“Well, I would still feel wrong, as it kinda feels like I’m cheating. So how about you buy dinner and I’ll buy dessert?” I suggest, hoping he says yes, as I’m desperate to draw out any time spent with him.
Dixon appears to mull over my proposal, but with a lopsided smile, he says, “You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose that’s fair.”
I barely stop myself from fist pumping in excitement, as I’m sure any sudden movement will enrage my impending headache.
“So it’s settled then. I’ll let you choose the day,” I say, as I don’t want to look too eager and suggest we make good on our agreement tonight.
However, my heart ends up in my throat as Dixon suggests, “How about tomorrow evening?”
Trying not to blind him with my ridiculously excited smile, I nod. “Tomorrow works for me.”
Dixon smirks and slowly stands to his full, topless, dominating height. He extends his hand down to me, and I gratefully accept, standing gradually, as I still feel lightheaded. As we stand toe to toe, my overactive mind invokes images of me pressing myself up against all that tanned, supple skin, and getting lost in its soft smoothness. But I shake those thoughts aside, as I feel a little guilty that Dixon is half nude because of me.
A female jogger runs past us, and she makes it more than obvious she’s gaping at the naked god in front of her. An unexpected sense of jealousy passes over me, and I try my hardest not to eyeball her, because I have no right to.
Dixon seems oblivious and reaches into his pocket, producing a crisp white business card. “Now there are no excuses to run late,” he regretfully says, and I know he’s referring to last night.
I thankfully accept it, but with nowhere safe to put it, I place it in my sports bra, which is a habit I picked up from running without any pockets. It really isn’t a big deal, but as I look up and meet Dixon’s heated eyes, it appears he disagrees. He guiltily snaps his intense gaze from my chest, and gingerly meets my eyes.
“Remind me to never ask you to mind my belongings,” he says, appearing half serious.
“And why’s that?” I ask with a smirk.
“Because I’ll no doubt lose a hand,” he cheekily replies, while I almost gag on my tongue.
Little does he know his hands are always welcome.
10
Stranger
DIXON
So, I’m either the smartest, or the stupidest motherfucker known to mankind.
I’m betting on the latter.
I’ve somehow managed to find myself in a predicament where I am interested in two women. A couple of weeks ago, the thought of being interested in one woman was comical, but here I am, a few weeks later, sitting at my desk, fisting my hair in frustration, as I don’t know what the hell to do.
After being ridden into next year by Juliet, I fell into an exhausted heap and slept like the dead. The only thing that woke me was a fire engine zipping past, at a little past 1 a.m. After my sleep and post-coitus clogged brain decided to play catch-up, I realized I had stood up Madison, as we agreed to meet to exchange numbers and whatnot.
A sense of utter regret passed over me, and before I knew what was happening, I was running toward her work like a bat outta hell.
So the question here is, why? Why did I feel guilty? I mean, I just slept with another woman six hours prior. If I was going to feel guilty about anything, it should be the fact that I still had Juliet’s scent all over me when I met up with Madison. But with Juliet, it was just sex—with Madison, it was…more.
So the obvious answer here would be to tell Ms. Harte to hit the road and see where things go with Madison. But I can’t—sex without strings is so much easier than a relationship. And I have a feeling a relationship with Madison wouldn’t be smooth sailing, as call it doctor’s intuition, but I think she has some serious baggage buried underneath her sweet smile.
So what do I want? Sex? Or a possible relationship? Because at the moment, I’m currently presented with both options, but I don’t know which I want more.
I know this all stems from my damaging breakup with Lily the bitch. But I am as much to blame as she is. No, I never forced her to fuck my best friend, but I never dealt with my emotional scars at the time, and now look what I’ve turned into—a commitment phobe.
Massaging my temples, I really am in no state of mind to be counseling anyone today. The wise thing to do would be to take the afternoon off. Just as I’m about to call Ms. Vale and ask her to cancel the rest of my appointments, she buzzes me through the intercom.
“Dr. Mathews,” she frantically says, which is very uncharacteristic of her.
“Yes, Ms. Vale?” I quickly reply. “Is everything okay?”
“Dr. Mathews, a patient who doesn’t have an appointment insists on seeing you.”
I hear Susanna cover the receiver and address whoever is outside, making it quite clear she’ll have to make an appointment if she wishes to see me.
“Oh, stop right there! Miss, you can’t go in there,” Susanna states, and before I know what’s happening, my office door flies open and in charges a hysterical Juliet.
Susanna is chasing after her, her face filled with irritation and concern, but I wave her off, as Juliet looks like hell.
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Mathews! She just barged in here,” Susanna apologizes, while glaring at a sobbing Juliet.
“It’s fine, Ms. Vale. Please shut the door on your way out.”
She looks at me, slightly confused, but she does as I ask, as she knows I don’t mince my words. The moment the door closes, I stand behind my desk, watching Juliet as she weeps uncontrollably. I stand motionless, as I don’t know what to do.
Professionally, I’m not to hug or canoodle her, as I’m not her friend. I’m not here to cuddle her and tell her everything will be all right. But as her lover, that’s exactly what I should be doing. And this is why you do not get involved with your patients.
“Juliet, is everything okay?” I ask, still standing behind my desk, using it as a barrier between us.
“What does it look like? No, everything is not fucking okay!” she cries, her tear-stained eyes meeting mine.
Clearing my throat and adjusting my tie, I round my table and point to the sofa.
“Please, take a seat.”
“I’m not here to get fucking psychoanalyzed, Dixon.” But she thankfully slumps onto the couch, and her sniffles lessen.
Taking a seat near her, I place my palm on her bare knee. “What’s happened? Why are you so upset?”
“No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough,” she whispers, her lip trembling as she lowers her face.
“Good enough for whom?” I gently ask.
“For…anybody,” she replies, and her slight pause has me wondering what she originally wanted to say.
“That’s not true,” I rebuke. “You just have to believe in yourself, Juliet. I know how messed up that sounds, considering our current circumstances. But any man would be lucky to have your affections.”
“You think?” She sniffs, raising her face.
“I know,” I confirm. “All these awards on my walls confirm I know what I’m talking about,” I add with a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
Thankfully she laughs, and reaches into her clutch for a tissue. As she dabs at her eyes, I wonder what brought this on. The doctor in me has long gone, and I’m speaking to her purely as her lover.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, reaching forward and brushing aside a strand of blonde hair.
“Maybe we could, I don’t know, talk?”
This is the first time I’ve seen her be…vulnerable, and it’s a look that suits her.