Kimberly
I was positive that my heart completely ceased beating as I stepped into my new doctor’s office. It was too convenient, too contrived, yet there he sat — the man of my dreams. He was looking at me with an expression that wavered between curiosity and what I could almost mistake as hunger. I felt paralyzed, unable to step toward him or even utter some sort of greeting. In short, I looked entirely foolish, but I wasn’t holding it against myself too terribly. I’m sure any woman would be shocked, were she in my position. Granted, I couldn’t deny that there was a surge of pleasure jolting through my body at the idea of getting to know him more personally. I wasn’t sure he would allow that, but as his expression shifted to one of friendliness, I managed a smile in turn.
“So… Kimberly Anderson,” he murmured, sounding as if he were savoring every syllable of my name. He rose from his seat, and if possible, I became even stiffer. His looked vaguely amused by my discomfort, holding my file in his hands as he stepped toward me. I could only wonder what was contained within the pages of said document, hoping it wasn’t anything too terribly embarrassing. I managed to force a smile, hoping I looked more sensual than I felt in that moment. He seemed entertained by my attempts, opening my file directly in front of me and scanning over it. I shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other as he seemed to take stock of a lifetime’s worth of medical records, from the time I got chicken pox to the time I got mono in tenth grade. It wasn’t something I liked to talk about, yet there it was, presented to the man I’d been dreaming of for the last few weeks.
“I never caught your name,” I stammered out a bit nervously, trying to appear coy in spite of the awkwardness of the situation.
“I never threw it,” he replied casually, snapping my file shut and turning his back on me to walk back to his desk. Resting his hip there, he considered me with a secretive little smile, as if he knew every dirty thought I’d had about him since we last met. “It’s David. David Strowman. I must say, it’s a surprise to see you here, although not an unpleasant one. Why don’t you give me a rundown of what I can do for you, what exactly brings you here—” he paused, hopping up on the desk and observing me with a small smile.
“Oh. Uhm. I guess what brings every woman to a fertility clinic,” I said carefully, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. He hummed under his breath, seeming to accept that answer as he jotted down some notes on the pad he was carrying with him.
“So… you’re here for fertility treatments, then. Where’s your husband? Boyfriend? Partner?” he pressed, seeming a little more reserved than when I’d first stepped into the office. I realized how the situation must seem and laughed a bit breathlessly.
“Oh no, no. I don’t have any of those. I’m not the type to fool around with men in clubs when I’m seeing someone. I just… Well, I was looking into the options, should that time come. I also considered in vitro fertilization, but it’s probably beyond my price range. I actually,” I paused, looking at my feet. “I had actually planned to come here back when I was seeing my ex. It didn’t really work out in my favor, though, as you can probably tell,” I trailed off, taking a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk. He kept his gaze focused on me, intently absorbing every word that came out of my mouth.
“I can’t imagine why anyone would leave someone as beautiful as you. That is, if I may be so bold as to say as much. You’re quite the catch, Miss Anderson,” he smiled, the expression remarkably kind and surprisingly sincere. I chuckled under my breath, feeling my cheeks redden beneath his gaze.
“Well, not exactly. My boyfriend and I tried for a baby what must have been hundreds of times, all to no avail. I can’t exactly blame him for leaving me, though he could have been much kinder about it,” I laughed nervously, tapping my fingers on my thigh. David seemed to be growing increasingly annoyed, the more I talked about my ex-boyfriend, and I couldn’t help idly wondering what I had done wrong.
“He left you because you couldn’t get pregnant? And you two didn’t even try some form of fertility treatment before calling it quits?” he asked bluntly, his arms crossed over his broad chest. I stammered for a moment, looking from him, to his desk, to the floor, and back again. I couldn’t help but fidget beneath the intensity of his stare, startling a bit when he reached out to take me by the hand. His expression was tense, but his touch was gentle as he stroked his thumb along the back of my knuckles.
“Well, he didn’t tell me in so many words. I just put two and two together when I caught him with another woman in our apartment,” I chuckled a bit airily, gasping as his grip on my hand tightened and he looked me in the eyes with all the ferocity of a mama bear protecting her cubs.
“He cheated on you! That dirty son of a bitch,” he swore. I felt my eyes widen in shock, taken aback by the clearly unprofessional behavior from the doctor. It didn’t exactly bother me; it wasn’t like I was still carrying a torch for the man who had dragged me through the dirt.
“W-well, yeah. I’m mostly over it at this point, though,” I managed, offering him a weak smile. He continued to frown intently, stroking his fingers steadily across the back of my knuckles.
“You deserve so much better than that, Kimberly. I hope you know that. I also hope one bad experience with a douchebag won’t tarnish your view of males as a whole,” he muttered, drawing away and flipping through my file once more.
“Is that your professional opinion on the matter, Doctor Strowman?” I asked teasingly, enjoying the soft shade of red that set his cheeks alight. He shrugged noncommittally, slipping off of his desk and circling around to his office chair. Once seated there, he looked like a proper professional again, and I found myself feeling rather intimidated.
“Well, we could always meet to discuss my professional opinion over lunch sometime. Or, if you’d rather, we could skip the meal and go straight to dessert,” he teased, winking in a manner that was too charming to be acceptable. I felt my heart begin to pound, my cheeks lighting up a familiar shade of red as I averted my eyes.
“Uhm… I don’t see any problem with that,” I said meekly, unable to believe this handsome doctor was asking me out for dinner. The fact that I’d already slept with said doctor didn’t stifle my feelings whatsoever, especially considering I’d never expected to see him again. He smiled, jotting something down on a slip of paper and pressing it into my hands. I unfolded the paper with a curious expression, delighted to see a series of digits written across the page. His phone number — he liked me enough to give me his phone number. I felt like jumping up and dancing, but common sense dictated I at least pretend to be a proper lady.
“You can reach me at this number any time, alright, sweetheart? Don’t be shy; feel free to text or call any time,” he said gently, glancing at the clock and making a face. “Shit. My next appointment will be here soon,” he hissed out, slapping his forehead into his hand. I chuckled softly, standing up from my chair and edging toward the door.
“Sorry for wasting your time for what seemed more like a psychological evaluation. I’ll make another appointment as soon as I can,” I said hurriedly, not wanting to take up any more of his time. He rolled his eyes, waving me off casually.
“Don’t worry about it, babe. This visit is on my dime,” he said with a quirk of his lips. I stammered for several moments, unsure how to respond.
“Y-you don’t have to do that. I have the money to cover it,” I argued. He stared pointedly at me, steepling his fingers atop his desk.
“I didn’t ask if you had the money to cover it. I simply told you I would cover it. Be a good girl and accept the treatment,” he said firmly, although his grin betrayed his tone. I smiled in spite of myself, shrugging my shoulders and accepting defeat. What could I say? These doctor types could be very convincing when they wanted to be.
“I’ll make it up to you somehow, Doctor Strowman,” I grinned, hoping my tone didn’t betray the dirty thoughts circling inside my brain. He only smiled, gesturing for me to slip out of his office. I obliged, pausing in the waiting room to enter his number into my contact list. I couldn’t help but add a little heart beside his name, feeling entirely enamored with the man I’d only met two times thus far. I knew him feeling the same way was a long shot of all long shots, but I had to at least give it a try. I had to see if I could win his heart with as much ease as he’d won my own.
“Hello, Miss… Anderson?” the friendly receptionist asked, her hair pinned back immaculately. I smiled and stepped up to the sign-out counter, which was really just an offset of where you signed in. “Did Doctor Strowman give you some kind of indication about your future plans at the clinic?” she pressed. Although I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth, I could at least come close.
“Oh, yes. The doctor is very friendly, and I’d like to make another appointment for next week,” I said with ease, sending a cursory text to the doctor to ensure he had my number as well. I wanted to be sure he could touch base with me in case of any emergencies. In his field of work, who knew when something could come up that would interfere with a potential date? The receptionist seemed to pick up on the fact that I was paying her very little mind, and her expression soured a bit, although I couldn’t bring myself to care too terribly.
“Would you like a morning or afternoon appointment?” she asked in saccharine sweet tones. I considered for a moment, weighing my options. If I came in the morning, there was less of a chance of interruption, and who knew what the doctor and I could get caught up in? However, the afternoon gave me plenty of time to get nice and peppy before the appointment. I didn’t want to come in looking like a mopey slob, after all. Either way, I was certain the doctor had locks on his office door, so if I decided I was feeling a little frisky, I got the feeling that he wouldn’t make any real effort to stop me.
“Afternoon,” I said after a few quick moments of thought, accepting my appointment card with a smile that was surprisingly sincere. The receptionist seemed a bit suspicious of my excited attitude, but thankfully said nothing about it. As I stepped out the door to leave the clinic, I kissed the appointment card before slipping it into my wallet. The next few days spoke of big adventure, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of spending time with the handsome doctor.
It was the first day of the rest of my life.