Love Doctor

by Logan Chance

  “...you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?” Jonah rattles off a line from Dirty Harry and I smile.

  “I actually am feeling pretty good.”

  Jonah shoots the ball and scores on me. “What’s up? Why so jolly?”

  I laugh at his word choice. “I met this doctor at the convention, Dr. Houston Dale, anyway he offered me a job.”

  Jonah stops dribbling for a second, all serious now, holding the ball with one hand, and says, “That’s great news. What did you say?”

  “Well, I don’t really know yet.”

  Jonah goes back to dribbling the ball before handing it off to me. “What’s not to know?”

  I stand out of bounds, check, then begin dribbling. “It’s in New York. I’m flying out tonight to spend a few days to meet with him.”

  Jonah stands straight, no longer trying to get the ball from me. “No shit?”

  I nod and cross the court to the makeshift bench closest to the other courts, set the ball down, and grab my water bottle to take a sip.

  Jonah follows behind me, blowing out a deep breath. “Well, that ...sucks ass. I mean, I’m happy for you and all, and I only say it sucks for selfish reasons.”

  “I don’t know if I’m going to take it.”

  Jonah grabs his own water bottle. “Why wouldn’t you take it?”

  My mind flits to Rose, to kissing her in my office, to making her come, and I lift my shirt to wipe a few beads of sweat off my brow. “I don’t know. It’s definitely something I don’t want to make a rash decision about. This is my home.” My family is here. How can I just pick up and move halfway across the country? How does one even make that choice?

  And now after kissing Rose, it’s all kinds of complicated.

  I take a seat on the bench.

  Jonah sits beside me. “Sometimes choices in life aren’t easy, and sometimes you have to make them for everything else to fall into place.”

  “What movie is that from?” I ask with a smirk.

  Jonah shakes his head. “No movie. It’s a Jonah Marshall original.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “I think you should take it.”

  I nod. “Dr. Dale is kind of my hero. Have you read his articles on the medical therapies of acute myocardial infarction by application of hemodynamic subsets?”

  Jonah raises a brow. “Now why would I have ever read that?”

  I laugh a little. “Ok, let’s just say the guy’s a genius. And he mentioned his wife is a therapist so he’s excited to bring me on.”

  “I’m really proud of you.” Jonah slaps me on the shoulder. “You deserve this. All that time in medical school shouldn’t be wasted.”

  I know he’s right. And I try to picture my life there. Busy streets, a paper coffee cup in my hand—because it just seems everyone in New York holds a latte in their hand—subway terminals, a city that never sleeps.

  It wouldn’t be much different from Los Angeles. But, still, something nags at me, something not letting me jump for joy over the offer.

  And that something is Rose.

  21

  Declan

  “In nothing do men more nearly approach the gods than in giving health to men.”

  —Marcus Tullius Cicero

  New York is Metropolis by day and Gotham at night. Skyscrapers draped in fog and good and evil sharing space on the crowded sidewalks. I want to beam a big D into the sky for Rose. Pretty sure she needs the D.

  I try to picture myself living here, taking the subway to and from work everyday. The vibe is a hectic one, traffic clogging the arteries of the city, everyone rushing around. The pulse of the city that never sleeps is alive with vibrant noises, chaos, and madness.

  I can picture it all.

  And just for one split second, I can see her with me. Rose.

  Her walking the streets with me, stopping for coffee at the local shop. Maybe heading into the park for an afternoon of laziness together.

  Would she even want to do those things?

  When I arrive at Houston’s office where we’re meeting, a dark haired woman, behind a reception desk, smiles at me. “I’m here to meet with Dr. Dale,” I say to her. “Declan Sincock.”

  She types on her computer. “Just have a seat and I’ll tell him you’re here, Dr. Sincock.” She smiles once more, pointing to an area with mini gray sofas and leather chairs in the lobby.

  I tap the counter and thank her, but before I can even make it a few steps, Dr. Dale is stepping off the elevator with his phone pressed to his ear.

  He spots me and disconnects the call.

  He smiles as he steps off the lift, his hand outstretched to shake mine. “Dr. Sincock, how was your flight?”

  “It was all fine.” I study the spacious marble floored lobby with its pops of colorful flowers and high tech visual stimulation. Everything perfectly planned to make waiting less excruciating, right down to a few massage chairs and a charging station for professionals. “This is quite some place you have here, Dr. Dale.”

  “Houston, please call me, Houston.”

  “Ok, Houston. Nice place you have here.”

  He laughs, slapping his hand on the back of my shoulder. “Let me show you around.”

  For the next hour he does just that, taking me up to the top floor first where his office sits right next to his wife’s, with my office (if I take the job) right down the hallway.

  “Marley, this is Dr. Sincock.” Houston leads me into his wife’s office, and the brown haired woman sitting behind the desk glances up.

  “Declan Sincock, I’ve heard so much about you.” She stands, and I shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  We talk shop for an hour or so before Houston invites me to dinner and drinks in the lounge of my hotel. We relax in brown leather chairs, sipping bourbon, and looking like every other gentlemen in here. It’s a bit pretentious, but I’m enjoying myself all the same.

  “So, what do you think of the practice?” Houston asks, leaning back, one arm outstretched over the back of the leather.

  I grab my bourbon on the rocks and swirl the liquor around in the glass. “It’s all...perfect.”

  Houston is perceptive and raises a brow. “But, it’s not for you?”

  I shake my head. “No, it isn’t that at all. I’d be honored to work here, it’s just…” How do I explain Rose?

  How do I explain I don’t...can’t leave her?

  “It’s just the assistant?” Houston brings his drink to his lips and takes a sip with a knowing smile.

  I don’t like her being referred to as ‘just the assistant.’ “There’s nothing ‘just’ about her,” I correct him. “Her name is Rose and if it weren’t for her, my life would be chaos.”

  “Good answer.” He smirks. “That’s exactly the type of response I would give about my Marley. She’s now the mother of my beautiful daughter—Angela.”

  I raise my glass to him. “Congratulations.”

  “Angela is definitely a little diva.” Houston sets his glass down, steepling his fingers together. “Life sneaks up on you in more ways than one.”

  Ain’t that the truth. I shouldn’t even be considering Rose in this decision, but for some reason she’s all I can think about. I want to say yes, because with every fiber of my being I want to have this job. I want to live in New York.

  “It does,” I answer, bringing my drink to my lips and swallowing it down.

  This is a dream come true, it really is. “So, what do you say?” Houston asks.

  It’s late by the time I get back to my hotel room. The off-white walls with their gray stripes make me feel caged. Bourbon swims through my veins, making me a little more brave when I grab my phone, pressing Rose’s name. It’s earlier in California, and I send her a text, “How’s your night going?”

  A few minutes later she answers back, “Life is grand. How’s New York?”

  I imagine her with the setting sun as her backdrop, her red hair blowing in the
California breeze, and it makes my dick hard. “It’s missing one thing.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “You.”

  She doesn’t answer for a while, so I press her name on my phone and hit the phone icon. It rings twice before she answers, “Hello.”

  “Hey,” I say to her. “Did I scare you off?”

  “No. I kind of wish I was with you tonight too.” I can hear the stress in her voice.

  “Is everything ok?” I ask, moving over to lie on the bed.

  “Yeah, just a rough day. Enough about me. How was the job? Are you going to take it?”

  Who cares about my day. “Why was it rough?”

  She giggles into the phone for a second. “No, it’s much better now. Are you taking the job?”

  I blow out a deep breath. “I am.” I want her to talk me out of it. I want her to tell me she doesn’t want me to move clear across the country away from her. I want her to tell me no.

  But, she does the opposite. “I’m so happy for you.”

  And there it is. Cut and dry. Black and white. Plain and simple.

  But, it’s not good enough for me. And it’s not good enough while I fly back to Cali, her words slicing through my brain over and over. It’s still not enough when I catch a cab from the airport and give the driver her address.

  Because this is not good enough.

  22

  Rose

  “A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.”

  —Richard Bach

  I am a published author. I say it again a few more times, letting the sound of it roll off the tip of my tongue. It feels good. And it feels even better that I’ve sold a few books. Very few. I can’t believe I sold one book let alone a few.

  I’ve been on an endless loop refreshing my sales since I published. I’d check them now, but there’s no time. My last group meeting is tonight. I’ve done some thinking and somewhere since joining the critique group, I’ve lost the sense of writing for myself. I feel like I’m writing more for the approval of Pru and the others in the group. And somewhere along the way, I lost the whole sense as to why I wanted to become a writer in the first place.

  When I emailed everyone to let them know this would be my last meeting, Christian and Rebecca were sad, but understanding. Pru couldn’t care less.

  I dart around my house, throwing on grey cotton shorts and a pink Dodgers T-shirt, getting ready for my last meeting. After putting my hair in a low ponytail, I grab my purse, dig around for gloss, and apply some in the mirror hanging in the entryway. My reflection looks the same, but I feel different. I have so many feelings. Ever heard of kismet? It’s like, for example, you spill your coffee, but the man you were meant to fall in love with helps you clean it up. Not that I’m in love, mind you. I was looking for explanations of what’s going on with myself and Declan, because I’m that type of person, and I don’t think I could’ve avoided what’s happened between us. Pru criticizing my sex scenes and setting off this chain of events, was just all part of destiny. Or maybe I’m making excuses for my choices.

  Either way, I don’t know where Declan and I go from here. Back to normal? I hope not, ‘cause actually, I want more. Is that too naive of me to want more? If you set the bar low, you can't be disappointed. My bar is sitting on the ground.

  He’s going to New York to work with Houston Dale and obviously he’s attracted to me, but I don’t have a magic vagina to keep him here. And even if I did, I couldn’t do that when I know he wants the job. So many unanswered questions.

  I don’t have time to dwell on the answers, because there’s a knock at my door. I check the peephole to see Pru, in a loud psychedelic dress with black Mary Jane’s, peeping back at me. Rebecca and Christian stand behind her, and I open the door and welcome them in.

  Pru’s eyes sweep around my apartment assessing everything—the dark hardwoods, buttery walls, tall windows with floral drapes, red sectional—like she’s a prospective tenant. “I had you pegged for something more... beige.”

  Of course she would. Ignoring her remark, I lead them toward the living room where we do our normal thing for the next hour. At the end of the meeting, when they’re getting ready to leave, I tell them my news about Love Doctor.

  Rebecca’s green eyes light up. “That’s awesome. I’ll look for it.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “Congratulations, Rose,” Christian beams.

  “What’s the book about?” Pru asks, pulling her keys from her bag.

  “It’s an office romance.” Her brows go up with interest. “Annette meets a man she’s interested in, but when she’s supposed to find him at a masquerade ball, she ends up finding her boss instead, unknowingly.”

  “How’s it selling?” Pru’s insinuation rings loud and clear.

  I cross my arms, to avoid giving her the finger. “Well it’s only been a few days,” I answer.

  “Mm, so it’s not selling,” she guesses correctly.

  “I think it’s going to do great,” Christian says, coming to my defense.

  “Thank you.”

  “You know,” Rebecca looks over at Pru, “not everyone has your tricks. Some people actually write their books and get where they are because of talent and hard work. I’m sure you and your team will be working behind the scenes casting doubt about the competition.”

  She gives me a hug. “Congratulations again.”

  “It’s ok,” I say, softly, “I’m just happy I finally did it.”

  After they’re gone, it’s like a weight has been lifted. It’s freeing not being chained to Pru’s negativity any longer. That freedom doesn’t last long, because before I can walk ten steps, there’s a knock on my door. Hopefully it’s either Christian or Rebecca who forgot something and not the Wicked Witch. I open it, and it’s none of the three. It’s Declan.

  He looks… like he wants to rip my clothes off with his teeth.

  “Hi,” I breathe.

  “You’re...gorgeous…” he husks out, barely above a whisper.

  And then his arm is around me, bringing me closer as his lips descend on mine. I cling to him as he devours my mouth, walking me back into my house and shutting the door. Our tongues meet, and a moan escapes me.

  “Rose,” he whispers against my lips.

  My eyes barely flit open.

  “I need you. And this isn’t any ordinary need. The only things we actually need are things to survive—air, water, and food. But, added to my list is your sweet pussy, because I will die if I don’t get it right now, and there’s no exaggeration about that.”

  My heart stops.

  His hands run down my sides, ending at my ass.

  With our lips still connected, he picks me up as my legs instinctively fly around his waist.

  “Bedroom?” he asks.

  “Last room. Down the hall,” I direct him, pointing to the back of my apartment.

  I feel like I’m in a novel. I didn’t think something like this really existed. But it does. I could kiss this man forever. My mind has a million thoughts spinning around inside, each one trying to surface, but I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe in my own head. I haven’t seen him since I handed over my panties, so I wasn’t sure how to act, or what to expect when he returned, and in all the scenarios I came up with, it never included this.

  My skin hums, my heart beats frantically, and my body yearns—freaking yearns for this man.

  No part of me is left untouched. He moves his hands all over me, caressing everywhere that aches for him.

  My fingers explore his hard chest, ending at the hem of his t-shirt and bringing it over his head. He helps me take it the rest of the way off, and all I can do is ogle his chest.

  Muscles everywhere, hard and magnificent. I lick my lips, wanting more than anything to run my tongue right down the middle of his abs. And then I do. His skin is silk over steel.

  “Damn, Rose.” His breathing comes out in short pants and then he lifts my babydoll tee over my body, st
ripping me down to my white, lace bra.

  His hooded green eyes make me feel drunk, and I like the way he stares, unabashed, unafraid to show me he desires me.

  And I have never in my life felt as sexy as I do right now with his eyes on me. I can’t think about anything in this moment. Not the job in New York or my book. All I can think about is him.

  He bends his head down, landing his perfect mouth on the skin just above my breast and then removing my bra to suck my nipple in between his teeth. Ah, it feels so good.

  I drag my fingers through his hair, pulling and gripping, bringing his lips back up to meet mine.

  Our bodies move in tandem, both of us wanting more from the other, knowing full well this won’t end until he’s buried deep inside me.

  He kisses my neck, up to my earlobe, nipping it with his teeth. “Rose, tell me you need me, please,” he begs in a husky whisper.

  “I need you.” And I do, more than anything. Because I may not ever get another chance with him ever again.

  He hoists me up and we land on the bed. The remainder of our clothes disappear in a blur of eager hands. He spreads my legs, running his finger through my wetness, and then fists his jutting dick, pumping it from base to tip. It’s just so big.

  “I’m not sure it’ll fit.”

  He smiles. “It’ll fit, Baby. I can promise you that.” And then he wraps his dick with a condom, positioning the head of it right at my entrance, pushing slowly into me. Inch by thick inch. “Ah fuck,” he groans as his eyes never stray from mine. “You feel so good. So wet and tight,” he murmurs as he pushes deeper.

  The last of the sun’s rays make their way across the wall of my bedroom, skittering the room in a soft glow, and I cling onto Declan a little tighter, afraid to let go of him. I want to make sure this is all real. That it’s not a dream, even though every single minute of it feels like a fantasy.