Dr. Billionaire's Virgin

by Melinda Minx

  Dylan smiles.

  “You didn’t go to school because of me,” I blurt out. It’s weighing on me, and I just want to say it—to get it out there.

  “I…” he mumbles. “It wasn’t just you, Rose. I decided to take a year off so I could stay with you...in case you woke up.”

  “That sounds like it was because of me, Dylan.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Then Mom and Dad died right before I was going to start. That really messed me up, and that’s the main reason I didn’t go. Just making lattes and frapuccinos was really all I could handle after that. It’s not your fault, alright?”

  “You’re only twenty-three,” I say. “It’s not too late.”

  He shrugs. “I’d have to apply all over again.”

  “Do it then,” I say.

  “What about you?” he asks.

  “What about me! Just go—”

  “No,” he says. “I mean, what do you think you’re going to do?”

  I open my mouth to say something, but I realize I’ve got nothing. I haven’t even considered it yet. I’m twenty-five years old and I haven’t even finished high school. I don’t even know who the president is. It will probably take me several months just to get used to however the world has changed. And then what?

  “Sorry,” Dylan says. “That was a pretty heavy question, wasn’t it?”

  “No,” I say. “It’s good you asked. I need to start thinking about my new life.”

  5

  Kaden

  I roll the wheelchair into Rose’s room.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “I thought I was walking,” she says, eyeing the chair.

  “Well, we need to wheel you to the rehab room first,” I say.

  She sighs.

  “I’ll help you into it. Come on, don’t feel bad about the wheelchair. Hospitals are obsessed with these things, everyone has to be in one, more or less. It wouldn’t surprise me if ten years from now, even the doctors are required to rush around the hospital in them.”

  She laughs, and I grab the hand control for her bed, raising it up so she’s sitting up straight.

  Rose clutches the blankets to her chest and watches me uneasily.

  “You’ve gotta take the blankets off,” Dylan says. “Unless you want to walk around wearing a blanket robe.”

  “I know,” she snaps and glares at him, and then she turns to look up at me, her cheeks burning red.

  “Well, uh,” I mumble. “You can start wearing real clothes soon.”

  She must feel weird always having to wear the hospital gown. It’s not like the gown is particularly revealing, though some people don’t feel comfortable in them. Sometimes I think patients should have the option of wearing normal clothes, if they’re able. For a lot of patients, I think they’d feel more at-home and less awkward if they could wear what they wanted. They’d feel less sick, less exposed, more normal.

  But no, hospital policy rules everything. Everyone must be in a wheelchair, everyone has to wear a goofy gown. And if you can’t afford to pay, you may as well be left for dead. It’s all a bunch of fucking shit.

  “There’s usually a whole procedure that we have to follow for transferring a patient from the bed to the chair,” I say. “...but I’m guessing we’ll only have to do this once. I can just lift you up if you want me to.”

  Most doctors aren’t strong enough, and most patients aren’t as light as Rose. I’d rather just plop her down into the chair so she can walk as soon as possible.

  “Okay,” she says.

  I reach down behind her knees with one arm, and then grip hold of her back to steady her with my other. I lift her up and off the bed, and I can’t help but notice how warm and soft her body feels. I’m just lifting her to move her into the chair, but I suddenly get an urge to just hold her against me, to feel her warmth pressed against my body.

  I shake the feeling, and proceed to lower her down into the chair. I reluctantly let go.

  I take hold of the chair handles to wheel her out of the room and down the series of hallways toward the rehab room.

  When we arrive, there are a few people in various stages of their physical therapy sessions. Some appear to have suffered serious neurological damage, probably as a result of strokes and spinal injuries, and are struggling to take a few steps while grasping on to the metal rails.

  From all the tests we’ve run, I don’t expect Rose will have significant difficulties, but the fact remains she hasn’t walked – or even stood up on her own feet -- in seven years. She may have a harder time than she expects, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  “We’ll do these rails first,” I say, gesturing to a set-up in front of us.

  “I don’t need the rails,” she says.

  Dylan sighs. “Come on, Rose, just do what your doctor says.”

  She gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, okay. I’ll do the rails.”

  “If you can do these with no problem,” I say, “then we’ll move on.”

  I help her out of the chair, putting my hand against the small of her back and waist this time. She feels so damn tiny in my hands, and I feel my cock start to harden a bit the moment I touch her.

  She’s a patient, for fuck’s sake. And, I remind myself, a patient that I stole a kiss from.

  “All right,” I say. “Grip the rod— I mean, the bar—.”

  I gotta control myself. I need to stay professional here.

  She grabs both ends of the rails with her hands and squeezes.

  I’m still holding her up, steadying and balancing her, my hands firm on her body.

  “I’m going to slowly loosen my grip,” I say. “If you feel at all unstable, or think you might fall, let me know, and I’ll be there. I’ve got you.”

  “Okay,” she says, but her voice comes out as a croak.

  I slowly loosen my grip on her, and I see her forearms bulge a bit more.

  “Transfer the weight to your legs,” I say. “Slow and easy.”

  Her legs wobble and quiver a bit, but I see the tension in her arms starting to ease up. She’s getting the hang of it.

  My hands are now barely touching each side of her waist, they’re just there in case she suddenly loses her balance or falls.

  “Ready to take your first steps?” I ask.

  Her right foot moves forward – slowly – and then her left.

  I let go of her waist—it looks like she’s got this.

  She’s still gripping the rail, but just barely. She takes slow and steady steps forward.

  “Thank God,” she says. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

  “Go to the end,” I say, grinning. “And wait for me.”

  She reaches the end rather quickly, as her steps progressively speed up.

  “Wait there,” I say.

  “Don’t worry, Kaden,” she says. “I’ve got this.”

  She takes a few more steps, leaving the safety of the rails. As soon as she’s free of the rails, she takes two big, unaided steps, and then I see her start to wobble.

  I’m behind her in an instant, but she falls before I get there. I duck down so she falls into me, right into my arms. I hold her securely against my body. “I told you to wait for me.”

  “You caught me anyway,” she says, laughing.

  I bring her back to the rails, and she holds on and stabilizes herself.

  I make her do ten laps on the rails before she can advance.

  She rolls her eyes, but obeys me.

  At the end of her tenth lap, she starts off on her own. My heart races, but she’s much more stable this time and doesn’t fall. She focuses on taking careful, deliberate steps.

  “Thank God,” she says. “Now where is the bathroom? I’ve got to pee so bad.”

  “I told you not to have the coffee,” Dylan says.

  “You can’t have coffee, Rose,” I say crossing my arms.

  I walk with her to the bathroom, just in case she loses her balance or something, but she seems
to be firm on her feet now.

  “Here we go,” I say.

  I open the door and hold it for her, wanting her to just be able to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

  “I’ll wait here,” I say.

  “You’re going to listen to me, Kaden?” she asks, grinning at me.

  “I’ll…” I say, looking and then pointing. “I’ll wait twenty feet down the hall, over there.”

  She laughs. “I was just kidding.”

  I close the door for her, but I walk down the hall anyway, allowing her some privacy.

  When she comes out, I find myself taking her hand to help her walk, but then I realize she doesn’t need it.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I...I’m used to patients needed more assistance.”

  We’re still holding hands.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I actually feel exhausted, so I can use the support.”

  I get the impression she’s just saying that for my sake, but even though I like how her hand feels in mine, I slide mine up to grasp her forearm instead. I can’t walk hand-in-hand with a patient down the hallway.

  “Dr. Prince,” Dr. Bell says, narrowing her eyes at me. “I want to update you on a few things.”

  “Yeah?” I ask. “It sounds bad.”

  “No,” she says. “It’s all good news. You’ll be happy to know you’re off the hook.”

  “Off the hook for what?” I ask, flashing a cocky grin. I know exactly what she means, but I just want to get a rise out of her.

  “For abducting a patient and performing unauthorized brain surgery to insert an experimental object into her brain,” she says, exasperated.

  “Oh,” I say. “Right. So I’m off the hook for saving Rose’s life. Cool.”

  “Don’t ‘cool,’ me, Dr. Prince.”

  “If I’m off the hook,” I say, smiling, “can you drop the attitude at least?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re the only person on this earth who is allowed to have an attitude. Every other person should just bend over backwards to accommodate your massive ego, is that right?”

  “What is the update you need to tell me about?” I ask impatiently, getting sick of this back and forth squabbling.

  “We’ve secured the rights to Dr. Meiner’s device, and I’ve backdated the paperwork so that it all lines up—”

  I start laughing. My brain can automatically translate hospital bureaucratic speech into plain English. What she really just said was, “We’ve stolen the rights to Meiner’s device, and I’ve thrown a lot of money around to forge paperwork making it all look legit.”

  “Meiner is going to be pissed,” I say. “I can’t imagine he knew about any of this until it was a done deal.”

  “Irrelevant,” she says. “Dr. Meiner did not own the rights, the lab under which he was employed did.”

  “So you made the deal at the last minute then, and you didn’t tell the lab directors that we’d already used it to help wake Rose up?”

  “Don’t get smart with me, Kaden,” she snaps.

  Translation: Yes, that’s exactly what I did.

  “I told Meiner he’d get some credit—”

  “You have no right to negotiate on this hospital’s behalf. You’re lucky I saved your ass. Best care scenario, you would have been fired, but jail time would have been more likely. Of course, I had to give someone credit...you’ll be accepting a very prestigious award, Dr. Prince.”

  “An award?”

  “Pittsburgh Memorial’s Distinguished Service Award,” she says.

  “That’s only given out to…”

  “The best of the best,” she says. “A group to which you are now a member.”

  I’m reeling. Why in the hell would she throw accolades at me?

  Then I remember that Dr. Meiner was willing to take the same risks as I was. He’s ambitious. I remember him trying to slam me into the wall for “denying him access to Rose.” He’s not going to be happy with me. I also realize that my reputation as Rose’s doctor is well known, and it would make sense that I’d be the one performing the surgery. It’s a PR thing; she can use this “Sleeping Beauty” story as some kind of nicely packaged little commercial about how great her hospital is. It would be dumb as hell for me to question it, and once she’s thrown all these accolades and attention my way, it would also be very much in my best interests to just calm down—and to never try anything crazy like this again.

  “Well played, Dr. Bell.”

  She laughs. “I’m smothering you with kindness, Dr. Prince. By the way, I’ve been watching how closely you’ve been following up with Ms. Dorner.”

  Dr. Bell licks her lips. I know she saw me kiss Rose right before she woke up. She’s not going to say anything about it, though.

  “And?” I ask.

  “It looks good for you to stay close and engaged, but don’t get too close. That would look very unprofessional, don’t you agree?”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” I lie.

  It’s been a long time since I was involved in anything even remotely resembling a serious relationship. Work has always been too important to me, so I’ve mostly just had fun when I was in the mood. Now that Rose is awake...I can’t help but feel something else might exist with her. But she is my patient, and as cynical and cutthroat as Dr. Bell’s reasons may be, I can’t deny that she’s right. It would indeed be bad if I got too close.

  6

  Rose

  Dylan leaves around eight o’clock to go to work, and I’m suddenly alone. I remember hearing Kaden’s schedule, so I know he’s off playing poker tonight. They’ve given me a TV now, so I can at least mildly entertain myself, but I find watching TV both overwhelming and mind-numbing. If I had slept for fifteen or twenty years, I’m sure it would have felt like waking up in a new and alien world. Like waking up far in the future.

  Seven years, though, feels like...like waking up in an alternate reality, maybe? Everything is slightly different, but not so radically different that it feels too crazy. Justin Bieber went from being a cute kid that most people hated, to a tattooed adult that most people hate. Everyone finally stopped talking about Lost, and people seem to use their phones a lot more than they used to.

  There’s no single drastic, huge thing that I won’t be able to adjust to. It’s just that everything feels ever so slightly off, and every conversation I have with a nurse or with Dylan seems to include a reference to something that totally goes over my head.

  Dylan said he wants to take me to see a movie, but that first we’ll have to watch like twenty-five more superhero movies at his place so that I’m “caught up.” Since when did movies have that many sequels?

  “Hey,” a familiar, reassuring voice says.

  I look up to see Kaden standing in the doorway.

  “It’s 8:30,” I say. “Aren’t you off work by now? Don’t you have poker?”

  “I cancelled it,” he says.

  “You said you really like it, though.”

  He pulls up a chair and sits down beside my bed. I’m sitting up instead of lying down. I wish I could sit in an actual chair, but they won’t let me.

  “So,” Kaden says. “Here’s the deal. I argued with Dr. Bell, and I didn’t think she’d go for this. She put up surprisingly little resistance, though, and I won.”

  “Go for what?” I ask.

  “You get to go out tonight,” he says.

  “Go out?” I ask. “Like I’m being discharged?”

  “No,” he says. “We’re working on that, but you can leave the hospital tonight, under doctor supervision, of course.”

  “Doctor supervision…” I say, my heart racing, “Does that mean...Dr. Prince?”

  He grins.

  “I really get to go out? Like...now?”

  He nods.

  I jump out of the bed and hug him. I feel my big boobs that I totally forgot that I actually have press up against Kaden’s stomach. I’m surprised at how solid and strong his abs feel, a
nd I’m even more surprised at how rigid and pointy my nipples suddenly get.

  I let go of him and pull back. “Ah, uh, sorry, I was just excited.”

  “You have doctor’s permission to be excited,” he says, grinning.

  And then I swear I see him look down at my tits, and his eyes linger for a moment. He looks back up.

  “You, uh,” he says, holding out a bag. “One of the nurses got these for you.”

  I open the bag and look inside to see jeans, yoga pants, and a few different tops.

  “Real clothes…” I say.

  “You can put on whichever ones you want. They are modern fashion. I don’t pay much attention to that kind of thing, but Lisa is pretty up on that stuff, so she got you clothes that won’t make you look out of place.”

  “Tell her I said thanks,” I say, grinning. “I’m going to go try these on!”

  I take the bag with me into the bathroom, and as I dig through it, I notice a bra, in there, my eyes widening at the cup size. Lisa must have eyeballed my measurements—but a double D? Seriously!

  I try on the bra, and sure enough, it fits. My 18-year-old self would have flipped out.

  I pull out the pair of jeans, and I laugh when I look at them. They look like mom jeans. Maybe Lisa really isn’t up on fashion at all, and Kaden just thinks she is. There’s no way in hell that mom jeans would ever come back in style. They were banished in the 80s, never to return again.

  My only other option is yoga pants. I never felt comfortable wearing those. The one time I tried a pair on at the mall, it felt like everyone could literally see my ass, as well as every single curve between my legs.

  Kaden is going to think I look like such a dork wearing mom jeans, though. But I might as well at least try them on.

  I slide into them, and I realize they are pretty tight. The waist goes way up past my belly. I look at the tag and see that they are from H&M. If H&M is selling mom jeans in 2017, they must actually be popular. Or maybe H&M converted to a retro clothing store.

  Of all the things that changed during the past seven years—robot assistants in phones, Donald Trump as President, and hoverboards that catch on fire—nothing has surprised me as much as mom jeans being back in style.