There are certain things that are guaranteed to get any man—macho or not—to the doctor. Anything wrong with appendages located in the very important area between the hips down to mid-thigh will always warrant immediate action.
The slight burning sensation from my morning leak that turned into a stream of fire by mid-afternoon definitely fell into that category so with a call to my best friend Cade, I leave the office, telling my secretary that I had an urgent meeting come up and would be gone for the rest of the day.
A short drive later, I quickly make my way into the ER of Northwestern Hospital where Cade works as a doctor, and walked to the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Cade Carsen.”
“Sir, you’ll need to fill out this form and take a seat,” the receptionist says, holding out a clipboard to me.
“You don’t understand,” I reply, my heart rate spiking as I take a quick cursory glance at the filled chairs behind me, the air becoming stifling with bacteria and germs that I swear are launching an attack on my immune system with every breath I take. I turn my attention back to the now scowling—actually downright scary—desk clerk. “Cade’s my roommate, best friend actually. Can you please page him? He’s expecting me.”
She scrutinizes me, her eyes scanning down my body and back up again.
“Riiiiight,” she replies skeptically, like every second person tries that excuse to avoid exposure to the waiting room petri dish.
“Thomas?” the most welcome voice in the world says, using my nickname that only a select few use. I turn around to see the wife of another of my best friends, Mac, standing beside me, an orange Chicago Bears hoodie covering up her scrubs. “Everything okay?”
I release a huge sigh of relief, my future health and life expectancy thanking the heavens for this serendipitous stroke of luck.
“Hey, I’m here to see Cade. He’s expecting me but the lovely desk clerk here has obviously heard this story a million times and doesn’t believe me.”
She bursts out laughing before turning toward the desk and leaning over it. “Hey Nancy, I can vouch for this miscreant. I can take him through to Dr. Carsen.”
Nancy eyes me suspiciously, pursing her thin lips as she looks me up and down then nods her permission to Mac. What am I, chopped fucking liver?
“Have a nice day, Nancy,” I say with a saccharine sweet smile on my face, knowing that I probably shouldn’t come here if I ever need emergency medical attention.
Mac giggles beside me, making tut-tut sounds and drawing my attention.
“What?” I ask innocently.
She smirks at me. “You know what, Mr. Charming.”
“Obviously didn’t work with Nancy.”
“Nancy is just used to people’s bullshit. She sees people like you trying to cut in line every day, all day.”
“I wasn’t trying to—” She snorts and quirks a brow at me, it’s such a ‘mom’ look that I can’t help but grin down at her as she swipes the ID card hanging off her neck across a keypad, gaining access through to the ER and leading me through the double doors.
“Does that work on Danny boy?” I ask, betting everything I own that it does.
“Why do you think he’s always smiling?” she says and it’s then I want to high five my friend Daniel for finding—and nailing down permanently—the woman beside me.
“So why are you braving the ER center when you could just see Cade tonight at Poker?”
I falter—just for a second—and eagle-eye Mac doesn’t miss it. We come to a stop outside a door labeled ‘Doctors’ Lounge’ and she turns to face me. “Is this a professional visit? You can tell me, I can’t tell anyone. Call it patient—sexy nurse confidentiality,” she says with a wink.
I look her up and down and shake my head with a grin playing on my lips. “Sorry, love, unless I get the full naughty nurse treatment, short dress, garters, stockings and heels, no deal.”
She pouts and play punches me. “Sorry, bruiser. Only superheroes get that kind of special treatment.”
“I’ve got some latent super powers. They’re activated when you—”
“Thomas,” Cade says, his voice an amused warning as he comes to a stop in front of us. “Are you coming on to the nurses again?”
“Unfortunately for us, we missed the boat with this one. She’s well and truly off the market.”
Cade snorts. “You’d hope so considering she married Dan how many years ago now?”
“Five? No wait . . .” Mac holds out her hand, biting her lip as she counts her fingers. “Oh, I don’t know, a while.”
We all laugh at that, Mac’s cheeks going uncharacteristically pink.
“I think Dan must be losing his touch if you can’t remember those kind of details.”
“Or else the three kidlets are stopping any kind of touching at all,” I retort.
“On that note, I’ll love and leave you,” Mac announces, leaning forward and giving us both a kiss on the cheek before waving and walking away.
“Shall we?” Cade asks, sweeping an arm toward the short corridor.
“Lead the way.”
“So . . . what’s the emergency?” He says as soon as the consultation room door closes behind us.
I turn toward him, my heart pounding in my chest. But this is Cade, my best friend. He’s probably seen and heard it all. I know for a fact he’s seen more blood and gore than anyone should ever see.
Struggling to find the words, I take a slow, calming deep breath.
This is my trip on the downtown inferno train. It’s not like I’ve ever gone through something like this before, and I hope to Christ I never have to go through it again.
“First, you’ve gotta swear on your life that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone.”
His lips twitch and he lifts an eyebrow at me. “So it involves your dick then?”
My eyes widen, fuck knows why. It’s not like it wouldn’t be my junk and I know it is my junk, but for some reason, hearing him say it like that irks me.
“What makes you say that?” I ask like an idiot considering I called him just an hour ago and told him I was coming to see him and needed his professional opinion. All that aside, he’s going to need to know that my problem is with my most prized body part in order to give me whatever pills, injections, or bleach treatment required,.
“I think I’ve caught something.”
“Something?”
“An STD.” And just like that Cade’s amused look vanishes in an instant and it’s in this moment that I love the man because he’s suddenly all business.
Most other guys would take the opportunity to rib me about the correct use of condoms or—if it were Matt Taylor, one of my best friend’s brothers—tell me to do a damn scratch and sniff test next time.
Man hands go to my belt and I start to unzip my fly.
“Wait!” he says quickly. “Before you flop it out and show me far too much of yourself. What are your symptoms?”
My hands still and my eyes back up to his. “Ah . . .”
“Thomas, I can’t treat you unless I know what we’re looking at.”
“It burns when I . . .” Fuck, why am I suddenly embarrassed about this shit. Because it’s fucking mortifying. I clear my throat. “It burns when I take a piss and there’s this weird stuff coming out—”
“Right,” he says quickly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. When did you first notice that something was wrong?” He tilts his head toward the hospital bed and I move that way, undoing my pants before sitting down on the gurney.
“Maybe a week ago. It was just a niggle, like something wasn’t right but I went to the men’s room at lunch and knew something was wrong. So here I am.”
“Good decision,” he says, walking over to stand beside the bed, leaning over to pull some gloves from the dispenser on the wall. “Show me the problem.”
He doesn’t show anything other than a perfect bedside manner as I pull down my underwear and show him my dick. Things you never imagine having to show your best friend, check.
“You’ve got a sexually transmitted infection. I’ll need a urine sample to confirm, though,” he announces matter-of-factly and having finished examining my junk, steps back and pulls off the offending rubber gloves.
“Can’t you just give me a shot?”
His responding snort is the only crack in his professional demeanor.
“I’m doing a full screen for STDs and you’re honestly thinking that I can clear it up with a shot?” He’s right of course, but seriously, why hasn’t someone invented that already?
Burning sensation when you pee? Have a shot of ‘VD-be-gone.’
Weird ‘stuff’ coming out of places it shouldn’t? Bend over and one little prick will clear it right up.
“Will it go back to normal?” I ask irrationally, knowing it’s an STD and not castration but a man can never be too sure of these things. I’ve watched those Sex Sent Me to the ER programs, I know that weird things can happen.
He chuckles and smirks. “Yes, Thomas. You’ll lose the STD tag but the drugs won’t make it any bigger.” Fucking smart ass.
“Thanks. I think I’m covered in that department, Carsen.”
“So the Swedish Cock Pump I found in the guest room must’ve been yours.”
“You’re hilarious. If this doctor thing doesn’t work out, you should think about stand up.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Seriously though?” I ask, all humor gone for the moment.
He steps forward and claps me on the arm. “Finish the antibiotics I’m going to prescribe you, and once we know what you’re dealing with, you’ll just need to come back in and get retested in three months. And if I were you, I’d sit down and make a list of everyone who even looked at your cock recently.”
“How recent?”
“It can’t be that big a list, surely?”
My silence speaks volumes—to the both of us—and the fact that I even have to think about it is a blinding smack in the face.
“You also can’t have sex until you’re clear. Public health and all that,” Cade says flippantly.
“Even a party for one?” I ask, partly joking but seriously hoping he’s not going to rule out Mrs. Palmer fun.
He struggles to hold back a grin. “You can’t infect your hand—or the penis pump—so you’re fine. But maybe this can be a lesson to you.”
“To wrap it before I slap it?” He winces and I swear his thighs tense on autopilot.
“Can’t believe you didn’t. Safe Sex 101.”
“It was just once . . .”
“Well at least you know when you got it . . . right?” he says with an obvious sound of relief.
I suddenly feel embarrassed about my recent Laissez-faire approach to sex and women. “One girl I’ve seen twice, a few months apart . . .”
“Thomas . . .” he growls. “Both times without protection?”
I nod, feeling his recrimination deep in my bones. “So I’m guessing I need to tell the women in between now?”
“That’s my professional instruction, yes.” Shit. That might be a long-ish list considering there were three months in between visits with said ‘one-time thing.’
“Ever thought of keeping it in your pants for a while?” he says ironically, considering he’s been my wingman more times than I’ve had hot dinners.
“The last time I did that was when I was a teenager.”
“And look where you are now. I’m so proud,” he says, wiping a fake tear away. This is no longer my doctor speaking, this is my best friend of fifteen years.
“Says the man who’s now getting it regularly from his former mother-buffer friend with benefits.”
“Who I wasted ten months not being with because I thought it was just a one-time thing,” he retorts. “And I would give up everything to make up that time now that I know what I’ve got with Abi.” Cade and Abi got together a year ago then again a few months ago. Now that they’re together–as in full relationship with a lot of benefits that I have to hear far too regularly–I can’t imagine them ever not being together. They’re just that perfect for one another.
“I just haven’t found the right woman. You snatched her off the market before I could even introduce myself,” I tease.
“You’re a funny guy.”
“A funny guy with an STD.”
“Let’s see what the tests come back with and we’ll go from there.”
“That’s it. I’m never having sex again.” I reach down and gently cup my crotch. “It’s okay buddy, we’ll get you all fixed up and happy again.”
Cade quirks a brow at me, his expression one of ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ “You need a girl–no, a woman–to knock you on your ass and make you want to change your ways.”
“Like there’s even a woman out there who’d ever make me want to do that.”
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove it. No more casual sex, definitely no unsafe sex, and hold out for the right woman.”
I don’t answer straight away, giving his suggestion the respect it deserves, because what harm can it do. Right now, sex is so far from my mind, what harm is a little abstinence going to cause?
“Care to make it worth my while?”
He barks out a laugh, shaking his head at me. “Only you would bet on your sex life.”
I shoot him a grin. “What can I say, I value the future happiness of my cock very highly.”
“Obviously,” he muses. “I bet you can’t hold out.”
“Why would I?”
“Just try it. You might surprise yourself.”
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” I ask, not sure how I’m feeling about the lack of faith Cade has in me.
“Nope. I give it a month, or the first hot redhead to look your way. Whatever comes first.”
“The woman always comes first, Doctor Carsen. Have I taught you nothing?”
He steps toward me and holds his arm out. “I bet you can’t hold out.”
I grasp hold of his hand, looking him dead straight in the eye. “I’m telling you, the next woman I take to bed will be the one.”
His head jerks back and his eyes grow wide. “That’s a big call, Caldwell.”
“I’m sick of fucking around. Look where and what it got me.”
“So abstinence makes the heart grow fonder?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.
“Or the cock grow harder.”
“Probably both,” he says, full out grinning now. “You sure about this?”
“Yep.” The more I think about it, the surer I actually am. If I’ve learned anything from this, it’s that it’s high time I had a mid-thirties life overhaul.
With the decision made, it’s then that I make my vow to Cade.
“I swear to you, on our friendship and my future happiness, the next woman that gets me, will be the one that gets me and only me.”
And blue balls and wet dreams be damned, I’m going to damn well stick to it.
TWO WEEKS LATER
Drama in the club where I work is not uncommon. Jealous girlfriends, testosterone and alcohol-fueled scuffles between guys looking for some action, I’ve seen it all.
But this was different. Thomas Caldwell–the man I’ve admired from afar but would never go for–sitting on a stool at the bar next to a rather unexpected woman and she was shrieking at him.
He frowns, the fingers of one hand gripping a bottle of Coors on the bar in front of him, his arm draped over the back of the obviously irate woman’s chair.
“Michelle, I’m not saying—”
“You just told me your man-whore dick is infected—”
“Was, it’s not anymore. Can you keep your voice down?” he says, his expression resigned and–if I’m not mistaken–he almost looks embarrassed. Totally not his normal demeanor.
“And that I should get tested,” she continues.
“Yes,” he replies, dropping his head—and his hand—and taking a long pull from his beer.
“Asshole!” she shrieks–again–standing up and throwing her gin and tonic at his face leaving him wide-eyed and drenched.
I stand there equal parts shock and amused, watching in avid fascination as she grabs her purse and storms out of the bar.
Thomas doesn’t move, frozen in place as he watches his disgruntled—okay furious—date leave the building.
Looking back to his beer, his shoulders sag, and his eyes glued to his beer bottle and part of me braces for what he might do next.
But he doesn’t do anything. He grabs a napkin and wipes his face then just sits there, staring into space, his body language screaming defeat, the cocky asshole I’ve come to expect nowhere to be seen.
Feeling the need to do something, so I put the cocktail glass I’m polishing down behind the bar and make my way toward him.
Looking up, he lifts his chin in my direction before returning to the seemingly focused examination of his drink, his fingers picking mindlessly at the paper label.
“All good, Thomas?” I ask cheerfully. Normally I’d relish in such a scene where a man’s chickens come home to roost. I’m not a prude. Hell, my two best friends have made sure of that with all their sex stories and exploits. But something about his body language, so different from his normal confident self, stops me from being a snarky ‘I told you so’ bitch.
“Nope,” he replies, eyes meeting mine. Despondent, thy name is Thomas.
“Want another beer?”
“Yep.” He doesn’t look away. He just sits there, elbows resting on the bar, hands holding a now empty bottle, gaze glued to mine.
I turn around and bend down to the fridge behind the bar, pulling out another Coors and returning to Thomas, handing over the new drink and tugging at the empty bottle in front of him.
“Want to talk about it?” His eyes flash but as quick as it appears, it’s gone, and like a light has been switched, his edible full lips twitch and slowly curl up into a grin.
“You going to be my shrink and serve me drinks, Amy? Because I don’t need a therapist but I do need a never-ending supply of alcohol.”
“But I thought lending an ear was part of the job description?”
“So you offer extra services too?” he replies snottily.
“You’re sounding rather defensive there, Thomas. And to be honest, you’re being a bit of a dick when all I’m trying to do is help.”
“Not at all, blue eyes,” he retorts with a cheesy—and cocky—smile, made worse when he adds an unnecessary and rather exaggerated wink. I fully admit it makes my belly flutter but I don’t dare let him know that.
Instead I place my hands on my hips and lift my brow. “I know your type, Thomas Caldwell. You’re good looking and cocky with a walk that tells women you know what you’ve got in your pants and you definitely know how to use it. I bet if I was anyone else, you’d probably say something along the lines of ‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’ Am I close?”
“You’re not anyone else. You’re Amy.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, the hair on the back of my neck prickling with awareness.
He shrugs and lifts his beer to his mouth, eyes pinned to mine as he takes a long sip. My gaze drops to his throat, the slow measured movements of his Adam’s apple suddenly fascinating.
I’ve always appreciated Thomas. His charm, his beautiful tousled blond hair, his crisp sea-blue eyes and most assuredly his body made for sin.
From the first time I saw him at the club, I wanted him and for more than just an orgasm. But the more I watched him, the more I discovered that one night of assuredly good sex was all he was willing to give anyone—maybe everyone—and I didn’t want to open myself up to the world of hurt that a man like Thomas would certainly deliver had I let my vagina get her way.
So I’ve admired from afar, tortured myself with night after night of watching him seduce women with a wink, a smile and sweet—but most assuredly dirty—words whispered in their ears. I can’t say it hasn’t been entertaining though.
Now though, I’m curious over the dramatic departure of his date and not being the type of woman to ever let something like that go, I don’t stop myself from addressing the elephant in the room.
“So your date . . .”
“Not a date,” he replies gruffly. “A woman I slept with a few months ago.”
“Ah,” I reply. “She wasn’t happy that you’re a one-night wonder?”
He chokes, spluttering as his wide eyes bore into me, his mouth agape. “What makes you say that?” His tone is cautious, almost intrigued.
I lean into the bar, inadvertently bringing my face closer to his. “I’ve been working this bar for five years and you’ve been coming in here for at least a few of those,” I explain, grabbing a cloth and wiping down the bar in front of him. “I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen most of you guys come in here on the prowl and leave with more than your fair share of willing prey.”
“Prey, huh?”
I grin at him. “Well, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, but you can’t tell me you haven’t spread the love far and wide over the years. Even still, I’ve never seen you get a drink to the face before.”
“She was pissed at me.”
“You don’t say.” My sarcasm isn’t subtle and he definitely doesn’t miss it.
“I’ve narrowed it down to five reasons why a woman would throw a drink at a man.”
He leans back and crosses his perfectly toned arms over his chest.
“Impart your wisdom, oh wise bartender.” He takes another drink of his beer and—yet again—watching me like a hawk. I wish he’d stop watching me.
My confidence wavers under his intense stare but when I catch a knowing glint in his eye, it riles me up. There’s nothing worse than a guy who hides his unease behind a cocky façade, especially when I know there’s something genuine hiding there.
It’s one of the worst qualities a guy can have. It’s disingenuous and fake and if there’s two things I hate—in anyone—it’s that.
I square my shoulders and stand up straight, deciding to let him have it, putting my hands out in front of me to count on my fingers.
“One, you cheated on her.” He shakes his head, an amused smile playing on his lips.
“Nope. Next.”
“Two, connected to the first, you hooked up with her sister, best friend or mother . . .” He snorts at that one, chuckling under his breath as he shakes his head again.
“Right, then, the last three,” I continue. “Three through five are offending her family/job/friends or outfit, asking her to pay for your date and lastly, giving her an STD.”
His eyes grow wide and he sits bolt upright.
Bingo.
“Who told you?”
“What?”
“Did you overhear me talking to Michelle?”
“Oh my God,” I say before I can filter, taking a step back.
“It’s nothing. Well it was something, but now it’s treated so it’s a non-issue. I just have to . . .” he reaches up and grips the back of his neck, his head dropped down toward the ground.
Gone is the facade, this is the real man underneath it all. The one I’ve heard about but never seen. “I have to inform women I’ve been with in case I’ve given it to them.”
“Thomas, I didn’t know. I was just guessing.”
“Shit. If this wasn’t bad enough already.”
“Thomas, it happens—”
“Oh believe me, I’m well aware of that. I’ve had the test and taken the antibiotics to prove it,” he says bitterly.
“So that’s why she stormed out of here like her ass was on fire?”
“That’ll be why,” he replies sarcastically.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I reply, needing to reassure him, somehow make him feel a little bit better.
He sighs loudly, I’m guessing part relief part resignation. “It’s fine. She was the last one. I figured that by meeting her in a public place I might avoid a scene.”
“Yeah, sorry to tell you but any high maintenance woman like that will always make a scene when given news like that. My guess is she wasn’t happy with the one-night stand part of the arrangement so she was probably already feeling pretty stabby when it came to the subject of you. Telling her you might have also given her the Clap looked like it was the last straw.”
“It wasn’t the Clap,” he mutters.
“Sorry?”
“It wasn’t gonorrhea, it was chlamydia.”
“Right. The Clam then,” I reply cheerfully and finally I break through, a wry grin making an appearance.
Noticing his beer is nearly empty, I nod to the bottle. He pours the rest into his mouth and hands me the empty. “Thanks. You didn’t have to be nice about this.”
“I’m not exactly going to sell drinks being a bitch, am I?”
He chuckles and I take just a moment—just a smidge—to admire the beauty that is Thomas Caldwell, smiling and relaxed after what must’ve been a difficult conversation with the long gone Michelle.
I freely admit that Thomas is hot and he’s featured in my bean-flicking highlight reel more than once.
Would I ever tell him or anybody that fact? Not on your life, Nelly.
But I’m glad I’ve been able to make him smile, everyone deserves that after a shitty day.
One thing is for sure, I know that underneath that cocky, sex on legs, ‘want him to bend me over and do me nasty’ exterior, there’s also a decent human being who is more than the ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ façade he’s known for. Beyond my already high on the Richter scale physical attraction to him, it’s a definite blow considering the way he’s been with me today.
Because after a discussion like this, I know I’ve been instantly relegated from a potential bedmate to forever being his friend’s best friend and nothing more because everyone knows that guys think with their dicks first and their minds later.
I’m simply a convenient ear in the right place at the right time. Unfortunately for me, it’s the wrong time for Thomas to see me as anything else either.
I’ve been friend-zoned by circumstance and by an STD of all things. There’s one for the history books.