4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
J essica
That night, when I get home, I give in and call my best friend, Monica. I haven’t told her anything about Dr. West yet. It had all been so strange and almost humiliating, but now that he’s coming to my place, I can’t hold back. With rushing words that tumble over each other, I spill all my secrets. All the weird, dirty, and very inappropriate things that happened in the doctor’s office. Monica is appropriately shocked and impressed. She gasps, says “no way” approximately twenty times, and then makes me rewind and tell her everything all over again.
“I don’t even think he realized what happened,” I stammer. “Like how I…you know.” My face burns and thank god she can’t see me. Saying it out loud somehow makes the whole situation ten times more mortifying. “He didn’t say anything.”
“I find it extremely difficult to believe he made you orgasm not just once—but twice—and didn’t notice.” Monica says in her most disbelieving tone. “And now he’s coming over? No way. He knows exactly what’s going on. I think he likes you. All the evidence points to it.” She says like she’s giving a closing argument in court. I’m reminded this is why she’s such a successful lawyer.
I giggle, then correct her. “I’m not sure. Maybe he likes…you know…doing things, but that doesn’t mean he likes me .”
“You said he’s gorgeous, rich, and successful,” she reminds me. “He could have any woman, right?”
I think back to his movie-star good looks and nod, which is silly. She can’t see me over the phone. “Yeah. He’s like god-level hot.”
“But on this Friday night, a night he could spend with anyone, he’s coming to see you, ” she argues, reminding me why she’s my best friend.
I bounce happily on the couch, my grin so wide it hurts my cheeks. “That’s true.”
My phone chimes, vibrating in my hand. “Hang on, Monica, I’m getting a text.”
“Is it him?!” Her voice pitches high with excitement.
“No, it’s not. Calm down.” I check the notification, expecting to see another message from Sarah, but this time it’s from the principal at my school, Kent Wilson. I groan. This isn’t exactly swoon-worthy content. “It’s Wilson,” I say, exasperated.
Wilson: I need you to cover crossing guard duty this week.
Jessica: I thought Hawkins was on this week. That’s what the schedule says.
Wilson: Emily has to leave early to go to her second job.
“Who? Kent? The worst principal in the world? I can’t believe you used to go to school with him.” Monica’s voice comes through my phone, faint and echoing. I switch her to speaker mode so I can text and talk at the same time.
“Just for one year. He’s older than me, remember?”
“Proof older doesn’t necessarily mean wiser. What does that weasel want?” Monica hates my boss, even though she’s never met him.
“I have to cover crossing guard duty this week,” I reply, already dreading it.
Monica makes an indignant squawking sound. “Why you ? Didn’t you freeze your ass off doing that last week?”
“Yes,” I groan, remembering how the fall leaves had swirled, whipped up by biting winds off nearby Lake Michigan. My nose had run like a faucet that day, and by the end my feet had gone numb. “Emily can’t do it. Something about her second job.”
“Tell him to suck it.”
From most people, this would be an empty threat, but not from Monica. She tells people to suck it all the time.
“I can’t. Someone has to keep the kids from getting mowed down. You wouldn’t believe how fast cars come around the corner.”
“That’s his problem. Let him stand out there in a reflective vest.”
My phone buzzes with another text from Wilson.
Wilson: So you’ll be there, right?
Jessica: Okay.
Wilson: Good. See you then.
I groan so loudly it echoes in my tiny apartment.
“Let me guess,” Monica says dryly. “He’s going to be there, too. Classic creep move.”
I sigh, flopping onto my couch with its flat cushions and the broken spring that pokes my butt. “Yep.”
“I knew it!” Monica exclaims. “That ass-wipe is trying to spend more time with you. He’s probably sitting in his sad little office right now, planning which scarf he’ll wear to impress you.”
“Monica, stop.” I can’t help laughing.
“Don’t pretend it’s not true. He’s the kind of guy who’d buy extra hand warmers just to be nice and then lingers awkwardly while handing them over like you’re in a Hallmark movie.”
I laugh so hard I can barely breathe. “Okay, that’s way too accurate.”
“I’m just saying,” Monica adds, still smug. “Between Kent Wilson and Dr. Sexy, you’re living a real Choose Your Own Adventure novel. And, girl, you better choose wisely.”
I snort, relieved she’s not giving me one of her trademark lectures about standing up for myself. Just when I think I’ve escaped, she mutters a huffy, “You’re too nice. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I admit, rubbing a hand over my face, then hastily redirect the conversation. “Anyway, about the hot doctor. What do you think?”
I expect her to crack another joke, but instead, her voice softens. “Okay, seriously.” She hesitates, and there’s a thread of something new in her tone…concern, maybe. “Are you actually okay with everything? Like, for real.” A pause, as if she’s choosing her next words carefully. “I could prosecute this doctor. He’s crossed every line. I win malpractice cases like this all the time.”
I bolt upright on the couch, gripping my phone so tight my fingers ache. “Monica! Don’t you dare.” Heat floods my chest. The urge to defend Dr. West, to somehow protect him, rises in me, so strong, so primal, it shocks me.
This is why I didn’t tell her after the first exam. I was scared of the backlash. The judgment. I know most people wouldn’t think this was normal, that they’d call it inappropriate. But the truth is, I don’t care. Maybe I should but when I think about him—his eyes on me, his hands on my skin—I don’t feel ashamed.
I feel alive . More than I have in years.
Monica lets out a slow breath, the sound crackling slightly through the phone. “Are you sure?” she asks, voice lower now. Measured. Like she’s giving me one last out. “Because this could be…dangerous.”
That should scare me, but it doesn’t. It’s true that my pulse spiked when Dr. West was near, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was because I wanted more.
I square my shoulders and tell her a firm, no hesitation, “I’m sure. I want to see what happens with him. I—I need to know.”
Monica’s silent for a beat. Then, a knowing exhale. “Whoa.” A short laugh. “You really do like this one, don’t you?” There’s a note of surprise in her voice, like she hadn’t expected me to admit it.
“I mean,” I pull at a loose thread on my couch, watching it unravel. “I barely know him, but there’s something about him. Something…magnetic.”
Monica is quiet again, but I hear the faint shuffle of fabric, like she’s shifted in her seat. Finally, she sighs. “Alright. You’re a grown woman. You make your own choices.” Then, her voice turns sharp, protective. “But if he messes with you, if he hurts you, just know that I have a law degree and a deep well of rage at my disposal.”
I bark out a laugh, tension easing from my shoulders. “You think he’s trouble?”
“Absolutely. With a capital T,” Monica deadpans. Then, her voice lifts again, playful, full of mischief. “But maybe he’s the good kind of trouble—the kind you write about in your diary with little hearts in the margins.”
I laugh at the thought of Dr. West and tiny hearts drawn around his name. “I don’t even have a diary.”
“Get one,” Monica says. “This is diary-worthy. He’s got ‘sexy villain with a redemption arc’ written all over him.”
“Monica, this isn’t a romance novel.” I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me, twitching into a smile. “This is my actual life.”
A life where Dr. West is coming here, to my apartment. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. What will happen, I wonder? Will we have sex? Can our relationship develop into something more? The anticipation, the not knowing where his head is at, is driving me insane.
“You know I’m loving how juicy this is, right?” Monica laughs again, then drops into a sing-song voice. “Jessica’s hot for her doctor.” She uses the same teasing tune she used when we were fourteen and she found out I had a crush on Tyler Dennis.
“Monica!” I laugh, kicking my feet against the couch cushion. “You’re the worst.”
We both know I mean she’s the best. Because she really is. No one gets me the way she does.
“Oh!” She exclaims, “We should go shopping. You can’t go on this date wearing your usual cotton panties and sports bra. That’s not going to impress a guy like this doctor.”
“Maybe that’s his kink?” I suggest, giggling again. “Comfort-forward underwear.”
Monica deepens her voice, imitating a man. “Why, Ms. Jones. How did you know granny panties turn me on?”
The thought of Dr. West saying that has me rolling with laughter. I pitch my voice high and breathless to play along. “Oh, Dr. West. Wait until you see my racerback sports bra. I’ve had it since college. It has sweat stains and gives me the best uni-boob.”
Monica howls with laughter. “Oh, my god. Stop. That’s too funny. If only men were so easily pleased. Like they’d be asking us not to shave our legs for once.”
I snort. “Don’t give me fantasies that can never be fulfilled.”
We agree to meet the next day for lunch and lingerie shopping. I’ve been at a disadvantage so far when it comes to the good doctor. Every time he’s seen me, I’ve already been naked. Not this time, though. This time, he’s going to have to undress me if he wants to get me bare. Monica’s right. I need to surprise him with pretty underwear…maybe the crotchless kind? My mind flashes forward to Friday night. His hands on me again. No paper gown this time. No rules. No excuses. Just me, him, and whatever the hell is happening between us.
Adam
I think about Jessica too much over the next week.
The anticipation builds, coiling inside me, growing sharper with every day that passes.
At work, I remain my usual self. Controlled. Professional. Unflappable. I’ve never blurred the lines before her—never even been tempted. Plenty of patients have made passes at me, some bolder than others. I’ve had patients proposition me indirectly, their intent written in the heat of their gazes, in the way they let their robes slip just a little too far and others outright ask me for sex.
I’ve always declined.
Until her.
Until Jessica was shivering and naked on my table, vulnerable in a way that set my blood on fire.
Something about her makes me break all my rules.
I almost hate her for it.
Sometimes, I feel resentment rise like bile in my throat—at this power she exerts over me without even trying. She invades my mind when she’s not around, distracts me when I should focus. I want to punish her for that. Put her over my knee and spank that pert little ass until she learns her place.
Other times, the thought of her fills me with something… lighter. A feeling I don’t recognize, definitely don’t trust .
That’s dangerous.
She’s dangerous.
With one day left until I see her again, I act on a whim and place an order.
A gift.
I want to see her expression when she shows it to me.
To see if she understands what it means.
Jessica
Early Friday morning, before I leave for work, a knock on my front door makes me jump. Who could it be? For a brief moment my pulse leaps, hoping it’s him , but quickly I crush that idea. Dr. West said 7:00 p.m., and he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to change his mind.
My heart sinks. It’s probably Brad, my annoying downstairs neighbor. We went on a date once. Just one time. He had too much to drink and groped my chest on the way home. I shoved him away—said I never wanted to see him again. That should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t. Brad’s been hounding me ever since. Phone calls, text messages, flowers left on my doorstep. I brace myself for another uncomfortable conversation and open my door.
It’s not Brad though.
Instead, two burly men stand on my porch.
“Ma’am,” the larger one greets me, tipping his head. “We’ve got your delivery.”
My hand flutters to my chest. “Oh, there must be a mistake. I didn’t order anything.”
The smaller guy shoves a delivery notice in my face. I take it, wrinkling my nose at the dirty fingerprints smeared across the paper. Squinting, I read the tiny print. There it is, my name and address at the top and under it reads, “king bed.” I’m about to open my mouth to protest that this is all a big mistake when I see that under purchaser it says one word. West . My jaw snaps shut, and my eyes widen.
While I stand reading the receipt, the delivery men barge into my apartment, carting large cardboard boxes in various sizes and shapes.
I point to the paper and ask the bigger man, “Who exactly bought this…bed?”
He peers at what I hold out and then shoots me a look like I must be stupid. “It says right there, lady.” A stubby finger points. “Someone named West bought it.”
I gape, shocked by this turn of events.
Dr. West is buying me gifts now? A bed of all things?
Annoyed by my speechlessness, the man asks in a gruff tone, “Where do you want it?”
I lead him to my small bedroom. A king-sized bed will take up almost all the space.
Not wanting to get in the way, I retreat to my tiny kitchen and let the men work. It doesn’t take long before the bigger man, who must be the one in charge, brings me paperwork to sign. “We’re all done.” He glances at his watch like I’ve somehow put them behind schedule with my questions.
After they’ve left, I creep to my bedroom, almost scared to know what Dr. West has bought me. When I see it, tears prick the back of my eyes because it’s beautiful .
When I was a child, I liked to think of myself as a princess. I would dream that I could ride a unicorn and that I had a gorgeous pink bedroom with a four-poster bed. In reality, my parents were poor teachers who could barely afford the small house I grew up in. They let me paint my room pink, but that was the closest my fantasies ever came to reality.
The bed before me is the bed from those little-girl dreams. It’s white with twirling posts of wood at all four corners that rise almost as high as my ceiling. The posts are connected by pieces of wood that form a rectangular shape. There are even gauzy curtains hanging from the rails. They’re on sliding hooks so you can pull the curtains and close off the entire bed, making it into a tiny room of its own.
I don’t know what to make of it. This generous gift from this strange man. It’s the last thing I expected.
On my walk to the bus stop, I make a hurried call to Monica to inform her of this new development.
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Why would he send me something like that?”
“It’s obvious,” she says. “You’re going to get laid, and he wants it to be somewhere comfy. Not that crusty old mattress you usually sleep on.”
“He doesn’t even know what kind of bed I have.”
I climb the steps of the city bus, tucking my phone between my shoulder and ear as I wave to the driver.
“Morning, Mikey.”
His weathered face lights up, deep laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. He’s been driving this route for as long as I’ve been taking it, five years now. Long enough for our daily greetings to feel like habit. For him to become a friend.
I slip a small paper bag into his hand as I pass.
“Sesame, extra cream cheese,” I murmur. “Figured you might be hungry.”
His grin widens. “You’re an angel, Jess. You know that?”
I smile, covering the microphone on my phone, “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
He chuckles, already unwrapping his bagel, and I make my way to my usual seat next to Julie, who also teaches at my school. We’ve arranged our schedules to ride together. It’s more fun this way…and safer. Public transportation in this neighborhood is always a little dicey.
“Hey,” I whisper to Julie. “Just give me a minute.”
She nods, smiles.
Monica continues talking. “Who knows? Maybe he’s been spying on you. Either way, I wouldn’t complain. If a gorgeous doctor wanted to give me stuff, I’d take it happily.”
“I am happy, just kind of confused.”
“Well, you can ask him about it tonight.” I hear the ding of an elevator through the phone. Monica’s law firm is in a high-rise building downtown.
“I will.” A thrill runs through me at her words, anticipation at the thought of seeing him . “Tonight.”