Dr. Davenport moves up the bed, pulls off her gloves and tosses them in the garbage, and then gently opens the front of my gown to give my boobs a quick rubdown. I once again look awkwardly to the ceiling as she makes circles from my nipples all the way out to the edges of my breasts.
“Good,” she says again, and for as dramatic as I’ve been about this whole thing, I take another deep breath. Anytime you can come to this doctor’s office without getting bad news is a blessing.
I sit up a little, shuffling my bare ass from the edge of the table to back under my body. She makes some notes on my chart and then looks back at me.
“Do you want an STI test?”
“No.”
The doctor nods, ready to leave the room when panic overwhelms me. My mouth is about to move without my consent. I can feel it coming like vomit crawling up my throat. “Yes. Actually, yes. I’d like to get tested. Just to…know. For future reference kind of thing. Just in case.”
Could I be any more awkward? Seriously? Why am I like this?
“All right, then.” Dr. Davenport nods. “I’ll have the nurse come back in with the test in just a couple minutes.”
“Thank you.”
After Raleigh left me for his assistant, I should have gotten tested, but I could never bring myself to do it. I didn’t have any symptoms—thank God—but he’d been sleeping around on me for at least a year. And seeing as he’d gotten the woman pregnant, he was obviously not using protection.
But now…it just seems like I should.
It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the man in the room next door…
No way. I don’t even really know him. Plus, he’s done nothing but tease me all day.
You want to be teased, all right.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! This is a professional relationship, that’s all, despite what everyone in this office might think.
Jake Brent is Bachelor Anonymous. I’m spending the day with him tomorrow to know what to write about in my article. That’s it.
Jake
My bare feet sink into the cool sand of the early morning with ease as I sling my bag over my shoulder and look back in the direction of the parking lot.
A huge array of pink and red and orangey-purple paint the sky with an artistic warning of the sun’s upcoming arrival above my truck, and birds chirp in the silent stillness of it all.
I turn back to the roll of the ocean and make my way about halfway down to my normal spot in the sand before spreading out my towel and dropping my bag on top of it. Normally, I wouldn’t waste any time before pulling my T-shirt up and over my head, pulling on my wet suit, and heading into the ocean, but this morning—against all of my better judgment—I’m waiting on Holley Fields to join me.
I shake my head to myself. I still can’t believe I agreed to be a part of this shit. Fatherhood is a powerful form of emotional weaponry; I’ll tell you that.
I take a seat on my towel, but I face the street rather than the waves. The sun will be above the horizon at any moment, and for once, I’m going to allow myself the chance to watch it.
A lone plane leaves a trail in the pink mist at the top of the sherbet display, and sea gulls cry out for one another.
A flash of movement catches my eye from down below, and I tip my chin down away from the sky to see what it is. I recognize the little blue car immediately as it pulls into the parking lot, and I smile to myself with thanks that this time, it’s not nearly as close to running anyone over.
Once Holley Fields comes to a stop, she moves around on the inside, but I can just barely make her out through the windshield. Only a minute or two passes before she shoves her door open and climbs to her feet. I watch as she tugs at the waistband of her shorts, shoves one hand down the back to relieve herself of a wedgie, and then leans in again to pull a bag across from the passenger side.
She drags it out, grabs it by the top, and then shuts the door to walk away, but her whole body jerks back, the handle having gotten trapped in the door.