Of Winged Creatures & Nesting Grounds: (A Quirky, Sexy, Dirty Doctor Romance)

by A. Wilding Wells

  Between seeing patients, I text the number I found on the bird-sitter instructions on her bulletin board.

  Me: Go out with me tonight

  Happy: Who is this?

  Me: 4 letter word for pursuit

  Happy: Stalker?

  Me: Can you count?

  Happy: You mean the number of times I’m going to tell you no?

  “Your next patient is ready, Doctor Hardick.” Mary, my sister’s nurse, tells me as I gulp the remains of my second cup of coffee. “Your sister told me you were taking a few days off from your practice. We really appreciate your flexibility on such short notice. I’m sure you’re well aware today is going to be crazy.”

  I look up from my schedule, which is jam-packed. “It’s not a problem. Please let me know, though, when I’m an uncle again if you get word. I’m pretty stoked to meet the little bugger.”

  Mary agrees to alert me the second she hears anything, and I walk away.

  “May I come in?” I ask after knocking on the exam office door.

  “Yes, of course,” comes from the other side.

  Maybe I’m tired; maybe I’m hallucinating. But that voice—the one on the other side of the door—stops me in my tracks. It’s like a needle scratching across my heart as an aching heat spreads through my groin.

  I open the door, then close it behind me. “Hey.” I lock my gaze on hers—barely remembering my name, or the fact that I’m one of the preeminent Ob/Gyns in San Francisco. “Happy, it’s nice to see you again.”

  “You’re Doctor Lloyd’s sub?” she asks in a slow drawl, turning four shades of crimson.

  “Yes, Lucy is one of my sisters. I have three practices of my own, lucky for her I was taking a few days off. Interesting how the timing worked out.”

  She can barely make eye contact, and all I can do is breathe for both of us as I picture the next forty minutes.

  “You stayed last night.”

  “I couldn’t leave you alone.”

  “You colored the pancakes.”

  “I figured—”

  “Yes.” She smiles. “It was really thoughtful of you to do that…I mean…all of it.” She runs a hand through her messy blond hair, and her fingers shake when they come to the curve of her neck.

  “Happy, I certainly would understand if you want to reschedule with another doctor.”

  “This is awkward.” She stares at the ground where she’s toeing a circle. “I mean, it’s not that my body is that different than anyone else’s. It’s just…”

  “Are you uncomfortable having a male gynecologist?”

  “No, I, uh...” She presses her hand to her forehead. “Yes,” she huffs out, then takes two steps to her side, and slumps into a chair. A few sequins fall off her T-shirt and float to the ground.

  I crouch beside her. “Happy, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Is there something you need to discuss? I swear you can ask or tell me anything. And I can run any test you need if it’s something—”

  “Oh god no. No, I’m not…um, I’m a virgin,” she blurts out.

  “A virgin?” I rub the back of my neck. “But you wanted me to stay over last night?” Plus the two pregnancy tests.

  “Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t like kissing and stuff.”

  Stuff? Sweet Jesus.

  “Right, of course. Making out is your spirit animal. I just assumed, when you wanted me to stay… Sorry I assumed.”

  “That we’d fuck?” She hugs her purse, then begins digging through it. I bite back a smile when the tail of her Christmas lights flips over the edge.

  “Well, I’ve never been invited for a sleepover kiss-n-cuddle.”

  “Maybe I should go.”

  I place my hand on her arm and offer a reassuring squeeze. “It’s up to you. But please don’t let last night turn this into an uncomfortable situation.”

  “More uncomfortable. It’s not just that.” She pauses and looks up at me, blushing as she lifts a hand to her hair then tugs on a chunk. “I have the Michael Jackson thing.” She waves a hand up and down her body as her brow rises.

  I can’t quite tell by the expression on her face if she’s going to burst out laughing or if she’s mortified by what she’s said.

  “I’m not sure if you’re being serious by the look on your face. But I would imagine you’re not saying you can moonwalk.”

  “I’m being serious.” A flash of temper lights her eyes. “I have vitiligo. You know, the pigment-disappearing thing. My skin has its own plan.”

  “Right, okay.” I touch her hand, and she yanks it away. “I didn’t see it on your legs last night, so is it mainly your torso?”

  “Yeah, and it’s on the move.”

  “You’re not comfortable with me seeing it?” She stares at her hands, then looks up at me, an obvious battle storming through her mind.

  “I mean, you’re a doctor. I get it. But you’re a guy I… Okay, I’ll be honest. I’m bothered that you’ll see it, and that I’m a virgin, and, well, all of it. But you don’t seem to be—”

  “Happy, take a breath.” I place two fingers under her quivering chin. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  “Oh, sure. You’re about to see my naked, splotchy body. You can ask me anything. I’m mortified that we’re even having this conversation. Are you going to ask me if we can play Let’s Pretend We Never Met?”

  “No. Because that will not ever happen. Can you tell me, is the vitiligo why you’re still a virgin? How old are you?”

  “That’s personal, all righty. And can you do me a favor? Could you please try harder not to look so sexy when you ask me stuff? You’re like a plan foiler or whatever you call someone who stops someone from staying on plan.” She looks across the room, maybe gathering courage.

  But, when she meets my eyes again, I see something new. A conviction? It’s as if she’s lost and found. Maybe just temporarily off course?

  “Twenty-five, and sort of. It’s my skin, plus…” She pins her eyes closed, and takes what seems like an endless breath, then opens them sleepily. “I was engaged, as I mentioned last night, and my parents made me take the pledge when I was a kid. The whole churchy vow to save yourself for the one and all that crap.” She slams her hands over her beet red face. “Oh god. Now you’re my therapist. Never mind. I’m not going to dump more on you than that. Lucky for you, I’m stone-cold sober.”

  But I need to know more. In fact, I’ll need more of her than she can fathom. Maybe more than I can.

  “When did it start?” I ask.

  She swallows deeply, and a somber frozenness seizes her body. Her shoulders rigid. Her hands fisted in white-knuckled balls. I want to hold her, tell her that she’ll be okay. It’s not even a question. I’m certain of it. I could help her. She might have walls, but this is my gift.

  “When I was twenty. It was spurred on by stress. I went through some seismic stuff. Traumatic. It…um…it changed me.”

  “Okay. That makes sense. We can do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable. Do you want me to be your doctor today, or would you rather reschedule?”

  “I think I need to do this. I can do this.”

  She eyes me up like I’m some creep in an alley, luring her into a rusted-out van. What does seismic mean? I nod then stand. No question, there seems to be nothing unplanned about her. Maybe that’s what happened. Life doesn’t always go according to plan.

  I take a seat across from her. Her red, swollen eyes cause an ache in my stomach.

  “Are you doing okay? I mean, about your bird?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for asking.” Her eyes well with tears.

  I slide my hand over the desk, hoping to touch her. She keeps her hands in her lap though.

  I clear my throat. “I wish I had some perfect thing to say, but I know it’s really hard to lose a pet. My dog was run over last year when I was jogging with him. I’m pretty sure he stole an irreplaceable chunk of my heart.”

  “Yeah? That’s awful. I’m so s
orry. I’m a sap to begin with.” She covers her mouth with her fingertips.

  “Thanks, time helps. Always does.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it will for me too. Anyway, look at us. Bet you didn’t think I’d be strolling in here today.” She shifts in her chair, straightening her spine.

  I get the sense that she feels like I’m about to peel her skin off, inch by miserable inch. “Not for a second, honestly.”

  I find myself studying her, memorizing her jawline when she turns her face away. Her cherry-stained lips are full and intense, a contrast to her flawless, porcelain skin. Her white-tipped, manicured nails flirt with her earlobe.

  I rub the more-than-usual stubble on my jaw as I read her chart.

  She taps her fingers on the desk then abruptly says, “Let’s get this over with before I back out. I need to have these done today.”

  “What do you need done?”

  “Tests to see why I haven’t gotten pregnant yet.”

  Chapter 9

  Off-roading: For Personal Growth & Good Times

  Happy

  “Pregnant?” He shoves a hand through his hair. “How about I let you change into the exam gown and we can talk some more when I come back in.” He stands and moves toward the door.

  “Good plan, Doc.” We both nod, and he leaves me alone to change.

  He’s confused, though my plan is something I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about and talking through with my therapist over the last few years. So maybe I’m a little unconventional. But, in truth, I want what lots of women my age want, just not necessarily in the same order. Not that everyone gets to pick the order of how things fall into place, regardless of what our society deems logical. I want to lose my virginity, and yes, date and fall in love at some point, unrealistic as it seems. And, I want a child. More than anything I want a child. Obviously, getting knocked up is doable without sex. Especially in light of the collection of sperm samples in my freezer awaiting their turn to thaw and go for a ride in my turkey baster. I got that idea from my therapist, as it’s how she and her wife conceived their three babies.

  Ramble, ramble, ramble. Okay, breathe.

  With shaky hands, I yank my skirt and my underwear off. “Doctor Hard Dick,” I mutter. Then laugh—really laugh.

  He looks more like the sort of guy who would be hitting a puck across the ice versus one who pokes around in vaginas all day. He could wear lederhosen and look hot. Whatever though. We won’t be seeing each other again. Especially since he’s about to see my naked vitiligoed privates; we can’t even be friends.

  Well, maybe. One thing at a time.

  I glance at my breasts as I fold my bra. Each month, it’s getting worse. Some weeks, I see it change on a day-to-day basis. Pigment disappearing on my skin like sunshine in an oncoming thunderstorm. And, at this rate, if I don’t lose my virginity soon, I’m afraid I’ll never do it. Because, in a few months, my entire body might look tie-dyed.

  Gown on, I grab a Kleenex and blot my forehead as I steal a look in the mirror. Oh goodie, a rash. Hey, thanks, nerves. Not only do you party in my gut, but you show yourself to the world like my body is your goddamned stage. Why would any sane woman choose a man to examine her naked body? Deep breath. I mean, this wasn’t exactly on my list. But I’m going to add it just so I can red-line the thing. It’ll look like progress. I’m flying like a bird, all right.

  “I will never see him again,” I murmur. Never.

  The second hand on the clock moves in cadence with my fingers tapping my knee as I sit at the end of the exam table. I flip my hands and blow on them.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “May I come in?”

  “Only if you can’t examine me from out there.” I fist the edge of my gown as the door creaks.

  “It’d be a first.” He strolls in, smiling.

  Agh. Even his eyes are smiling. Soft. Sexy. Green? No, hazel?

  “What color are your eyes?” I ask as I cross my arms over my chest. Maybe small talk will get me through this.

  “Green, sometimes hazel-ish.” He leans close to my face and studies my eyes as he brushes a fallen clump of hair aside. “Yours, on the other hand, look permanent blue, sapphire like your toenails.” He squeezes my knee then leans over and places his iPad on the counter.

  “Yup. Blue. Like a bluebird. Like a budgie. Blue, ocean blue.” I bat my eyelashes as I stretch my legs and wiggle my toes. Holy fuck, am I nervous.

  He ambles to the sink, unbuttons then rolls the sleeves of his white shirt. I nibble on my bottom lip as he reveals his overtly masculine forearms. Again.

  “Tell me, Doctor Hard Dick. Why, of all the professions, did you pick this one? I mean, seriously. You had to go to school for way too long. Do far too much math. And, now, you bask in the glow of fluorescent lights all day while women squirm as you poke at them. What could you possibly tell me you enjoy about this? Oh god. You even have to lance hemorrhoids. Why not become a chef if you want to use knives, toss salads, and dig up into things?”

  Hunt saunters to me, smiling. God, he’s flirting. This is ridiculous. When he places his hands on my knees, his thumbs stroking back and forth, my nerves go from jump-in-the-shark-tank terrified to an all-out fireworks display. I half like it, half hate it. Neither of which I want to explore with reason.

  “Hey, Happy?”

  My throat tightens. “I’m pretty transparent, so if you’re going to tell me to relax or whatever, just know I’m trying. The rambling and randomness is me trying. But it might be close to impossible for any sort of real relaxation to happen.”

  “I like your rambling, and I wasn’t going to tell you to relax. I was going to ask if you’re okay. What’s the rash about?” He inches the front of my gown down until I grab his arm to stop him.

  “Nerves.” I drop his wrist.

  “Sure. We’ll go slowly. If you want me to stop at any point, I will. You’re in charge here, okay?”

  “Right, in charge. Just call me sarge. Bad joke. Rambling, nerves, and jokes. Sorry you got me today.”

  “I like that I got you today. I like it a lot, and I promise you, this won’t be as bad as you seem to think it will be.”

  Amazingly, I believe what he’s saying. It’s like I’m about to follow him through a dark forest. I trust him. Me trusting a man? My inner daredevil is off-roading in a paper gown. She’s way weirder than I am.

  “Where’s your purse?” he asks.

  I point to the chair heaped with my stuff. “Over there. Why?”

  “Mind if I grab something?” He digs into my bag after I nod and yanks out the string of Christmas lights. After plugging them in, he drapes them over his shoulders along with his stethoscope.

  And, yes, it works. I laugh. And breathe. And a chunk of my heart inches toward his. No, no it doesn’t. It flies and tries to hump his heart.

  “We’ll do this together,” he says as his fingertips stroke the back of my hand. “Follow me.”

  I just might do that.

  Butterflies zip in whirlwinds through my stomach. He places the cold metal disc of the stethoscope on my paper-covered chest and his warm hand on my lower back. I breathe in at the same time he does, exhaling along with him. Shaky, shaky.

  “Deeper,” he says. Damn that low, quiet, sexy voice. “Give me one more. Good.”

  We do it together.

  “Deep. All the way, in…and out.”

  I shouldn’t be. But I am. Turned on. I have zero provisions in my plan for this. Z-fucking-ro. Maybe I’ll just be delicious and go with it, my plan to go off plan and all. I’m not a chicken. I will never be that kind of bird.

  “Everything sounds good. Lie back, please.” He pats the head of the table.

  My lips quiver. Don’t you dare fucking cry, you pussy-chicken-baby. He’s a doctor.

  “Flawed coping mechanisms,” I say before smiling through the prickle with hard swallows.

  And, of course, he’s not oblivious. “What exactly were we going to do last night if I had
stayed in your bed?” He taps my wrist. “You seem terrified of me.”

  I massage my forehead. “We would have made out for a while. And I might have given you a blow job.” I’m lying. My guess is he knows. Maybe someday I’ll give a blow job like a girl who sucks a golf ball through a fiber optic. I can dream. Fly.

  “Hands behind your head.” He nods and smiles. Doctor Hard Dick. Fuck is this weird; turned on and terrified. My first kiss wasn’t even close to this thing I’m wrestling with, whatever it is. Obscene.

  I slide my hands behind my neck, lacing my fingers so I’m not tempted to cover myself, or yank him down to my face for a long kiss. My nails dig in and thread through my hair for extra grip, not to mention distraction. He unties my top to reveal my left breast, and I hold my breath.

  “So, you like to kiss?”

  I let the breath out to answer. “Yes. Kissing’s good. It’s my favorite thing. One of them.”

  His warm fingertips land on my skin, and he works around my breast with both hands. Then he feels my underarm, which makes me giggle.

  “Oh god,” I whisper as he pinches my nipple. “Shit, sorry.” Not sorry.

  “It’s okay. Sensitive in a good way or painful?”

  So fucking good. Don’t stop. Another gentle pinch. Then another. Heat rises in my face then courses down the center of my body.

  “Sensitive in a good way,” I answer with a heavy side of breathless angst.

  “Some women have nipple orgasms,” he says as he pinches me again.

  Yeah, as in I might have one right now.

  “Are you one of them?”

  His hands. His face. That smile. His damn voice. I squeeze the space between my eyebrows. He wants to know if I nipple-gasm? Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me? Maybe my wordless answer is a dead giveaway.

  “You’ll probably love sex once it happens for you.”

  He makes it sound jolly. I imagine a big, hard dick coming down the chimney in a Santa suit. Ho, ho, ho. I say nothing to that, either. Nothing can be said. Santa is not a dick. He doesn’t even have one in my mind. He’s more like a Ken doll. I can’t respond to Hunt. Nope. So with my eyes closed while he’s touching my breast, which I turn into something filthy, I silently mouth dirty thoughts about him. I wish you could be my first. I wish you would take advantage of me, right here, right now. I want you, god, I want you. Unzip then get down to business…get in my business.