You probably think I’m happy I spotted you at that singles event, and you’re right, I am—but not for the reasons you’d guess. I was smiling because from the looks of it, you’d managed to find the only man in the entire room that wasn’t interested in you.
Thanks for that.
I think I’ll sleep a little easier tonight knowing you didn’t go home with anyone, knowing there’s still a chance.
Then again, maybe I should give you hell for being there in the first place. I mean, c’mon. A singles event? You don’t need any help in that department. Every guy in town has been asking about you since we got back.
I’ve tried to deter them, but pretty soon, one of them is going to work up enough courage to do something about it.
I guess I’ll have to beat them to it.
Chapter Thirteen
“Well if it isn’t Daisy Bell, the most eligible bachelorette in Hamilton County.”
“Oh! And look, it’s Lucas Thatcher, the only human man with no heart.”
It’s the morning after the singles event and Lucas follows me into the lab. We’re supposed to be examining a slide, looking for an infection; instead he is examining me, looking for a weakness.
“You know, I can help with your situation if you need me to. Just say the word.”
“First of all, I don’t have a situation, and the only words I have for you are inappropriate for the workplace.”
He comes up behind me as I’m looking in the microscope and brushes my loose hair off my neck. I freeze because there’s nothing else to do. My brain is mush.
His breath hits the top of my spine. His fingers are on my pulse. I shiver.
“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it over the years.”
I dig my elbow into his ribs, but it’s not enough. I should have jammed the heel of my hand into his nose—a self-defense move I’ve always dreamed of trying on Lucas.
“This is an unwanted sexual advance.”
I sound like a bored HR manager giving a presentation.
“So report me.”
“Did you two look at the slide yet?” Dr. McCormick’s jolly voice ricochets through the halls and Lucas steps back, finally.
“Yes sir. Her white cell count is high and Lucas just propositioned me for sex.”
The second half is retained in my head.
“All right then. Let’s get her on some antibiotics.”
He walks off and I turn back to Lucas. He’s wearing a smirk I want to steal.
“I reported you in my head,” I tell him.
“I did something in my head too.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. He’s had the upper hand for far too long. The kiss in the hallway, him seeing me at the singles event, and now him teasing me in the lab has made me desperate. Phase III is behind schedule, but I can’t tell him that.
I turn to the exam room across the hall and yank the patient’s chart out of the cubby. I feel Lucas’ eyes reading over my shoulder and try my best to tilt it in a way that inconveniences him. It’s the only retaliation I can muster.
This setup is getting to me. With my cast, there is no way I can see my patients alone. Our proximity gives me no chance to regroup or strategize. He’s winning and he knows it. It’s time to take back the upper hand.
When Lucas happens to have the upper hand, he tends to gloat, and I’ve found that I can use this overconfidence to my advantage. The difficulty is knowing when an opportunity presents itself to flip the script. So, like a vengeful boy scout, I come prepared.
The next morning, I arrive to work twenty minutes before the rest of the office with a duffel bag full of ammunition. I brew coffee—the hazelnut blend, Lucas’ secret guilty pleasure. Once the
aroma has saturated the hallway, I go into my office, unzip the bag, and extract five things: a tray of lemon poppy seed muffins, a sexy workout outfit, a stopwatch, and two Rubik’s Cubes. My plan is as follows:
After the last patient leaves, I’ll microwave the homemade muffins so that they’re soft and warm. Some people might have put laxatives in them—not me. I just made them extra fucking delicious. While they’re nuking, I’ll shimmy into my tight tank top and spandex shorts. I don’t know if Lucas has a heart, but thanks to a fateful pantsing incident in middle school, I know he is a man. The microwave will ding. Lucas will take those first few bites (he cannot resist lemon poppy seed), and then I will stroll out as if I’m on my way to the gym.
“Are those Rubik’s Cubes?” he’ll ask.
I’ll act surprised by his sudden interest in little ol’ me.
“Oh, you mean these? I found them on the sidewalk this morning. I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
“That makes sense,” he’ll say, swallowing the lies hidden in my Trojan horse of baked goods. “And what’s with the getup?”
He’ll pretend to be disinterested, but his Adam’s apple will bob and he will steal quick glances down my body. He’ll realize too late that I’m watching him, and when he urges his eyes back up to meet mine, I’ll slowly tug on the dark lanyard hanging around my neck and extract a retro stopwatch from my cleavage. Finally, I’ll toss him a cube.
“I was just about to go donate these to an afterschool program for at-risk youth, but before I do, care for a quick game?” I’ll ask sweetly.
By game I’ll mean contest—not that it’ll be much of one. The moment I finish that Rubik’s Cube before him, he’ll be the one on the ropes. Nothing unsettles Lucas more than losing. Balance will be restored.
The sound of the office’s back door breaks me out of my daydream and panic momentarily sets in before I hear Dr. McCormick’s office door creak. There’s still time to gather myself before I see Lucas.
Still, I don’t get it together.
I almost give away my intentions all morning. My diabolical plan seeps from my pores.
“You are way too cheerful, even for a Friday,” Lucas tells me when we’re going over the chart for our first patient. “Did your friend from the dating event finally call?”
The need to participate in the real world snaps me out of my villainous scheming. “Lucas, you do realize that the only thing sadder than being at a small-town dating event is lurking around outside of one, right?”
My rebuttal gets him off my back for a little while, but he’s still suspicious.
“You’re smirking again,” he says just before lunch.
“Am I?”
“Yes. Like the Cheshire cat.”
Just then, Mariah comes around the corner. For the last week I’ve plied her with smiles, frappucinos, and the promise of a raise as soon as I take over for Dr. McCormick. She fits snugly in my pocket.
“The patient in room two is ready to see you, Dr. Bell.” She beams.
“Perfect,” I reply with an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Mariah.”
I tap, tap on the door for exam room two and walk in, leaving Lucas in my wake.
I know my happiness is throwing him for a loop—his Type A brain short-circuits at the thought of juicy information being kept from him. All afternoon, I get to enjoy how worked up my silence gets him. He won’t stop flicking his eyes over to me during the exams. I can feel him guessing at what I might be hiding and trying to uncover my motives with his eyes. My mysterious smiles are a warning shot. As he sees his final patient, I prepare the uppercut by heating the muffins and slipping into spandex. I hum a little tune as I do it. I’m shaking with excitement. The image of his face when I beat him at the Rubik’s Cube will sedate me for days, if not weeks.
“Dr. Bell?”
It’s Mariah again, on the other side of my office door, hesitant to enter.
“Come in!” I nearly sing the words like a Disney character. If I knew lyrical choreography, I’d break into it.
“Woah! Dr. B…”
When I glance over my shoulder, Mariah stands in the doorway, eyes wide at my getup. After ten seconds, her heterosexual eyes have still not left my cleavage. Lucas will pee himself.
“What’s up?”
Her mouth hangs open. She closes it and shakes her head. “Dr. Thatcher needs your help—”
On cue, a loud wail sounds through the office. Lucas’ last patient was a pediatrics case: a six-month-old due for a round of shots.
“He’s in with Mrs. Heckmann and her little baby. He asked for you to come, quick.”
Could this day get any better?
My heart flutters and I yank the now useless stopwatch from around my neck. Mariah might as well have announced that Christmas came early.
You see, since the very dawn of our strife, we’ve each adhered to a solitary unspoken rule: never ask the other for help. Got sick, missed school, and need a copy of the day’s notes? I would walk for miles to another classmate before calling next door. Bloody nose right as the curtains go up at the school play? I didn’t care if Lucas was the president of a tissue factory, I’d have bled out before asking for one. So, if Lucas is truly calling in a lifeline, I won’t need muffins or Rubik’s Cubes anymore. I’ve already won.
The wailing is getting louder, and I don’t have time to change. I yank my white coat off the back of the door and drape it over my workout attire. The white coat extends a foot past my short-shorts and I’m aware how pornographic the effect is. I am suddenly Dr. Sexy, right off the rack at the Halloween superstore. I smile to myself.
Mariah leads me to exam room one and the door is open, beckoning me in. There’s a fretting mom sitting up on the table, holding her child in her lap. Her worry lines are so deep, she doesn’t even notice my inappropriate garb. I explain it anyway.
“Mrs. Heckmann, I was heading to the gym when I heard the commotion,” I say with a sugary smile. “Dr. Thatcher, need my help?”
Lucas turns over his shoulder at the sound of my voice and like a cartoon, his tongue rolls out to carpet my entrance into the exam room. It’s an involuntary, caveman reaction, one he overrides almost immediately. I almost feel badly, as if I’m cheating. His jaw locks tight and his large hands turn to fists.
I know what he needs me to do, but I wait for him to say it anyway. I wouldn’t want to presume.
“I’m having trouble with these shots.”
And, I say with my eyes.
“And I think the patient might be more comfortable if you do them.”
I walk up to the metal tray he has set up in front of his lap. I could move it, but where’s the fun in that? My spandex-clad ass is less than a foot away from his face. He could roll his chair away, but I guess there’s no fun in that either.
“What’s her name?” I ask, mining vast deposits of untapped motherly mojo.
“Ava,” Mrs. Heckmann replies shyly as I pop the lid off the first syringe. Lucas has already loaded the shots for me, so all I have to do is a little sleight of hand.
“How pretty!” I turn to Mrs. Heckmann. “Is it a family name?”
During my pediatric rotation years ago, I learned the trick in administering shots to babies is to distract both the child and the mother. Lucas probably neglects the second part. If mom is tense, the baby is tense, and the positive feedback loop gets ugly.
I talk, make faces, play peekaboo, and perform a magic act that starts with a handful of shots and ends with a smiling, inoculated baby.
“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Heckmann says, staring up at me from the exam table like I am the messiah come to set her people free. She tries to spare Lucas’ feelings. “Sometimes she gets nervous around men.”
When we’re back out in the hall, Lucas strips off his thick-framed glasses. He is no longer the mild-mannered Clark Kent, but intimidating and evil.
In my head, I tell him to chin up before patting him on his white coat, right over the Lucas Thatcher, M
.D. embroidery. I tell him, I’m more than happy to help you any time you need it.
In real life, Lucas tails me back to my office. His arms are crossed in my doorway and I feel like a caged animal with him blocking my exit. He is too big for his own good—poor Ava probably thought he was a bear. He never used to work out in high school, staying long and lean from cross country. Now he is tall and made of brick. The big bad wolf could not blow him down.
I hesitate before stripping off my white coat. I want to put my blouse and pencil skirt back on over my workout clothes, but I’ve gained too much ground to retreat now.
“You’re good with kids,” he says, and in the warmth of my victory, I foolishly take the bait.
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be—their innocent minds are probably easier for you to manipulate.”
“Ha ha, Lucas. Is that why your mind is so hard to crack into? Lack of innocence?”
He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t leave either. I pull my tennis shoes out of my duffel bag, notice the Rubik’s Cubes, and feel like a fool. He never would have fallen for my ploy. Heat floods my cheeks, and I keep my head down as I tie my shoes.
The air is tense. I don’t want to brush past him, but I can’t stand his eyes on me any longer. With a bored sigh, I stand to leave and toss my duffel bag over my shoulder. Just as I think I’ll make it out, he blocks my progress with his body. He smells like he just showered in the wilderness and dried off with freshly laundered woodland creatures; I detect pine and sandalwood.
His nose is no slouch either. “Are those lemon poppy seed muffins in the kitchen?”
I stare straight ahead, smack dab at his chest. “They’re for book club.”
“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t believe me. I’ve never been a group kind of girl and he knows it. “What are you reading?”
To call his bluff, I tilt my head and lock eyes with him. “A Game of Thrones. You remind me a lot of Joffrey.”
He smirks and I blink to mentally photograph it for later.
