by Kenna Ryan
Doctor
Last-Chance
Doctor Last-Chance is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real places, events, or people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 Kenna Ryan
Copyright © 2020 Kiss and Tale Ink
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
-Chapter One-
Hi. My name’s Kate Cleary, and I’m a nurse. I’m also a serial monogamist.
In an imaginary relationship.
So what if he doesn’t know? I don’t like to get bogged down in details.
I do like to watch the way his firm lips purse when he examines a patient.
I live for the countless times a day our hands brush or our shoulders bump. The way an exam room smells like his cologne and deodorant when I come in after he’s finished with a patient.
These are the things I take home and imagine while I Hitachi-magic-wand myself into slightly less sexually frustrated sleep. Dr. Jake Chance is the two-year hapless love of my life.
When I took this job, I’d barely finished nursing school. Dr. Dan Phillips, one of my instructors, founded this practice. He asked me to apply before I’d even graduated. I think partly he took pity on me. After a disastrous student-nurse vs. doctor collision with a resident I fell for at our regional hospital, I was a mess. But I proved myself, too, and Dr. Phillips didn’t let me go.
I thought I’d be working with him, a man made of bad puns who probably owned at least two World’s Greatest Grandpa t-shirts. It was a pretty big surprise on my first day to learn I’d be working with our practice’s newest GP instead.
My biggest mistake was thinking he would be a new doctor, not a newcomer to Maple Hills Family Medicine. Dr. Jake Chance was plenty experienced and pretty much a new nurse’s worst nightmare mixed with a few drops of alpha and a boatload of charm.
Two weeks in, when I wasn’t crying in my car on lunch break, I was surviving lust-at-first-sight. I hadn’t worried about my hair, the fit of my clothes, or the quality of my panties since high school or early college. Now they felt like everything.
He wasn’t going to see them; that was a foregone conclusion. But it didn’t matter. He was a meal, not a snack, and I was hungry all the damn time.
It didn’t take long to find our way around each other, figure out how to be a team. I was sure my pounding heart and nightly O-fests would die a swift death once I got to really know him. They say familiarity breeds contempt, and a lack of lady-boners, and all that.
Wrong.
Jake is patient with our elderly clients and sweet with kids. He never lets a single person leave without a diagnosis or at least the promise of doing everything he can to find one.
But what you really want to know is, would I kick him off the gurney for eating crackers? He’s six-foot-omg with abs like a brick layer’s and the smile of a boy-next-door. Tall, dark, and have-your-way-with-me. Pretty confident his brain isn’t the biggest thing on him and that’s an impressive endorsement of his other assets.
No, no I would not kick him off the gurney.
I don’t know when it happened or how it snuck up on me. I just know I wanted to bang and then… I fell and fell hard.
And now?
Well, today is my last day at the Maple Hills clinic and my second to last day in the city, so you can probably guess how the last two-and-a-half years have turned out.
The last six months, to be more specific, because before our clinic’s annual winter bunco night, all was well. Before then, I kept my emotions bottled up conceal-don’t-feel style like a normal adult.
After? Jake brings me coffee half the week, on the days I don’t pick it up for us. He still asks my advice when he has trouble connecting with a patient. When I spill ultrasound gel, he still threatens to hire a ‘real nurse’ with amusement lighting those deep brown eyes as he grabs the paper towels.
And at the end of the week I go home and cry myself to sleep and wait for the weekend to be over so I can see him again.
At least, I did. A month ago, when a phone message on his desk said ‘Call Jenny about the weekend’, I went through all the stages of grief; denial, anger, Häagen-Dazs, bargaining, boxed hair color, and finally– resignation.
Not acceptance. I’m not accepting, just admitting it’s never going to happen. I applied to St. Francis in Georgetown, one hundred and twenty-two miles away. Too far to come back, to pop in, to run into him at the Chevron on Friday after work.
Any other nurse would have been ecstatic. St. Francis has an opening in their emergency department about as frequently as Haley’s comet passes Earth. The ER is busy, modern, and everyone loves it so no one ever leaves. Two nurses at Maple Hills have applied three times each and been passed over. No one gets a position at St. Francis on their first try. I guess maybe not wanting something is the secret. If this is true, maybe it’s why I don’t have Jake beating down my door.
I know what you’re thinking: This is a gripping tale of a spineless human doormat and you’d rather wax something sensitive than hear more. You want to shout, ‘Just tell him!’ and throw this book across the room. Especially if you’re reading on an expensive electronic device. I can’t have my failed conquest and your broken iPad on my conscience.
In my defense, I tried to tell him.
In fact, I showed him.
Allow me to go back a few months and illustrate how spectacularly badly this went…
-Chapter Two-
“Felicity, we’re in Centennial Hills! Don’t stare.”
Felicity is my bestie and an OB nurse at Maple Hills. And right now, she’s gawking at Jake’s house, a miniature stone castle set on a wide lawn between maple canopies and towering pine. In the snow, hung with a southern-wedding amount of fairy lights that illuminate a long, wet driveway, it looks pretty magical.
“This place is nuts!” Felicity shouts. She’s one of the best-paid nurses at the hospital, so it says something that she’s impressed. She also grew up in the Glencourt trailer park along the freeway and is endlessly impressed by what doctor money can buy.
She’s not impressed by doctors. We’ve had that convo plenty of times. Apparently, I’m a rarity as nurses go when it comes to the Alphahole, M.D. wow-factor.
“If you’re done with your Zillow-gasm, can we go in? I’m all about the roaring 20s theme,” I say as I tug knee-highs up to the fringe of my gold sequined flapper dress, “but not so much the frostbite.” Felicity and I look pretty adorable, if I do say so, with our faux bobs – accomplished with about two-thousand bobby pins– and our bee-stung lips.
Felicity pats a tiny heart-shaped hip flask stuck in her garter. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I’ve seen Jake’s house before, even though I haven’t been inside. I may have gone through a drive-by phase when I realized his road was a legitimate access to the Maple Hills park trail head.
Not that I hike or do park stuff; I just needed a solid cover story if he caught me passing through.
There are stories about his house, whispered legends. Gals at patient intake browse Pinterest on their lunch breaks and whisper breathlessly about what a shame it is that no woman inhabits Jake’s domestic paradise.
A few women at the clinic and the hospital have campaigned hard for the job. Guess it’s a small comfort that I’ve had about as much success as they have.
Well, maybe Jenny from the weekend plans has done better, but I didn’t know about her
at this point in the story.
This is an imperfect flashback; hang in there.
My point is, I’ve never once been in his house. “Why does this feel weird?” I whisper to Felicity as we negotiate slick front steps in our impractical heels.
“Maybe he’ll show you the whole house…” she says as she wraps an arm around my shoulders, thrusting me through open front doors.
Two doors! That’s what doctor money buys.
“Or maybe he’ll show you the doorway to Poundtown,” she finishes, grinning as Jake cuts through a small crowd in the front hall.
Front hall is a bit of an understatement. This is a room with a fireplace and a buttery yellow armchair and lots more things most people don’t have anywhere in their entire house. Its ceiling is high, and still it somehow magnifies how tall Jake is. How broad shouldered and lean-thighed and–
He stops when he catches sight of us. He’s dressed like an absolute Gatsby, thick brown hair neatly combed back, dark suit bespoke.
He’s charming, polished. I just want to mess it all up, maximum JBF. Just Been Fucked.
“Kate. Wow.” I swear his eyes do a second pass, but then he glances at Felicity and smiles. “You two look amazing.”
“Where do we go? What do we do?” I ask, trying not to gawk like Felicity, trying not to wipe sweat from my palms onto a dress I’ll probably have to return.
Jake points. “Tons of food in the kitchen. Booze in the den, bunco in the dining room.”
“I’ll be in the den!” Felicity waves over her shoulder, linking arms with Jasmine, our x-ray tech.
Worst. Wingman. Ever.
Jake moves closer, shutting out some of the music, the noise, and cheering from the half of radiology who apparently just got bunco. “I’m really glad you came.”
I practice my amateur lip reading, watching that mouth form each word. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I thought you might not.”
“Uh, how long have we worked together? Why wouldn’t I?”
He feels closer. It must be the heat of the fire and the people passing by. Jake’s eyes don’t seem to blink. He’s like a sexy Terminator, laser focused. I’m not used to being the subject of his intensity. “Anita mentioned you don’t go out with them very often,” he says.
I love the girls from our office and the hospital, but when they go out, they go out. To meet guys, to hook up and get their vag wrecked. I’ve already done the first half and I’m not looking for the second half. At least not with a stranger. “I wouldn’t miss it,” I promise. “But I don’t know anything about bunco.”
“Don’t play games?”
Oh no; I play all sorts of games. Like the Sims, with you, in my head. “I have a younger brother and an older brother. Games to me means video games.”
“PlayStation or Xbox?”
“Why not both? I don’t want to pick; I just want to play.” Nothing works off a long day of rectal exams and pink eye like a quick run and a few rounds of owning foul-mouthed twelve-year olds.
Jake pulls back and looks me over again. “How have we never talked about this?”
“I dunno. Maybe because I prefer sitting in uncomfortable silence while you do your charting?”
“Haha. What’s your favorite shooter?”
“Zombiezone: Apocalypse.”
“No.” He eyes me. “You’ve been reading my diary.”
God, I wish. “Totally serious.”
Jake gives me a sly smile, eyes filled with mischief. “Want to go a few rounds?”
“Are you serious?” He’s only seven years older, but twenty-six vs. thirty-three feels like a lifetime in our profession. I guess I expected him to have more serious, responsible hobbies like Hungry, Hungry Property Taxes or chess.
“Dead serious,” Jake promises. “Un-dead serious. If you win, you get to make me take all the BPs for the next week.”
“Two weeks!”
He grimaces like I’m asking for a kidney. This is such a doctor response. “Deal,” he says finally.
“And if you win?” I ask with a little more of a no-panties voice than I mean to.
“Hm. Well, you’re a nurse so there’s not much you can really do for me…”
I slug him right in that well-toned bicep. “I can drop a stool sample on your seat and not tell you.”
“Whoa! All out warfare. I’m kidding!” He holds up those beautiful hands. “I want some time to think about it.”
I look around us at all the people, on the staircase, crammed into his living room. “You have guests…”
“I promise you, they’re not here for me.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I manage breathlessly, looking him over.
“Well, not specifically for me.”
I’m still in disagreement, but I see his point.
Jake holds up a finger. A long finger experienced with stroking and probing.
God, what’s wrong with me tonight?
“One round,” he says. “Let’s play one round.”
“No way. You sound smug, which means you may actually be good. I want best out of three.”
“Nurse Cleary, you’re on.”
I throw my handbag on a console table. We fist bump our deal into a legally binding agreement.
-Chapter Three-
“Okay, I have to say it,” I admit when we reach the second floor landing and the noise fades away. “Your house is crazy huge. And beautiful.”
Jake laughs, sounding a little self-conscious for the first time ever. “My sister Jamie gets full credit for the decor. She’s a big-deal interior designer.”
“It’s so beautiful. And a lot of space for a single guy. Wait, are you a semi-recluse? Do you have a sex dungeon in here somewhere?”
“Wouldn’t tell you if there was; that’d ruin the surprise. Kidding!” he adds when I slow my pace.
“…Maybe. Are you into that?”
“I could be,” I shoot back before I overthink it.
“Noted. But for now, so far as you know, I’m a boringly traditional guy when it comes to what I want. Steady job, nice house, wife and kids. Just, no one told me that last one would be harder than getting through medical school.”
It could be easy. You could just pop down on one knee and profess your undying love for me. But I have some restraint, so I don’t say this.
Instead, I say, “We see so many people at the clinic. And doctor, hello? You mean to tell me out of all the women who get hot and bothered by a stethoscope you… can’t…”
I’ve been blabbing and not paying attention to where we’re going, which is straight into Jake’s bedroom.
It looks like Bed, Bath & Beyond created a Fuck Me in a Farmhouse line. It’s amazing. I’m here for it.
“You know the rules,” he says, closing the door behind us. “No dating patients. Dating other doctors?” His chuckle is the laughter equivalent of saying ‘not a chance’. “Two of me? I couldn’t put up with another doctor in the house.”
“Hah. I put up with you all day long,” I mumble, still taking it in. I could make this space look like the post-sex scene in Breaking Dawn. Except that bed would have zero posts left when I got done.
“Yeah, and you deserve an award. But nurses are real people,” he teases, flipping on a tv as wide as my apartment. “You have social skills and patience and other cool features I don’t.”
Praise like this is pretty rare from a guy with M.D. after his name. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell the other doctors you’re a traitor.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Your bedroom is like a small apartment,” I marvel. He has overstuffed comfy chairs and his gaming corner comes complete with a mini fridge. A corner desk sits opposite the bed, tidy like the one in his office at work. A handful of post-it notes confirm he does a lot for patients outside the clinic and probably off the clock.
“By myself, there’s no point in hanging out in the rest of the place. When my family visits for Christmas it’ll be packed but
…” Jake shrugs. “Why make more mess for my housekeeper?”
Housekeeper. The idea of someone else doing my dishes and laundry is one of the most erotic things I can imagine.
“Come on.” He passes me a controller and pats one of his gray comfy chairs like I’m a patient and it’s an exam table. “Zombie-ocalypse horde won’t defeat itself.”
I grab it from him. “Really looking forward to not taking any blood pressures for three weeks.”
“Ehhnnt! Two weeks, and you’ll be taking them all. Rectal temps, too.”
“Jokes on you; that’s my fetish.”
Jake turns all the way around to look at me.
“I’m kidding!” Maybe. I could probably be into it if he asked. “…Unless you’re into that.” I use his words on the stairs against him.
“You’re an agent of chaos.” Jake strips out of his jacket and pries off his shoes. “Maybe I should be more afraid.”
That makes two of us. He’s never been this… casual around me. I pretend not to analyze his every move while I completely analyze his every move.
“Drink?” he asks while the game loads against low, gritty rock music.
“Sure.”
“Moscato?”
“Uh, if you have it. How did you know?” The sex dungeon joke isn’t aging so well, suddenly.
“I do have it because my sister left a bottle here. You two are a lot alike, so I just figured...”
You remind me of my sister! I don’t know if he could say anything worse. “I’ll take two glasses, thanks.”
“Why don’t you just have the bottle?” Jake laughs, undoing his pants.
“Whoa! How much have you had already?” This is a Dear Diary moment but not in the way I’ve always imagined.
“Look, I’m all for theme parties,” he says, tossing his suit toward the closet in a heap. “But I spend five or six days a week in a shirt and tie. And let’s be honest; a suit is not optimal zombie defeat-wear.”
He speaks but I can’t understand a word. Jake is standing there in a crisp white oxford shirt, black tie, and blue-striped boxers with the junk drawer parted just enough that I can imagine. My fingers itch to undo each button. I want to rub my hands over every inch of that hard chest. Shove my thumbs in his waistband and–