Dr. Fellatio

by Author Stella

  And with that, Carl pulled a plastic beach ball out of his desk drawer and blew it up. Just before I could ask what he planned to do with it, he tossed it in the air and hit it over the side of the cube. I didn’t see where it landed and was more afraid of Carl’s answer if I asked the question, so I returned to the group inbox. A minute or so later, the ball bounced back into our cube, and without missing a beat, Carl’s arm flew out, returning it to the unknown.

  “Need something to keep this place lively, or there’s going to be a revolt,” he said.

  I nodded and took that as my cue to go find answers from my best friend. She wasn’t hard to corner. There was only one way in and out of the cubicles unless she scaled a wall; nevertheless, if she got desperate, she might do it.

  Leaning against the fabric-covered divider, I waited for her to acknowledge me. “Hey, Alex.” The nervous way her eyes darted around her desk had me on edge.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She tilted her head to the side with a questioning gaze before standing to approach me. “About what?”

  “You and Carl. I know all about it.”

  Jasmine leaned out into the hall as if she were looking for someone just as my cubie made an appearance across the walkway. Relief washed over her face, and the tension she’d carried for days left her shoulders. “You do? I’m so glad. I suck at keeping secrets, and this was a tough one.” Confusion marred her features, and her gaze shifted from him and back again.

  “I don’t know why you thought you had to hide it. I like Carl. Yeah, he’s a bit of a strange bird, but he’s funny and definitely easy on the eyes. I can totally see the attraction.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “He told me you two are, you know…friends with benefits.” I smiled hoping she recognized I hadn’t passed judgment.

  She was a smart girl, so I knew she’d be safe and not do something stupid. God knew we didn’t need any miniature versions of my cubie and roomie roaming the planet. The combination of his DNA and hers would likely produce a child who licked windows while spouting off inappropriate one-liners.

  “What?” she wailed like a banshee crying in the night. She spoke to me but stared over my shoulder.

  I turned to see what she was looking at only to find Carl waving his hands animatedly in the air and mouthing something I couldn’t make out. I wondered if it were Carl telling her he’d let the cat out of the bag.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Her attention returned to me, and she waved a hand dismissing the revelation as unimportant. “We’re bumping uglies. That’s right. Carl Prescott and I are making magic between the sheets.” Something in her tone left me questioning the validity of her testament, but I chalked it up to not wanting anyone else to be aware.

  “So now that I know, will you stop avoiding me and running in the opposite direction every time you see me? Please?”

  “Sorry, Alex.” Her fingers massaged the back of her neck, and she cast her gaze to my shoes. “I, um”—her stutter caught me off guard. She never lacked confidence—“didn’t want to rub it in.” Her arms dropped to her side, and a wave of sorrow washed over her when she looked me in the eye. “I know having Chris back around is hard for you.”

  “Thanks, Jasmine. I’m okay. Promise.”

  The expression on her face indicated she thought every word out of my mouth was nothing but lies. She was right, and I could tell her that. But I won’t. I wasn’t quite ready to admit I’d fallen back into the black hole of Chris’s affection since other than a kiss and a handful of meaningful gestures and notes on construction paper flowers, we hadn’t discussed anything further. Instead, I gave her a hug and returned to my cubicle.

  I’d no sooner sat down at my computer than my inner-office messenger dinged. I dreaded opening it, knowing whoever had sent me a message wanted something. Even though I participated in the team meetings, I wasn’t on the team—I remained top gopher in the hierarchy, while Carl managed to avoid any responsibility whatsoever. I was so far behind, it would take hours to catch up, and there wasn’t time for a run to Starbucks for a group of people who all had feet of their own to carry them down the block or to the breakroom. As if. ARs drinking the swill in the coffee pot.

  As much as I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it, if it were Martin, he could lean out his door—or have Tracy do it—and see me at my desk. Thankfully, she’d returned to her normally chipper self when she realized I wasn’t on the chopping block. I cracked my neck, worked the muscles on the back of it, and then took the plunge.

  Patrick: I finally got around to unpacking a little over the last few days.

  As fascinating as that was, I wondered what it had to do with me.

  Alexia: Settling in to that ONE-bedroom house with Candi?

  Every once in a while, I found myself reverting to a snarky remark instead of telling him how much it bothered me that another woman lived in his house, or that I wished I’d been the one helping him unpack to welcome him back to Atlanta. There was no doubt in my mind they weren’t sleeping together, yet the fact that she got to sleep under the same roof, share breakfast and dinner, and even wash her clothes in the same machine made me jealous—not in an “I want to gouge her eyes out” kind of way, more like sad envy. I needed help—next I’d be trying to sniff his shirt or stealing his trash.

  Patrick: She’s talking about moving in with her boyfriend. Hopefully, I will be living alone again in the near future.

  After Candi’s heart-to-heart with Christopher—and his admission to protecting his virginity with his life—they really started progressing into the relationship Candi desperately wanted. I hated that Chris knew the ins and outs of Candi’s love life before I did, but I guess they had to talk at some point. I should take pleasure in the notion that he might not have a roommate soon, instead. I just missed the days where the two of us shared everything and the outside world was secondary.

  Patrick: Anyway, so I found something I thought you might like to have.

  Alexia: Oh yeah, what’s that?

  Patrick: I’ll bring it down.

  I quickly grabbed a brush from my drawer and ran it through my hair and checked my reflection in the monitor before touching up my lipstick. It was silly and desperate. No girl wanted to look bad in front of an ex…ever, especially not one she still pined for behind the mask of feigned indifference. Although, I wasn’t sure how well I even did that anymore.

  “Hey.” His voice startled me.

  “How did you get down here so fast?”

  “The elevator was on my floor. I got lucky.” He sat on the corner of my desk and handed me a weathered leather box I’d never seen before.

  When I met his hazel eyes, I had to force myself not to fall into a trance. His light-brown hair dusted his forehead, and I wanted to reach up to sweep it away. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek—a painful reminder of where we were and who might see the intimate gesture. “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  “Here?” I leaned out of the cube to see if anyone was around or if Carl was on his way back.

  “He’s upstairs playing golf. And yes, here.” My heart swooned at the ability he still had—despite the years apart—to know what I was thinking without my saying it.

  I pried the lid off the small box to reveal a piece of our history—one I hadn’t seen in ages—nestled in padded white satin. My breath hitched, and I couldn’t stop the lone tear that trickled down my cheek.

  “Happy anniversary. Can you believe it’s been a year?”

  Our fingers were intertwined in the center of the table. There couldn’t have been more than two feet between us, but right now, that was two feet too much. From the second he opened the door, I regretted agreeing to go out to dinner. All I wanted was him to lock us in his room until the sun came up—and even that would be too soon. But that would have to wait. One year ago today, we’d had our first date—right here at Bobby’s. It only made sense to come back to celebrate.

  “Best year of m
y life.” He winked at me from across the booth.

  I slid my hands off the table when the waitress came with our drinks. “I got you something.” I waited until we were alone again before pulling a small drawstring pouch from my purse. “It’s not much, so don’t get excited.”

  He always told me he didn’t need gifts from me—that my love was enough. Chris was aware of how hard it was for me to make ends meet and didn’t want me spending money on him.

  I was hesitant to give it to him, which only served to increase his curiosity. When he finally opened it and pulled out the copper cuff bracelet, I began to fidget in my seat. “It’s stupid. Forget it. I’ll find you something else.”

  He glanced up from the gift and found my eyes. “No. It’s not stupid at all.”

  “Jasmine told me men don’t wear jewelry, but I figured since it’s not feminine or anything, you might like it. But now that I see it in your hand, I realize she’s right.”

  It was about an inch wide, made of brushed copper. On the front was a series of numbers, and the inside was engraved with, “My life began at Bobby’s.”

  “The numbers on the top are the coordinates for this place.” My soft voice shook, with nerves and fear. “Forget it, Chris. I’ll get you something more masculine.”

  His gaze snapped to mine. “This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”

  “But what if someone thinks it’s a woman’s bracelet?”

  “Let them think that. I don’t care. And you shouldn’t, either.”

  “You don’t have to wear it.”

  He slid his wrist between the opening and examined it. “I love it.”

  “You kept it?” The copper bracelet I’d given him gleamed against the shiny fabric.

  He pursed his lips and nodded. Before anything else could be said, Carl popped in with his putter under his arm. He pulled at each of the fingertips on his golf glove without acknowledging he’d just walked in on something personal.

  I closed the box and tried to hand it back to Chris with a gentle smile.

  “Hey, Carl? Can you go do inventory on the beverage cart on the third hole? I was going to make a run for supplies so I can keep it well stocked.”

  Carl glanced between the two of us, meeting my eyes first and then Chris’s. “Sure, buddy. Dehydration is a serious thing—I’d hate for the company to have a workers’ comp case on their hands due to your negligence. Or even worse, for someone to shut the course down.”

  “Yeah…we wouldn’t want that to happen.” Chris kept his sights on Carl until he was out of the cubicle again, and then returned his now softened gaze to me. “I want you to hold on to it.”

  “Chris, it’s yours. What could I possibly do with it? Unless you really did think it was a woman’s bracelet all those years ago and you just wore it to pacify me.”

  “Stop. That’s not true at all. You can tell by the wear on it, that thing got a ton of use. It was always my favorite present you gave…second only to the bomber jacket.”

  I didn’t want to ask when he took it off—the jacket, either. It didn’t matter. He’d held onto both, and I needed to trust those little mementos meant something. He’d carried them across the country—twice.

  “I want you to put it on when you really mean what’s in the inscription. That way you won’t have to tell me. I’ll just know.”

  The words inside the cuff were etched into my mind. “I don’t understand.”

  “Our life together got off track even though we both had the best intentions. When you’re ready to start walking that path again—together—put it on, and I’ll know.

  It seemed corny—maybe it was—although I couldn’t help but recognize it was Chris’s way of giving me the power. Allowing me to set the pace and control the outcome. And there was no doubt in my mind that if he gave this to me, he believed he’d get it back.

  Tonight was the first in ages I was able to leave work at a decent time. I didn’t have any appointments, no one expected me to be anywhere or to work on anything, and I couldn’t wait to get home. Pajamas, wine, and girly movies were all that remained on my agenda. If I hurried, I could still make it before seven and the night not be a total waste.

  When I opened the door, my plans for a quiet evening were thwarted by my roommate and another unexpected visitor. Jasmine and Candi lounged on the sofa in yoga pants and T-shirts, doing what, I wasn’t sure.

  “Where have you been? Did Dr. Fellatio have an appointment?” Jasmine’s candor bothered me, although I wasn’t sure why. Candi was aware of how I moonlighted, but I still didn’t want to discuss the possibility of other clients in front of her.

  “No. I was at work.”

  Candi smiled like a Cheshire cat, donning that glazed look in her eyes that made her seem so innocent.

  “With Martin?” Jasmine’s head had been filled by Carl with delusions of grandeur—or smut, I wasn’t certain which.

  “For the love of God, there is nothing going on with Martin and me.” I dropped my arms, letting my purse fall to the floor, and then my forehead to the bar that lined the kitchen and banged against it.

  “Jesus. You need alcohol. No one wants to deal with Wars…”

  I picked up my head and glared at her, daring her to finish that statement.

  “I’m just saying. What’s wrong with you?” Jasmine patted the seat between Candi and her, pulling her foot up to the cushion and hugging her knee with her arm.

  “It’s just been a long week.” I stared at my best friend, and it occurred to me Candi still hadn’t said a word, nor had she taken her eyes off me. Glancing between them, I asked, “Did I interrupt something, or are the two of you having a slumber party?” I snorted at the notion, a clear indication of my exhaustion.

  “Girls’ night.” Candi’s exuberance alarmed me.

  Jasmine’s expression told me more than anything she could say. She was scheming, and I was concerned. The two of them together spelled disaster, and I wondered what they were up to. Quickly glancing around the room, I let out a sigh of relief, noting the three of us were alone.

  Candi rubbed my knee really fast before bouncing on the sofa cushion. “Go put on your jammies so we can get started.”

  “On what?”

  “Boys and booze,” Jasmine stated like the answer was obvious.

  “Am I missing something?” Either I was more tired than I realized or Jasmine was speaking in code.

  Candi reached behind her to the end table and produced two bottles. “Boys.” She held up one in her left hand. “Jack.” And then the other in her right. “And Jim.” She returned them to a spot behind her. “I wanted Johnnie to make an appearance—Jasmine vetoed his presence, saying something about a drunken night in college where the cops were called, and she didn’t have a shirt...” Personifying liquor seemed strange even for Candi.

  “I thought that memory might be better left in the past,” Jasmine added for clarification in case I decided to fill Candi in on just how Jasmine got out of going to jail that night.

  I didn’t have anything to lose. I’d planned to veg out in front of the boob tube, anyhow, and while I had no inkling how Jasmine and Candi convened, having company wouldn’t be so bad.

  Candi waved her hands, shooing me off to change. I didn’t fight the encouragement and moved toward my bedroom. As I passed Jasmine’s, I stopped when I heard a thud. I could have sworn there was something on the other side of the door, yet standing in the hall waiting for another sound only served to make me look like an idiot when nothing other than silence came from her room.

  Upon returning to the couch, I took the middle seat—which I hated because there were no armrests, and I had to constantly turn my head between Candi and Jasmine when one of them spoke, but whatever. Candi handed me a shot she must have poured while I changed. The three of us tossed them back in cheers.

  The warmth of the Jack Daniel’s burned my throat all the way down. I’d avoided the stuff like the plague since college, although for diff
erent reasons than Jasmine boycotted Johnnie Walker.

  “What were you thinking, Lexi?” Concern and anger closely resembled each other when blurred by drunken stupidity.

  I hadn’t been thinking, or I wouldn’t have been drinking at a frat party without my boyfriend there. The stench of vomit clung to my hair, and my stomach turned violently in disapproval.

  “How’d you know where I was?”

  “Jasmine called me.” Chris didn’t appear impressed. “It was the only smart thing she did,” he mumbled, but I heard him. “Someone could have taken advantage of you.”

  He carried me over his shoulder, out of the frat house, and down the stairs before carefully placing me in the passenger seat of his truck. With one hand, he held me upright and the other buckled the seatbelt around me. My eyes drifted closed when his lips met my forehead—even when he was angry, he still took care of me. “It would destroy me if anything happened to you, Lexi.”

  “Earth to Alex.” Candi’s waving at me would have to stop, or I might be forced to tie her wrists behind her back and put duct tape over her mouth.

  “What?” I’d missed whatever was said.

  “Jasmine said we were going to watch a movie, and I asked what movie would you watch with Chris on a Friday night?” Candi’s doe eyes appeared naïve, sweet. It was all a ruse. I didn’t know what her endgame was, but she and Jasmine were plotting.

  Scrunching my brow in confusion, wondering just how long I’d been lost in thought, I turned to Jasmine who feigned the same innocence. “What the hell are you guys up to?” I hadn’t told either of them about the rooftop or the bracelet or the casual encounters here and there with Chris. Nor had I mentioned the sweet text messages in the morning and the fact I desperately wanted to figure out how to fix things. So either of them bringing his name up only roused my suspicions.