Playing Doctor: A Standalone Office Romance

by JD Hawkins

  “It’s not a bad feature,” Maeve interrupts quickly. “That’s why you’re such a great doctor. But prevention and cures won’t make you happy. Sometimes you need a little of what’s bad for you.”

  “Even so… Doing anything with a colleague I see on a daily basis is a terrible idea. I don’t need to overanalyze anything to see that.”

  I suck down the last of my cocktail to punctuate my point. Maeve looks at me mischievously.

  “Well I hope this guy is good at taking what he wants then.”

  5

  Colin

  “I’m taking it,” I say, as Zach puts the ball down for the free kick.

  It’s three–three, and this will probably be the final kick of the game. The Pasadena bastards chose a wet, rough grass field to play the game, so that the ball would bobble and bounce, making the game less about skill and more about fighting for headers and winning violent tackles. Dastardly fuckers.

  All twenty-two of us are covered in mud and sweat, a few with blood too. It’s been more like a brawl than a soccer game. I’ve been kicked more than the ball itself, my right knee still aching, my left shoulder almost dislocated in a hard tumble—but I’ve given as good as I’ve gotten.

  Three–three. For the Pasadena bastards, that’s victory enough. For us it’s an embarrassment—but there’s still time.

  “Cross it into the box,” Gareth urges as he steps past me toward the shoving rabble gathering in front of the goal.

  “Yeah. It’s forty yards, Colin,” Zach says. “Don’t risk a shot.”

  “Sure, get in there,” I say, urging him to get into the box, too—but I’ve already decided, and convincing my own team should also convince the Pasadena bastards I’m just going to put the ball in the box for them to fight for a header, a scrap, the hope someone will poke it into the net.

  Zach leaves me standing over the ball alone, and I visualize what I’m about to do. I imagine a perfect strike, the ball curling around the four-man wall and toward the corner of the goal. Too fast for the goalie to get to, too accurate for anybody to do anything about. I imagine the sweet sound of the ball brushing inside of the net.

  A strange silence emerges, the wall glaring at me, casting a mental hex. The shouts from the defense and the attack lessening as they prepare, as they focus on pushing and darting around to find the space. I look at them as if trying to pick who to aim for, another bluff I hope the goalkeeper buys, giving me the inches I need.

  And then, I empty my mind, and take the run-up. Just me and the ball. It’s all confidence. All instinct. For all the science and stats and tactics and attrition of sport, sometimes it just comes down to a pure moment. Absolute desire, and the courage to take it.

  My knee throbs with a shock of pain as I move toward the ball, but I don’t think about ballooning it high over the goal, or slamming it straight into the four-man wall. I don’t think about putting it straight into the goalie’s arms, or missing by a single inch. If a single molecule within me contemplated failure, I wouldn’t be doing this. I wouldn’t be taking it.

  And then the moment is gone. The ball is struck. Outside of the foot, the ball heading yards away from the goal, but spinning furiously, angrily, imbued with the whole ninety minutes of mud-soaked battle. White and black ball against the dusty-blue night sky, floodlights like rays of heaven. It’s like watching my own soul, an out-of-body experience. Twenty-two held breaths, still statues, all eyes on the whipping ball as it curves toward the goal, as if magnetized to it, as if desiring it.

  The goalkeeper leaps, arms outstretched—and he’s already six-four—but the ball wants it, I want it, and nothing can stop it from sailing into the top corner, slamming into the net, which ripples like the quiver of a woman’s body.

  The goalie crashes to the ground, his team drop to their knees, throwing arms into the air, shouting at each other. I barely have time to run away and celebrate before I’m buried in my teammates.

  “You son of a bitch! I told you to cross it!” Gareth laughs at me.

  “What a goal! What a fucking hit!”

  “Look! Look at the faces on those assholes! We whipped them! Beautiful!”

  You can probably hear the celebrations all the way in Glendale. We practically dance back to the locker rooms, and the buzz lasts all through the showers. A night out becomes an inevitability in this kind of mood, and soon we’re all setting off for the nearest bar able to tolerate eleven hyped-up men looking to get drunk and celebrate.

  I take it easy—my knee and shoulder still aching a little—and end up sitting next to Jake at the bar while half the team embarrasses themselves on the dance floor, and the other half splits off to buy drinks for any single ladies they can find.

  Jake’s still smiling as he sucks down his third beer.

  “Man,” he says, “what I’d give to see what those fuckers were like in the locker room after.”

  “Somehow I doubt they’re gonna become better people because of it.”

  Jake laughs, then gestures at the bartender for another beer before leaning toward me.

  “Don’t think I forgot, by the way,” he says. I raise an eyebrow and he continues. “I need a full report on your new job.”

  I drain my beer when the new one is put before me. “It’s a lot more work than the last place, but it’s a lot more interesting, too.”

  “Pff. You know what I mean, dude,” Jake says, waving my comment away. “How are the nurses? Any of them worth breaking a leg for?”

  “As if you need an excuse to break a leg,” I say. “There are a few cute ones, sure…”

  The way I trail off makes Jake lean a little closer.

  “Go on,” he says. “What is it?”

  I shrug and take my time before answering. “There’s one, though—she’s a doctor, not a nurse. She’s…”

  He nods, grinning wide. “Incredibly fucking hot?”

  I shake my head, almost feeling insulted. Feeling like that doesn’t do her justice.

  “No… ‘Hot’ you can find any Friday in any club.”

  “Cute?”

  “You can find that at a bodega.”

  “Sexy?”

  I shake my head again. “No… Sexy you can see just walking down the beach. This girl… She’s got something more.”

  “Now I’m interested,” Jake says. “Describe.”

  “I dunno… Something about her drives me a little crazy. She’s kind of uptight. She’s very ‘focused’ on her work. I’ve barely even spoken to her but she’s got the kind of face I can’t forget.”

  Jake smiles and nods. “Well I know where I’ll be booking my next checkup.”

  “Sure, I’ll book you in,” I say. “She’s a gynecologist.” He laughs and I continue. “Anyway, all it means is that I need to start jerking off before I get to work, because there’s zero chance of me making the mistake of fucking a colleague again.”

  “Ah come on, dude. You just got unlucky.”

  “I don’t believe in luck. I wouldn’t have taken that shot if I did. I was stupid. I let my cock think for me.” I turn around to the bar, and glance over at Zach necking with a cute brunette, then turn back to Jake. “We live in a big city, with a lot of beautiful women. I just need a little piece on the side. No need to shit where I eat.”

  “Does that mean we’re hitting the clubs after these beers?”

  I consider it for a moment, then shake my head.

  “Nah. I should eat something and then get an ice pack on my knee. Weekend though, if you’re game.”

  “I’m always game, dude. I’m kinda hungry myself anyway. Hey, there’s this new place someone told me about around here. Kinda fancy, but fuck it. I hear they got killer California rolls. On me—least I could do for the man of the match. You down?”

  I down the rest of my beer, then slam it on the table.

  “Lead the way.”

  Ten minutes later we’re out on the street, walking to this “fancy” place Jake suggested. I check my phone as we walk,
half considering calling an old hookup.

  “It’s just up here,” Jake says.

  An old hookup… Maybe that short-haired actress with an ass so firm I could never help biting it. Or perhaps the dermatologist I met at a conference who liked to lick food from my abs. For some reason, as horny as I am, as long as it’s been, none of them seem to cut it…

  “Whoa, I just lost my appetite and gained a new one,” Jake says, hitting my arm. “Check it out. Two devils in red dresses.”

  I look up to see two women stepping out of the restaurant we’re heading toward. Both of them incredible.

  “Which do you want, the redhead or the blonde?” Jake says.

  Then they turn as they look up and down the street, and I recognize one of them.

  “The redhead,” I say, to myself more than Jake. “That’s her. That’s the doctor.”

  Jake turns from the women, to me, and back again, then laughs.

  “No shit. I can see why you’re in trouble.”

  I step toward them with as much conviction as I ran up for the free kick. As Mia notices me I smile politely. “Evening, Doctor Taylor,” I say.

  “Colin? Hi!” she says, looking confused, and even confusion looks impossibly cute on her. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re just out for a post-soccer meal. This is my teammate, Jake.”

  “How do you do?” Jake says gleefully.

  “This is Maeve,” Mia says. “My good friend. Maeve, this is Doctor Pierce.”

  The knockout blonde smiles mischievously at me, and I can tell instantly that she’s an absolute maneater. The kind of woman who’d rock you for an entire night, and maybe spit you out if you’re lucky. She’s the last kind of woman I’d expect Mia to be friends with, but then again, there’s a lot about Mia I’ve yet to learn.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Maeve says, looking at me like she’s sizing me up for an outfit.

  Mia suddenly goes almost as red as her hair, but a car pulls up to the curb beside her like a rescue boat, and she turns to her friend.

  “Maeve, why don’t you take this cab. I’ll get another. We’re heading to different parts of town anyway.”

  Maeve takes one last lingering look at me, at Jake, then turns to her friend.

  “Sure thing,” she says, winking at Mia. “I’ll see you next week, honey.”

  They hug quickly and Maeve waves demurely at us before stepping into the cab like it’s a stretch limo.

  “Jake,” I say out of the corner of my mouth, unwilling—perhaps unable—to take my eyes from Doctor Taylor. “Why don’t you go in and get us a table.”

  “Good idea,” Jake says, always a good wingman. “See you inside. Nice to meet you, Doctor Taylor.”

  He waves at Mia quickly and then steps away, leaving just the two of us standing there on the street.

  “I didn’t actually tell her all about you… I mean, she just said that. You know, like a thing to say…” Mia stutters, still a little red. “She’s just like that.”

  I let out a gentle laugh to show I’m not bothered, then say, “How’s the restaurant?”

  “It’s great. Yeah.”

  “You had drinks?”

  She nods. “We ate there, too. The food is incredible. I recommend the California rolls, but they have a whole Asian fusion thing going on and it’s all good.”

  I nod, hoping to prolong the conversation. “You look incredible,” I blurt, unable to think about anything else, finding it impossible to remember why I’m not kissing this woman, the compliment coming out in a deep growl of desire. “That dress is…breathtaking.”

  “Thanks,” Mia says. “I don’t usually dress up, but… Makes a change from a doctor’s coat, right?”

  “You look pretty great in that too,” I say, and her eyes fix upon me, lips parted.

  I could kiss her right now… Grab her and taste her and then take her somewhere we can give in to ourselves, to each other…

  Just then, another cab rolls up, and the spell is broken. Mia steps toward the car.

  “Anyway. I better get going,” she says, shyness getting the better of her. “See you.”

  I nod. “Yeah, of course. Have a good one.”

  The outside world pours back in, that brief moment between us gone, the opportunity gone—though I know with absolute certainty that there will be more. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist all of them.

  6

  Mia

  Of course the big staff meeting would fall on my day off. I wouldn’t be surprised if the people who had arranged it did that deliberately. Doctor Choudhry would have kicked up a fuss if it was his day off, and Doctor Harper would have simply not shown up. Little ol’ Mia, however, can be counted on to show. She’s such a professional. Predictably so.

  Not that I have anywhere better to be.

  The meeting is in the evening, so I decide to take it easy when I get up in the morning and take care of some light cleaning, laundry, and a handful of emails. Then I curl up on the couch with my book, glad I don’t have more of an apartment to clean.

  I’d only taken it as a temporary place when I first got the job at Santa Teresa, but after seven years, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever leave. I’d always intended to move somewhere bigger, nicer, without the constant noise of a busy street and a row of office buildings for neighbors—but like a lot of things, hunting for a new place got shunted down the priority list.

  Once I’m done folding laundry, I take another break to put together a sandwich, and like a dream I can’t control, my mind veers from what I plan to do with the rest of my afternoon to my run-in with Colin the night before.

  “Makes a change from a doctor’s coat…”

  “You look pretty great in that too…”

  Even in the dull familiarity of my tiny apartment I feel a shiver go down my spine, my thighs squeezing together, my breath getting a little shallower. Something about him so powerful and magnetic that even just picturing him in my mind has an effect on me.

  How could that be anything other than flirting? Even with Maeve there, he barely seemed to glance at her. I’m not used to that…

  The real question is, does his flirting actually mean anything?

  I’m not a jumpy person, but when the doorbell rings I feel like the thing is wired to my spine, dropping my sandwich and feeling a shock of adrenaline that would be enough to revive the dead.

  “Shit…” I mutter, looking down at the avocado BLT now decorating the newly cleaned floor, gathering it up quickly and dumping as much of it back on the plate as I can before getting up to answer the door.

  The doorbell goes off again.

  “I’m coming!” I call back, using my rowdy-patient tone.

  I pull the door open to a tall, good-looking guy with wavy auburn hair, dark eyes, and a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt over a white tee. A sleek, expensive watch on one arm and a sleeve of tattoos on the other draw attention to his muscled forearms. Following his angled jawline pulls the eye to a diamond stud in his ear, and a pair of aviators hangs from the neckline of his shirt. He could probably be a model, if only he could sit still for that long.

  “Toby?”

  “I did it again, Mia,” he says, half angrily, half exasperated. Stepping past me into the apartment with frustrated, tense movements, he scratches his head aggressively, then turns back to face me imploringly. “I fucking did it again, can you believe it?”

  My brother. One of the most popular jewelers in Los Angeles, though unlike me his work only seems there to support his life, rather than the other way around. He’s older than me by a good three years, but a combination of me being more mature than my age, and Toby being forever wild means I quickly learned that I was the older sister, age-wise or not.

  I close the door slowly and then look back at him. “What happened again?”

  Toby allows a pause before answering, puppy dog eyes that would get most guys an Oscar. “I’m in love.”

  I allow myself only a
small smile as I move back into the living room to continue cleaning up the mess I made with my sandwich.

  “What’s that? Your third soulmate this year?”

  “Come on, Mia! Don’t mock me!”

  “Well I’m happy for you, Toby.”

  Toby always had a big appetite. Fancy cars, eye-catching clothes, lavish parties, and women. His ability to make friends, connections, and deals, as well as his good eye, led him into the jewelry business. And then the jewelry business only furthered his ability to spend time with every celebrity, rapper, and model living in L.A. There isn’t a single night of the week Toby isn’t invited to at least three parties, and he lives his life so fast, and with such a sense for the dramatic, that he usually attends all of them and still leaves the biggest impression.

  There are only two problems with Toby’s rockstar, two-hundred-miles-an-hour, hedonistic, extravagant lifestyle.

  One: beneath the diamonds and the clothes and his larger-than-life persona, he’s actually an incurable romantic that would give the heroines in some of the books I read a run for their money.

  And two:

  “But she’s married!” he announces, in a tone that reminds me of how he used to beg me to cover for him when he was slinking out of the house on weekends.

  I look at him without a hint of surprise. Somehow, Toby always seems to fall for women who are already taken.

  “What a surprise,” I say drolly.

  Toby drops onto my couch, head in hands.

  “She’s incredible, Mia,” he says. I hit his leg for him to move so I can wipe down the floor where the bacon and mayo fell, and he lifts them so I can clean. “You’d like her—she’s really smart. Every time we meet we have these long conversations about life and how people are and what it means to really believe in something.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” I say, standing up and moving to the kitchen to get Toby a beer and myself a smoothie.

  “I’ve never met anyone like her,” he calls from the living room. “She’s so…spiritual. So deep. She’s got such a unique way of looking at the world.”