Unexpected: A Love Story

by J. Nichole

  Unexpected

  A Love Story

  J. Nichole

  Copyright © 2019 by J. Nichole

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For the women who want it all, but have no time for it. May you find your balance.

  J. Nichole Newsletter

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  ✩✩✩✩✩

  About the Author

  Also by J. Nichole

  Chapter 1

  Since my first rotation in internal medicine, I’ve had this random habit of giving the patients I see a backstory. Like today, I had a little girl who came in with a frantic mother. Her mom was a typical Becky, crying about her daughter’s high fever of one hundred degrees, her runny nose, and severe cough.

  As soon as I was able to speak with the girl, I imagined how she was at home, inevitably a heathen who ran circles around Becky at any given opportunity. During my evaluation of the little girl, Miranda, I asked, “Can you take a deep breath?” She rolled her eyes at me and wouldn’t breathe. At five, she decided she wanted to be stubborn as hell.

  I sent Becky and Miranda home with antibiotics, and for good measure I told Becky little Miranda needed to stay home from kindergarten till her fever returned to normal. I walked out of the room feeling vindicated, and assured that pediatrics would not be my specialty.

  Fortunately, my days weren’t filled with Beckys and Mirandas. I had some sweet kids who came into the clinic who made my ovaries leap for joy, reminding me that someday I wanted a cute little kid. Someday. Not anytime soon, obviously since I had zero time to start a relationship, let alone fuck to make a baby. My fourth year of medical school was rightfully kicking my ass.

  My only saving grace was the head clinician, a tall, dark-skinned, stalky man. The linebacker type, just how I liked. He made my pussy moist, on sight. Too bad he was married, with two and a half kids already. And he was married to some blonde bombshell who was a stay-at-home-mom with plenty of time for yoga and Pilates.

  “Monica,” I heard Dr. Slater call my name. I peeked over my shoulder and hitched my hip a bit more to give him an unrestricted glance of my full ass; the one Susan could never have even after all the time she spent in Pilates.

  “Yes,” I nearly purred before remembering this wasn’t one of my nightly fantasies, but our office.

  He smiled knowingly before he said, “Patient in room five.” He nodded his head towards the door. “Can you administer his vaccines?” I nodded my head but I wanted to tell him I’d do anything for him, including bend over his desk and let him take me from the back because not only were my ovaries speaking to me throughout the day, but so was my pussy. And she was telling me that the drought was becoming unbearable. “Thanks,” he said with a damn smile that gave me goosebumps. The one that showed his pearly whites that were perfectly aligned, likely after years of braces.

  My mid-day fantasies ended the moment I walked into room five and saw the four-year-old little boy. His eyes round with a fresh stream of tears. I looked from him to his father, who was holding his hand. Little boys were rough and tough until you introduced them to a needle, then all that bad boy vibe went out the window.

  “Hello, Darius,” I said in my gentlest voice. “Are you ready for your shots?” He shook his head and his dad and I shared a laugh. “I promise to be as quick as possible, okay?” He nodded his head and I placed the four needles behind him on the table.

  I watched him as his grip grew tighter around his father’s hand. When I administered shots I tried to be as quick as possible, ‘cause like most kids I too hated needles. You’d think I would have chosen a different profession, but here I am.

  “One, two, three,” I counted off before giving him each shot. When I was done with all four shots and Darius hadn’t screamed too loudly, I offered him a few stickers from our stock pile. “All done. You did great, Darius,” I said before I exited the room.

  Darius was our last patient for the day. But before I could go home, I had to finish up my charts and review our patient list for the next day. I sat in front of the computer typing in my notes as Jillian, our administrator, cleaned up around me while she told me about her weekend plans.

  “I still can’t believe you haven’t been to the beach yet,” she said after telling me about her trip to San Francisco where she would skip off to the beach before returning home. I reminded her of my anti-social life, my countless hours of studying when I wasn’t perched in the clinic and she said, as always, “You have to take a break at some point, Monica.” She sounded like my mother, except her California girl accent sounded nothing like my mother’s southern drawl.

  When I moved cross-country to attend medical school, the proximity to the beach was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew my fun drew to an end the minute I crossed the stage at Lee University. I had no expectations of continuing my HBCU experience in Cali. Besides, I don’t think anything could ever live up to those days anyway.

  But leave it to my mom and Jillian, all work and no play would wreak havoc on my life. I’d been here for four years and so far havoc was nowhere to be seen. My certifications, selection of rotations, and recommendations I’d gathered were on point though.

  “You could come with us,” Jillian offered, leaning on the desk. “Derek has a few sexy friends you could choose from.” She wriggled her eyebrows and if it were anyone else, I may have believed her, but Jillian’s boyfriend Derek looked like his favorite pastime consisted of dungeons and dragons in his mom’s basement. I had no idea how he and Jillian even hooked up; she’s outgoing and cute, and he’s not.

  “Maybe next time, Jillian,” I said with a weak smile.

  I finished my chart notes and the review of the patients for Monday. Like all other Friday nights, I’d grab take-out from the Thai restaurant near my house and sit in the middle of my living room with my medical books. Before I left out of the clinic though, I’d steal one last glance at Dr. Slater. After all, he was the only man in my life, even if he was already taken.

  “Have a good weekend, Dr. Slater,” I said with my head peering into his office taking a full mental snapshot of his sexy face. “See you on Monday,” I added just before I was about to walk out.

  “Monica,” he called out before I was too far down the hallway. “My wife and I are having a thing this weekend.” His shoulders hunched around his neck. “If you aren’t too busy, come on over.” He ripped a piece of paper from his notepad and reached across his desk to hand it to me. I looked down at what appeared to be his address. “Tomorrow, at six o’clock.”

  I thanked him for the invite and told him I’d consider it if I had a break from studying. I could hear him laughing as I made my way out of the clinic. Dr. Slater was a seasoned pediatrician and alumni of UC Davis; he’d bee
n exactly where I was before. Even more reason why he stayed plaguing my fantasies, because he could relate to my ever busy schedule.

  On my way across town I called in my order of Pad Thai, extra spicy with an order of spring rolls. I was guaranteed a twenty-minute wait, as usual, but when I arrived the hostess looked at me with a grimace and let me know she had forgotten to place my order. “Forgot?” I said cautiously as she nodded her head. I didn’t want to prod any further ‘cause I liked my food minus the spit. I looked around the restaurant that lacked a bar to sit and wait then told her I’d be right back.

  The strip mall was packed with people walking to and from eateries and bars, happy that the weekend had finally arrived. And then there was me, waiting for my take-out order so I could rush home and dive into a book. I sighed and looked to the right of the restaurant and saw the entrance to a bar. It had been a while since I sat in a bar, let alone had an adult beverage.

  I shrugged my shoulders and opened the door. Inside, it wasn’t packed but had a few people scattered around tables and some sitting at the bar. Twenty minutes was just enough time to have a glass of wine, so I took a seat and waited for the bartender.

  My wine pallet was amateur, at best. Moscato was always my go-to, but when I was around drinkers I always received a side-glance for drinking the dessert wine. What the hell? I thought as the bartender placed a napkin in front of me. “What can I get for you?” I paused as I noticed a different accent coming from him, not one of the typical California resident. Being in Sacramento, we were away from the dream chasers, and most of the people were actually from California. Unless I was on campus, most people I met sounded like they were natives.

  “I’ll take a Moscato.” I was thankful when his face remained neutral, not judgey like I expected. Before he walked away I asked, “Where are you from?”

  His lip turned up into a smile and he said, “Georgia,” with the down south drawl. He walked away and returned with my glass of Moscato. “How’d you know I wasn’t from California?”

  Since going to school in Florida, and moving to California a few years ago, the Alabama in my voice had dwindled or he’d likely recognize our shared southern roots. “Your southern accent runs deep,” I said.

  He cocked his head to the side and his green eyes stared me down before he asked, “And which southern state do you hail from?” He was nothing like Dr. Slater, actually he was the exact opposite of Dr. Slater, but he was still fine as hell. His stature was much slimmer, and his complexion shouted his ancestors’ entanglement with their slave owners.

  “The great state of Alabama.” And when I said Alabama all the Dixie came out in my voice and my new obsession chuckled.

  He reached across the bar, lending me his right hand, with his left hand balancing on the bar, to which I couldn’t help but notice lacked a wedding band. “Well, Alabama, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Nick.”

  “Nice to meet you Nick, I’m Monica,” I said before he had to help the next customer. I sat watching him interact with each person and I was pleased when none received the same interaction as I did.

  The Moscato went down with ease, and had my food next door not been waiting on me, I may have convinced myself to stay for another glass. I grabbed a twenty from my wallet and placed it on the bar to avoid the thirst trap of Nick. He could certainly replace Dr. Slater in my fantasies, but I had no time for him to take up time in my reality.

  Chapter 2

  Moscato may be sweet, but it was just what my body needed to pass the fuck out. Saturday morning came with a haze of dread. I looked at the half-eaten take-out container on my floor next to the unopened book and shook my head.

  I actually considered making it to Dr. Slater’s for the barbecue. But after wasting all of Friday night, I’d need to spend all of Saturday catching up with my study schedule. I stood from the mess in the middle of my living room, and walked to the kitchen. I’d need a full pot of coffee to even get started.

  “Shit,” I yelped and looked down at the object that had violated my steps. My damn rabbit, in the middle of the floor. I laughed at the scene of my apartment. If I had a journal, today’s entry would be titled “Horny Med Student.”

  Usually, my horny ass at least made it to my bedroom so my vibrator session could be followed by restful sleep. But I guess that wine, and the thought of Nick, couldn’t make it past the living room. Damn. I scooped up my rabbit and tossed it on my bathroom counter.

  My pot of coffee was set to brew when my phone rang and I had to search for it in my living room. Either I needed to drink more often or not at all. The impact that one glass of wine had on me would have embarrassed younger Monica. I finally found my phone buried in my couch cushion but by then it was no longer ringing.

  It was Laila, my roommate from freshman year at L.U., and I’m sure she had another question about baby Brooklyn. Even though I explained to her on many occasions I refused to be her on-call pediatrician, she still called me when she had a question she could have easily asked Dr. Google. Since I was still waiting on my coffee, I called her back. “Hey, Laila.”

  She laughed into the phone and I could hear Brooklyn cooing in the background. At least she wasn’t screaming so hopefully all was well in the Clark household. “I had just told Chris, I think I exhausted phone a friend.” It was my turn to laugh and I had a full belly chuckle ‘cause she was wrong; she had exhausted phone a friend, but that was long ago. Her chance at winning this parenting game was reliant solely on her ability to figure that shit out. “But I wasn’t actually calling to ask anything about the baby.”

  My soul rejoiced and I said, “Thank God,” with probably too much enthusiasm, but oh well. “What’s up with you?” I asked trying to recover.

  “Not much, finally settled into this slower Tennessee lifestyle.” After getting pregnant with Brooklyn, Laila and her husband Chris decided to move closer to family. They packed up their New York life and moved back to Tennessee where Chris’ family was from. It’s also the location of his family’s booming brokerage business, but far away from Laila’s job as a journalist for a hipster magazine. When she decided to move I could tell she wasn’t as enthused about the move as she was putting on; she loved her job. “You know, my almost sister-in-law’s bridal festivities start in a couple of months and I wanted to get your schedule so we could plan the events.”

  I sighed. Of all my college roommates I was the last one standing as a bachelorette. Laila wasn’t a surprise when she got hitched, I wasn’t even too surprised when Nicole was engaged, but I’d be damned if that Jennifer found herself in a happy relationship. Granted, she wasn’t engaged, yet, but it was only a matter of time before her millionaire beau popped the question. “You know no time is a good time for me, but I’ll be done with my last cert in July.”

  “Okay, the wedding is in August, and we were thinking Vegas for the bachelorette party.” Vegas I could do. I knew my girl Nicole wouldn’t let me down on her celebration. Since I was still single I had no objections to seeing plenty of swinging dicks, dicks of all sizes and colors.

  “Am I in charge of planning events again?” For Laila’s bachelorette party she tried to get by with a relaxing girls weekend in Jamaica. I wasn’t having that shit. I found some Jamaican men and set that thing off in the hotel suite. The thought of that weekend almost made me need my rabbit again. I leaned against the counter as Laila warned me to not get too wild, but we both knew that was inevitable. “Right.” My pot of coffee was finished and I said, “Just be ready for the dick.” I laughed before I told her I had to go study.

  “Hey, Monica,” Laila said before I could hang up the phone. “Try to find a date for the wedding.” She thought she was slick; a date to the wedding was her way of telling me I needed a man in my life.

  “We’ll see,” I said before hanging up the phone.

  I added sugar and cream to my cup of coffee and sat in front of my books. While reading about pediatric diseases, Laila’s words played on repeat in my head. It had been
a while since I had a date, even longer since I had a man. My friends were settling down and leaving me behind. They’d probably be taking couples’ trips, and soon after, family vacations, and I’d be left alone on the prowl.

  I flipped the page and shook that shit off. I had time to settle down. What was the rush? Once I finished my residency and joined a practice, I’m sure I’d have time to date.

  The sound of Dr. Slater’s laugh spooked me, like he was a villain in a cartoon mimicking me for my outlandish thoughts. And I declared I’d only spend a few hours studying then I’d attend his barbecue to see what Susan was working with in the kitchen. I’d even make my mama’s famous potato salad. I didn’t have time to be messing with the raisins Susan could have in hers.

  With my hair loose from the bun I wore to the clinic, and a spring dress snug around my curves, I lifted my hand to knock on Dr. Slater’s door. I could hear music coming from the backyard, because I was fashionably late for the six o’clock start time, and I was sure everyone was already having a good time.

  The door opened and a man, one I recognized from UC Davis, appeared. “Hello,” he said with a deep voice.

  “Hello,” I replied with my bowl of potato salad held high. “I’m here for Dr. Slater’s barbecue.”

  The man laughed and said, “Right this way.” As we walked through the immaculate house, across the marble floors and past the contemporary decor he asked, “What’d you bring?” After I told him I brought the potato salad he grinned. “Did you make it?” He looked at me with his eyebrow raised. I nodded to confirm and he added, “I don’t eat everyone’s potato salad.” I knew from that point we’d get along well.