CHAPTER SEVEN
HARRY
I don't know what got into me. After Abigail approached me, I went along with her little plan on a lark. And I had to admit, over the course of the evening, I noticed that there was some heat there. Just sitting beside her caused my erection to press against my pants, and I needed a release. If only she would have come home with me that night
But alas, she didn't. Instead, we made plans for our family dinner, and I could only hope we'd hook up afterward.
Or maybe she was only agreeing to the fake relationship part, which had simply been a ploy to get into her pants in the first place. Most of the other women I came across didn't pose a challenge. None of them could hold a conversation with me or understand why I loved my career as much as I did.
But Abigail was different. She was someone I felt utterly compelled to have, and knowing she wasn't looking for anything serious was even better.
Hell, this woman went out of her way to fake a relationship with me in order to get out of being set up. That took some balls, if you asked me. That was the sign of a commitment-phobic person if I'd ever seen one. Had somebody pressured me to actually settle down, I might have done something similar.
And for that reason, I respected her much more than I respected the woman who actually ended up coming home with me that night. After I'd watched Abigail go home – much to my chagrin – I'd gone to another bar to find a companion for the night. I did, after all, have needs.
“Nice home,” Nadia said, admiring the fireplace in my sitting room. “You must make a lot of money as a doctor.”
“A surgeon, actually,” I corrected her. “And while I don't like to brag, I do pretty well.”
Nadia's lips curled upward, giving me a salacious little grin. Her big, brown eyes were wide and she fluttered her eyelashes at me suggestively.
“Well, you sound like my kind of guy,” she said.
And even though she gave me her best “come hither” look, I felt nothing for her. Don't get me wrong, Nadia was an extremely sexy woman – she was definitely type I'd bang in a heartbeat. She was five-foot-six, lean with big, fake tits, and platinum blonde hair. She was an aspiring actress, of course. But then, isn't every big-breasted blonde in Los Angeles? Given how many of them I'd banged over the years, it certainly seemed like it.
Nadia leaned in to me, pressing her lips to mine while sliding her hand down my chest and rubbing her hand against my crotch. She squeezed and groped my cock through my pants, purring in my ear.
And I backed up.
I actually pulled away from her.
“What's wrong?” she whispered, biting her lower lip as she slowly sashayed toward me. “Don't you think I'm sexy, Dr. Harry?”
“You're very attractive, Nadia. You're gorgeous, actually,” I said. “But you know what? I'm tired. Exhausted, really. And I have to perform surgery in the morning. Which means, I should probably go to bed.”
I heard the words coming out of my mouth and wanted to kick my own ass. What had gotten into me? Normally, I needed to get laid the night before a surgery. It was something of my pre-surgery ritual to pick up some hot girl at the bar, bring her home, and blow off all my stress and tension by fucking her senseless. Athletes and actors had their own rituals and I had mine. And there was a beautiful woman, standing there right in front of me, more than willing to do her part – and there I was, pushing her away.
What in the hell was wrong with me?
Nadia looked hurt, but still, she persisted. “Well let's go to bed, baby,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. “Let me tuck you in.”
“I mean I need to go to bed. Alone,” I said. “Because I need sleep and you'd be a distraction, I'm afraid. A very pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless”
Dammit, Harry. What are you doing? Fuck the girl already, my inner voice scolded me. She's practically begging you. Throwing herself at your feet – and you're sending her away? What in the hell is wrong with you?
Truth be told, I looked at her, appreciated her beauty but I couldn’t make myself do it. Nadia, as stunning as she was, bored me to tears. And even though I had thought I wanted to screw her, now that she was standing there in front of me, ready to seal the deal, I found that I didn't.
“You're kidding me,” she said, an expression of utter annoyance on her face. “You bring me here and now you're kicking me out? What in the hell is wrong with you?”
I shook my head. “I – I'm not sure,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, okay. That's just great,” Nadia said, looking as if I'd slapped her in the face.
Reaching down for her purse on the end table, she pulled out her phone and started stabbing numbers into it, unable and/or unwilling to hide her disgust.
“I'm sorry, Nadia,” I said again.
“I guess I'll be calling an Uber then since you drove me here.”
“I’ll pay for it,” I said, knowing it made her sound like a hooker, but not knowing what else to say.
“Fine. Sure thing,” she said, walking toward the door, swishing her hips as she walked away in her ridiculously tall heels. Under her breath, I heard her mutter, “Asshole.”
Wouldn't be the first time a woman called me a name as she left my place – and probably wouldn't be the last. But it had to be the first time they did it because I kicked them out without even screwing them.
What in the hell was wrong with me?
ooo000ooo
“What's going on with you, Harry?”
My best friend and regular wingman, Tom, and I were out enjoying a drink the next night. And as was our usual practice, he kept pointing out potential dates for me, but each one I turned down with a simple shake of my head and a muttered “no.”
“Nothing,” I said, taking a long swallow from my craft beer, “the quality of women here has gone downhill, that's all.”
Tom and I had gone to medical school together, and while most of our classmates had already gotten married and settled down, we clung to our bachelorhood like it was a goddamn life preserver. It was a lifestyle that certainly offered a lot of perks, which we both enjoyed to the utmost.
Tom was an attractive man, I suppose, but he mainly relied on his brain to pick up women. It was effective given that he never went home alone, especially once they saw his Porsche outside. Women in LA ate that shit up with a spoon.
“You're telling me,” Tom said, pointing at an exotic model-type with extra-large tits near the bar, “that she isn't your type? Come on, man. I work in plastic surgery and her tits are the best money can buy. I'm almost jealous of her surgeon's skills.”
Shrugging, I looked over at her, and saw that he was right. She had nice tits. And a nice ass. Both qualities that I used to admire in women. But this time, as I looked at her, I should have been appalled that she did nothing for me. It only concerned me that I couldn't figure out why that was exactly.
“Her fake tan. She looks orange,” I said. “And hell, maybe I'm getting tired of blondes. Everyone is blonde these days, it's overdone.”
“Alright,” Tom said, scanning the bar. “No blondes – got it. So, what’s the flavor of the month now?”
“Redheads,” I answered.
“Oh yes,” Tom said, nodding in agreement. “Now you're talking. Rare, but oh so fucking sexy – like that stunning redheaded beauty over there.”
I followed to where Tom was looking, and saw a woman with long, red hair and alabaster skin standing with a group over by the bar. But it was that fake red, Manic Panic red or some shit out of a box. More punk rock than I cared for.
“Nah, I mean a real redhead,” I said.
“Where the curtains match the drapes, you mean?” Tom joked, finishing off the last of his beer. “Now that would be a rare treat indeed. If you find one, let me know because I'd love to go dip my pole into that fishing hole.”
Truthfully, I had found one, and maybe that was it. I couldn't stop thinking about Abigail and how badly I wanted to fuck her. The challenge, knowing she wouldn't give it up all that easily, had me in knots. All these other women who were milling around the bar just looking for somebody to take them home and fuck their brains out, were seriously turning me off. I needed to Abigail into my bed and out of my system, fast.
Tom motioned for the bartender to grab us another round, but I stopped him. “I think I'm going to head home,” I said.
“But it's early, man,” Tom said, glancing at his watch. “And you don't have yourself a date.”
“I have a date tomorrow actually,” I said, smirking as I paid my tab.
“One set up in advance?” he asked with genuine shock in his voice. “Someone you've been with before, I take it?”
“Nah, not like that at least,” I said. “She's playing hard to get. But she's coming over tomorrow night, and if all goes well –”
“No need to say anymore, Harry, my friend,” Tom said, slapping me hard on the back. “Hope you get it done tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, I guess we'll see,” I said. “I guess we'll see.”