The King Brothers Boxed Set

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  "I used to take care of all of the pets in our house when I was a kid. Two cats, three dogs, a turtle and a parakeet. It was pretty clear early on that I'd be working in a helping profession. I also didn't mind school, and you have to really like to learn if you're going to get through medical school. It's grueling."

  "So why urology?"

  "You sure you want the real story?"

  "Absolutely."

  He gets comfortable and takes a seat on his rolling stool.

  "It's actually kind of funny. When I was in high school I was in serious lust with this girl named Janet Jackson. No relation to the singer. She was a year older than me, and I thought she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, but she'd always had a steady boyfriend until her senior year. When they broke up that's when I knew I'd been given my window of opportunity. I made sure to flirt with her extra hard that fall and lo and behold it worked. She finally started giving me the time of day.

  "We went on a couple of dates and by the fifth one we had sex. Unprotected sex. She said she was on the pill, and I didn't want to risk missing my moment by telling her I needed to go by the store to pick up some condoms. I figured that most guys carried some with them."

  "Was it your first time?"

  "Not quite the first time but damn close. So needless to say I was on cloud nine. That was until a few days later. There was something strange going on with my penis."

  "Ewww." I can already guess how this story ends.

  "Yeah, it was gross. I didn't know much about the signs of gonorrhea at the time, so I literally thought my poor pecker was infected with a deadly disease. All the dripping. I was petrified. I was too frightened and embarrassed to tell my parents, so I broke down and begged my grandmother to take me to the hospital instead before my penis fell off. The two of us were close and she had been a nurse. She said she'd take a look at it first, before we committed to a long covert night in the ER."

  I giggle. "Oh boy."

  "Yeah, it's funny now, but I was horrified back then. My sweet old grandmother examined my penis closely for all of fifteen seconds, and then told me with great certainty that we'd be going to her family doctor and not the hospital, because all I had was a curable case of the clap. I was both relieved and mortified, and the experience stayed with me forever. I'd never forget about the day that I thought my most prized possession would fall off, which is why it ended up being a major influence on the specialty I ended up selecting during my residency."

  "Dr. Clark–saving one penis, one day at a time," I say dramatically in my bad imitation of a commercial actor.

  "That's me."

  "That's a great story." I chuckle. "I guess the silver lining would be that you had your path figured out quite early in life. No stressing about what you were going to major in and all of that. Some of us aren't that lucky to have such definitive direction."

  "You didn't have it figured out?"

  "Well I didn't exactly dream of selling Viagra to guys like you for a living when I was growing up."

  Clark laughs. "Guys like me?"

  "Doctors I mean."

  "So what did you dream of being when you were little?"

  I think hard about it for a moment. I don't have a specific answer which is kind of sad.

  "I guess . . . just happy."

  "I suppose we all thought that would be easy enough when we were kids."

  "My parents told me I could be anything I wanted. Have anything I wanted. I even had the head start in life of being Dan Pearson's daughter. The problem is that you have to actually know what you want in order to go after it."

  "I never thought about it like that, and that's so true, but guess what the cool thing is?"

  "What?"

  "It's never too late to figure it all out. I just read about a seventy-four-year-old woman who's in medical school in Texas. She's doing it for the simple fact that it was on her bucket list. You just have to write one. I imagine you could come up with a fantastic list."

  Maybe Clark is right. It would be nice to be passionate about something and not constantly stressed out about a job that I'm beginning to dislike. Regardless of what this month's sales numbers say, I know that I'm good at my job, but somewhere along the way I've allowed it to define me. It's sort of like my badge of honor. I guess because my job is something that I've achieved all on my own with no help from my family connections, but does that mean that it's something I should be doing for the rest of my life? Is it my life's passion? Am I just settling?

  Clark and I make polite conversation for a few more minutes, and then we finally talk about business. He makes the largest commitment he ever has to our full line of products. I'm so happy, and thinking ten steps ahead about my meeting with Mr. Stokes, that he catches me off guard with a question.

  "So now that we've finalized the boring stuff, I was wondering if there's any chance that you'd like to go to a modern dance performance with me next Saturday night? Feel free to say no," he rushes to say. "But it's just that I have a pair of tickets unexpectedly. Really good seats at the Academy. I didn't want them to go to waste."

  "Umm–well I'm not too sure about going out with my face like this."

  A clear look of disappointment crosses his face, and now I start to feel like a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. I went out for coffee with Elizabeth. Why couldn't I go out to a show with Clark.

  "Oh . . . of course, Sloan. That was inconsiderate of me to even ask. I totally understand."

  Yeah–he understands that I'm a bitch to the highest degree.

  "Well–maybe we could play it by ear? If my bruising has faded a bit more by then, I'd love to go."

  His face brightens.

  "Then here's hoping that you heal quickly."

  "Yes, here's hoping," I say half-heartedly.

  When I leave the doc's office, he stays behind on a call, but Paige is leaning against the wall near the door examining her nails. She'd obviously been listening to our entire conversation, and at first, she doesn't say a word as we exchange cursory glances. I never saw it before, but only now do I realize what her real problem with me is. It's obvious. She has a thing for the doctor and now an even stronger dislike for me.

  "The doctor is a good man," she finally says after cutting her eyes at me.

  "I know that," I say defensively.

  "I'm only saying that I've seen you on social media. I know what you're about. You two aren't a good match. You shouldn't lead him on."

  "And what exactly is it that you think I'm about?" I take strong offense.

  "You're the spoiled daughter of a pro athlete. A party girl. Doctor Clark is looking for forever, and I think you and I both know that you aren't a forever type of girl."

  Her terribly candid comments remind me immediately of the look on Cutter's face when I unwittingly admitted that I was "just his type" because I don't believe in love.

  I refuse to believe that both Cutter or Paige are right about me. I don't want to be that girl. The single chick who lives alone in a two bedroom with three cats, because she doesn't believe in Mr. Right but only in Mr. Right Now. I won't let it happen.

  "I guess we'll see if I am a forever type of girl," I say rising to Paige's challenge.

  I think my face might just miraculously heal by the night of the performance. I'm definitely going on that date.

  "I suppose we will, Miss Pearson."

  Seventeen

  Sloan

  Nude bodies are flying everywhere. Some muscular. Some lithe. Some ruggedly handsome. And some stunning. I'm not the biggest fan of professional dance performances, but I can see why some might be. Each dance is hauntingly beautiful. Each dancer interpreting the untold story of their dance with high leaps, strong kicks, and exquisite grace.

  While the performers may not literally be in their birthday suits, they leap and glide across the stage in minimalist nude-colored outfits and tights giving the allusion of stark nakedness and delicate sensuality.

  The clean-cut gentl
eman sitting next to me seems quite taken with the performance and occasionally glances at me in an attempt to gauge my reaction. Wondering if I am just as transfixed by the show as he is. I do my best to pretend as if I'm mesmerized by what I'm watching, but I've never been that big of a fan of professional dance. I'd rather "go" dancing. So I'm only somewhat entertained at best. The man by my side tonight is Dr. Aiden Clark.

  "The dancers are really good, aren't they?" he whispers quietly in my ear. The doctor has a clean and practical scent. Reminiscent of clean sheets and Ivory Soap.

  "Yes, doc." I smile in agreement, although I'm distracted by an incoming text from my sister. Our first communication since the incident outside of the restaurant.

  Dawn: Just wanted you to know that your guard dog broke two of my boyfriend's ribs. Who was that guy!?

  Me: Well hello to you too.

  Dawn: I'm telling Dad you're hanging out with a criminal.

  Me: Well, while you're doing that, you better mention how your boyfriend punched me in the eye.

  Remember who the adult is, Sloan.

  Me: Did he give you the money?

  Dawn: I got it from Mom.

  Me: And you’re still dating him?

  Dawn: Yep.

  Me: Can you explain to me why you're still involved with someone who stole your money and assaulted your sister. Is he hitting you too? You can tell me, Dawn. I'll help you. I'll even keep it from Marsha if you want me to.

  Dawn: He does not hurt me.

  Me: Why haven't you posted on your Instagram lately? Does he tell you not to?

  Dawn: What do you think I don't have a mind of my own? I have better things to do then play around online.

  Me: You're sure he isn't abusive?

  Dawn: I'm positive. Mainly because I don't say reckless things to him.

  Me: So you're saying that it's MY fault I have a black eye?!