Chapter 2
Lars
I’m not surprised when I walk into the clinic to find the technician, Seb, already behind on morning prep. It’s not his fault, but I feel a twinge of irritation all the same.
“Next year, remind me to raise an objection to every damn tech going to the same conference. Surely half of them could have waited for a different CE this year.”
Seb huffs in agreement.
“You know they all just wanted to go to Florida.”
“Good for them; I want a clinic that isn’t understaffed for a whole week,” I grumble.
“Amen,” he agrees. “Sorry I’m behind, but I do have pre-meds drawn up you can sign off on quickly, and then we can get your first surgery cooking with her drugs while you knock out the vaccine appointments on the schedule first thing.”
Seb’s efficiency in the face of being overwhelmed calms me a little and reminds me why I’ve always liked the guy.
“Sounds like a plan,” I agree. “Pass me the surgical charts so I can double check the calculations and sign off on the dosages.”
He pushes three clipboards in my direction, and I get to work while he finishes drawing up pre-meds and then hurries off to get the vaccines ready for my morning appointments.
The morning is a little rocky, two of the three supposedly routine appointments presenting with a laundry list of concerns, setting my surgical schedule back by an hour. But by the time we get my first spay on the table, I relax a little. In my experience, there are two types of veterinarians: those who panic at the thought of surgery and those who love it. I fall into the latter category. So much so that I’ve considered going into surgical specialty. But with my obscene student loans, I’m not sure I can justify the pay cut I’d take while interning with a surgeon for a year and then spending three years as a resident.
I equip my blade handle with a blade and take a quick glance at the heart monitor and pulse ox to make sure everything looks good so far before making my first incision.
“So, how was your date? That was last night, right?” I ask.
“Meh,” he shrugs. “He was cute and all, but we didn’t really click.”
“Bummer,” I sympathize. “I can’t even tell you how many duds I went out with before I opened my eyes and realized what was right in front of my face.”
“Gag,” Seb complains with humor in his voice. “The last thing I need is to have your perfect relationship rubbed in my face.”
“You’ll find the right guy,” I assure him. “I guess what I’m saying is sometimes you need to pay attention because you may be missing the perfect person by looking so hard.”
“That sounds really smart and all, but trust me, my best friend, Trevor, is so not my soulmate.”
I chuckle as I tie off the right uterine horn and make my cut, watching for bleeding before releasing it and going for the left side.
“You’re young; don’t worry too much about it.”
“I’m almost thirty,” he grumbles. “But enough of my bitching. Are you and Jonah going to Pride next weekend? We should meet up there.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know. We’ve never gone.”
“Shut the front door,” Seb gasps. “You’ve never been to Pride?”
I shrug, making my final cut on the trunk of the uterus and removing it.
“It’s not really our thing.”
“Oh, come on, you have to go at least once,” he insists.
“Maybe,” I concede. “I’m not even sure Jonah isn’t on the rotation next weekend. I’ll ask him and see.”
“Yay,” Seb claps. “This is going to be so fun. I’m going in a pair of white shorts and angel wings, and I’m going to dye my hair rainbow. What are you going to wear?”
I laugh again and shake my head as I work on closing my incision.
“I’m not really the dress up type, and neither is Jonah. I can’t imagine him wearing any of those odd outfits.”
“Boring,” he sighs. “But as long as you come, I won’t complain.”
“That’s what he said,” I joke with a wink, and Seb keens with laughter.
Jonah
There’s a short lull in emergencies, and I lean against the nurse’s station, chatting and waiting for the inevitable floodgates to open again and fuck my day right up.
I know most doctors aren’t known for great relations with the nursing staff, but I started as a certified nursing assistant during undergrad, and I know exactly how hard they all work and how much they save doctors’ asses on a daily basis.
On my first day at Mercy Emergency, I brought cookies for the nurses to make sure I was starting off on the right foot, and it turned out to be the best decision I ever made. I can’t count the number of times they’ve helped me out of jams or gone above and beyond for me. Not to mention, a few of them have become good friends, hanging out on our days off, inviting each other to dinner parties, gossiping about our partners, the whole nine yards.
Addie, my very best friend of them all, tries to stifle a laugh as she looks at something on her phone.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“My brother,” she answers, giggling again. “He runs this gay sex advice blog, and I swear he has to be the snarkiest, most sarcastic person alive. Someone wrote in complaining about his boyfriend’s dick being too big to go down on, and my brother said he needed to thank the cock gods for bestowing such a gift on him and up his game. Then he goes on with a whole list of tips on giving head, including throat numbing spray or practicing on a banana to learn how to deepthroat.”
My eyes go wide, and I glance around discreetly to make sure no one is listening in on this.
“That sounds…interesting.” It never hurts to learn new tips or tricks when it comes to sex, but is there a way to ask for the name of the blog without it being awkward?
“Stop squirming, I’m sending you the link,” she assures me.
I chuckle with relief, and my phone vibrates in my pocket with her text. I pull it out and click on the link that takes me to a blog called The (W)hole Truth.
“With a title like that, I can’t imagine this blog will disappoint.”
“Right? Art’s hilarious,” Addie agrees. “He’s only twenty, still in college, and I was honestly worried he was going to be a sarcastic little burnout shithead his whole life, until I stumbled on his blog and realized he’s going to be just fine.”
I scroll through a few of the articles and advice columns, just skimming past them. He seems to cover a bit of everything from general sex and relationship advice, to kinks, to coming out and life in the queer lane, as he calls it.
“Does he make money doing this or is it a hobby?” I ask out of curiosity. It looks professional; I would’ve never guessed it was run by a college student.
“Oh yeah, he gets paid for the ads along the sides,” she explains, and my eyes dart to the closest ad, featuring Fleshlights. “And he offers special features to people who donate monthly to him.”
“Wow, this is impressive.”
“I know, you’d never guess he spends his days surrounded by a cloud of marijuana smoke,” she jokes lovingly.
My eyes linger on a post entitled Discover Your Kinks— Leave Vanilla Sex Behind and Find Out What Really Revs Your Engine. There’s a strange fluttering in the pit of my stomach as I hover over the link, trying to decide if I should click it or not. Lars and I have a great, if somewhat predictable, sex life. Kink has never been something we’ve discussed, nor has it been something I’ve ever thought about. So why is the post title so intriguing?
Before I can decide whether or not to click on it and read the full post, a possible concussion patient is admitted, and I have to put my phone away and get back to work. But for some reason, the article niggles at the back of my mind for the rest of the day.