by Neal, Xavier
Which at this fucking rate will happen right on the edge of never. It's been fucking weeks of endless trying. I've gotten two phone interviews, but no offers. I've followed up with a few, only to be politely told they wouldn't ever hire someone like me. People are assholes. No offense.
Tugging at my seat belt I grouse, “Though that'll probably never fucking happen.”
“Don't say that.”
“What the fuck else should I say, Jaye? No one wants to hire a deadbeat, homeless asshole who hasn't worked in years. Who fucking limps and has uncontrollable PTSD. I'm far from a perfect hire. I wouldn't even fucking hire me.”
“Then you'd be a jackass and totally miss out on how amazing you are.” Hearing her have so much confidence in me angles my face towards her. “I know it's hard for you to see but you've got a lot to offer. You're handy. You're intelligent. You're dedicated. Focused. You have many assets employers look for. Just because you've heard a few no’s-”
“A few?”
“...doesn't mean it's time to throw in the towel. It just means the right job hasn't come for you yet.”
Impressed at her optimism even if it is a crock of shit, I nod.
She pulls into a parking space. “Now, do you want me to wait in the lobby or go in with you?”
“We don't have to do this,” I revamp the original discussion. “These things and tests are fucking expensive. It's bad enough you're feeding, clothing, and housing two of us. You don’t need any added expenses.”
Jaye kills the engine before she turns to face me. “Please, stop worrying about money.”
Quickly I bite, “How can I not?”
“Just don't.”
“I know you make decent money at the preschool-”
“I make great money-”
“But there's no need to fucking squander your savings account trying to take care of me!” Raising my voice I continue to complain, “This was a terrible fucking idea! You don't need an added money sucking leech like me! You should be saving that money for...your future children or retirement or some shit.”
“Stop it,” she snips. “Stop telling me how or what I should be doing with my money.”
“But-”
“Shut up, Archer.” Hearing the irk in her voice shuts my mouth. “When Chris died he left me everything and I do mean everything. He left me the majority of the shares in his company. All his investments. His savings. Anything and everything he had was given to me including the trust fund his parents had planned to give him when they died. I sold my shares to Chris' partner and that alone is enough to keep my property taxes and all other bills house related paid for at least 50 years if not longer. I can afford to take you to a doctor to make sure you're healthy, to help you get healthier, what I can not afford is for you to tell me what to do!” Disbelief at her standing her own ground in a new way shoots my eyebrows up. “For once in my life I'm learning to make my own choices and do the things I think make me happy, so stop fighting with me, get out of the car and lets get your ass inside to see Dr. Ray.”
I don't argue.
Damn sure didn't see that coming. Is it wrong I think it's sexy when she's assertive? On a more important note, I'm glad she's finally starting to do what she wants. Not just now either, but all the time. She's been considering her feelings and desires first before suggesting something or agreeing to a compromise. It's nice to see she's putting her life back together even if I'm not.
The two us get out of her car and head inside the private doctor's office. Together we check in at the desk and are ushered to have a seat in the waiting room. We have a seat in the corner of the empty area, my eyes wandering around at the serene blue color it's painted.
Clashes with the wood floors if you ask me.
Leaning against the edge of the dark blue leather couch, I admire the fish mural on the wall, curious who finds that soothing.
Never been a fish man.
“Yes,” I softly say to Jaye. When her brown eyes meet mine in question, I repeat, “Yes. I want you to come in with me.”
Relief floods her eyes. “You sure?”
While keeping our eyes connected, I relocate my hand so it folds with hers. Not feeling the need to verbally add anything else, I give the back of her hand a gentle kiss. Instantly the smile I adore slips onto Jaye's face.
Fucking most fortunate man alive. I don't know if this is karma's way of trying to give back after fucking me in the ass for years or what, but I'll consider forgiveness towards whatever higher power brought this angel into my life. At night when my mind starts to dive into the depths of depression thinking about Micah and Seth, I picture their reaction to meeting her. How Seth's wife Brenda would love her. How they'd get along easily. It helps more than you would think.
“Archer,” a red headed nurse calls out. “Archer Cox?”
Jaye and I stand in unison, her leading the way.
Can't say I fucking like nurses or doctors. After the surgeries, being poked and prodded, not to mention the fucking therapists I've met, let's just say they aren't on the top of the list of things I like. Not even in the naughty costume sense.
“I'm one of the nurses Danielle,” she introduces herself. “This is your first time here?” After I nod she continues, “We're just going to do a few routine things before I get you in to see Dr. Ray. Alright?”
I nod again.
Nurse Danielle checks my height, weight, and asks me a few questions, which transport me back to a different time in my life. Each invasion of privacy toys with my memory, tugging me back towards the things I've been determined to bury.
Seth hated having to go through med checks. Almost more than me. He had an irrational fear of needles. You can tell from my tattoos I didn't share that feeling. Micah on the other hand was the only guy I ever met who could turn checking his vitals into foreplay.
“Okay,” she hums, clutching her tablet to her chest. “Dr. Ray will be in in just a minute. She's just finishing up with another patient. Please go ahead and remove your clothes down to your boxers or completely and put on the gown.”
“Thank you,” Jaye politely says.
The minute the door shuts, I stand as I ask, “Did she say she?”
“She did.”
Ripping off my shirt I question, “My doctor's a woman?”
“Is that a problem?”
Turning to cough while a woman cups my junk isn't really how I pictured my side of my sex life jump starting.
“Nope. Just clarifying.”
She slowly wets her lips, her eyes scanning the outline of the muscles I've managed to tone back up over for the last few weeks between the trips to the gym and renovating the house.
Not a good time to pop a boner.
Jaye tries to shake away whatever thoughts are roaming through her mind. “You sure that's not an issue?”
“You trust her?”
“Of course I do.” I shed my shoes and drop my pants, which forces Jaye's eyes to paste themselves in mine. “She's an old friend of the family. Her and my mother went to med school together. Eventually she started her own private practice, offered my mother a job, but she turned it down. My mom was already a part of a highly established one at the time. She's a fantastic doctor. Hell, she's my doctor. I wouldn't take you to just anyone.”
“No?”
“Of course not. I care too much about you. You know that.”
Leaning forward I beckon her to come closer with my finger. As soon as she's within touching distance, I slide my hands around her waist, cradling her close to me. “Do you know I care about you too?”
Jaye drags a finger down my jawbone. “I do now.”
Her forehead falls against mine. I shut my eyes and for a moment allow myself to be completely submerged in the warmness she radiates effortlessly.
I never wanna let her go.
There's a knock on the door and Jaye takes a step out of my arms.
A pale, perky face peers around the door. “You ready?”
Wit
h a shrug I answer, “Guess so.”
She enters the room and extends her hand at me. “I'm Dr. Gracie Ray. You must be Archer Cox.” After releasing my hand, she states, “Just here for a routine check-up?”
Prepared to say yes, I catch myself before it's out of my mouth. My eyes catch a glimpse of Jaye, the best and gentlest reminder that I need to face all grim portions of my reality. That I have to stop hiding even if that's the last thing I want to.
If Jaye can start to find her way, why can't I?
“I need to get myself checked for STDs.” Awkwardly I scratch the back of my neck. “It's been awhile and I just want to make sure everything is clear.”
Dr. Ray nods at me and makes a note. “Anything else?”
“I um...” Shoving down the expanding knot in my throat, I acknowledge my problem, “I suffer from PTSD...”
This is the first time outside of Jaye I've admitted that out loud since the system fucked me over. Can't say it feels great. Can't say it's as awful as I thought it would be. Either way it doesn't matter. If Jaye can move her life forward then I have to at least try. I can't give her diamonds or vacations to the tropics, but I can do this for her. I can take these steps towards a better life. I can be a better man for her. For me. For us...
Jaye
“Cute as a button,” my mother continues to gush about someone in her cooking club's latest grandchild.
No, you heard me correct. Cooking club. Not really the type to play Bridge or do the Desperate Housewife wine party thing, but her, Chris' mother Caroline, and a few other women they've collected along the way, started a cooking club. One woman hosts and cooks, the others eat and take the recipes they love. Always changing. Once a month and they pick the monthly type of cuisine out of a cookie jar. Yes. An actual cookie jar. You know I gave that thing to her for me and Chris' first Christmas as a couple.
“Speaking of kids, how was work?” Dad kindly asks reaching for his glass of wine.
Not wanting to discuss the nightmare of the day I had with my parents but rather than the man who prides himself on easing my troubles away, I simply reply, “It was work.”
Dad leans back in his seat. “Made any more progress on your book?”
My face scrunches. “I'm trying.”
He looks concerned but doesn't push the topic. Thankfully. “It's been a couple weeks since we've seen you. Anything new with you?”
Instantly Archer's crooked smirk pops into my face. Unable to stop myself from smiling as I result, I divert my attention down and poke my salad. “Um...I had the downstairs guest bathroom remodeled.”
His voice perks up. “Oh yeah?”
Meeting his eyes again, I nod. “Got the leak fixed. New shower head, new paint, new tile. It looks like a different bathroom.”
With a skeptical look he questions, “Is that all?”
I know what he's asking and I'm not ready for that battle. I'm just...not. Especially not after the day I had.
“Finally turning Chris' old office into one I can use.”
Disbelief floods my mother’s expression. “Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“Why would you mess with his office?”
“Because it shouldn't be his office anymore.” Pushing my plate away from me I continue, “I need it. I...want it. Anyway, it's been repainted and is being redecorated. The carpet is being ripped out to put in the tile that looks like hardwood. The new furniture just came in this week.”
The expression on her face doesn't change. “What about all of his things? Did you just throw them out?”
“Of course not.”
“It sounds like you're finally moving forward,” my father praises.
Proud, I nod at him. “I am.”
“And the garage?” She grips her wine glass tighter. “Did you clean that up too? Did you just discard that area next?”
“It's been cleaned and straightened up. His model cities are back in working condition, actually. Had some help.”
“Help?” Dad lifts his eyebrows. “Handyman?”
Skipping over the perfect opportunity to correct him, to tell them both who really has been helping me, I sigh, “Something like that.”
Do not add that's not why I call him handy! They don't need to know that!
“Seems a little fast,” my mother curtly comments and brushes the hair out of her face. “But I guess it was bound to happen. You need space for whoever takes his place.”
I twitch at her word choice.
“Now if only we could get you finding that person already...”
So close...She just couldn't let me have a moment of peace, could she?
Dad grumbles under his breath, “So close...”
Totally a Daddy's girl. Can you tell?
“What happened with Calvin?” The pushing of the topic has me checking my cell phone. “You know, you've skimmed over it every time we've tried to talk about it. Can you clue me into what happened? You seemed perfect for each other. Your kids would have been so smart and adorable. He reminded me of Chris with a medical degree.”
Such an odd cringe worthy sentence.
“He seemed a little bummed you never went on a second date.”
“Calvin had potential.”
“But?” When her eyebrows jump up wanting more information I know this conversation will not end without more. “What was he missing?”
He didn't make my panties soaking wet, make me crumble with a simple look, or make me feel like it's perfectly acceptable to just be in my own skin. You're right mother. He reminded me of Chris in all the wrong ways. No. No. Can't say any of that. Scratch it off the list. You know the easiest way to say it, right? He's not Archer.
“Sometimes it's just not a good fit, Maggie,” my dad comes to my rescue, eyes suspiciously looking me over. “She'll know when she finds it.”
With a small smile of gratitude, I reach for my glass to busy my mouth.
I have found it. Soon enough, not today, but soon, they'll see it. They'll meet him and be head over heels for him. Just...not yet. It's all about the timing.
**
The moment my two feet cross the threshold into the house, Archer looks up from the couch. His gorgeous green eyes wash away all of the tension being around my parents tends to build.
“There's my girl.” He's on his feet and headed my way before I've had a chance to drop my bags. Archer zones in immediately on the emotions I'm apparently radiating while I shed my accessories. “You look like you've had a helluva a day.”
“I have,” I softly sigh before wrapping my arms around his neck. He takes the invitation to brush lips against mine, his body cradling me close. After a light kiss, I add, “Better now.”
“Good,” he states and kisses me again. This time our tongues connect and desire to have orgasms falls over me and washes my brain clean of the tough day.
Can you think of a better way to forget your problems than mind blowing orgasms? And even though we aren't having sex, doesn't mean it's any less incredible. Just makes me wonder how much more incredible they're going to be when they're delivered with his cock.
Feeling his dick rise in his jeans, tempts me further. Unfortunately for me, he pulls back and starts moving us away from the door. “How was dinner with your parents?”
“As lively as ever,” I mutter. “Did you eat? I would've brought you home leftovers but-”
“I can make myself something to eat,” Archer insists as we flop down on the couch. “You don't have to worry about me all the time.”
I lean against the edge of the couch, which is when he pulls my feet into his lap. “Sorry. Habit, I guess.”
He winks. “Not the worst.”
Melting into his thumbs kneading at the arch on my foot, I somehow manage to ask, “How was your day?”
“Pretty good.” He digs in a little deeper. “Ran into Mr. Prescott on his way to see his mistress.”
“How do you know that's where he was going?”
“Co
uld've been the paper convenience store bag in his hand with roses.”
“That...he could've been on his way to surprise, Gwen.”
“Or it could've been the way I overheard him promising the caller on the other end of the phone, his wife wouldn't be expecting him home until late or the way he ended his call in a hurry to someone he called Pussy Cat. Maybe it's just me, but Mrs. Prescott doesn't seem like a pussy cat. Bitch cat or just bitch, but not a pussy cat sort of nick name.”
