Dr. Stud

by Jess Bentley

  “You know, I totally get that,” she explains quickly.

  She seems to be in a hurry. I’m sure she’s very busy, not just trying to escape from my presence. Defeated, I just take another chair and smile at my dad, ready to move on.

  But my dad doesn’t seem to be willing to give up quite as easily. He tugs Joanna harder, directing her back into her seat.

  “Dad? I think she needs to get going,” I coach him gently. Sometimes he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. But he narrows his eyes at me sternly, nodding as though he’s preparing a lecture.

  “Chuck? I think we need to have a talk.”

  I catch Joanna’s eyes and shrug apologetically. It’s best to let him talk these things out, and I hope she’s willing to let him do that.

  “Boss?” she squeaks urgently. “I really do need to go, okay? It really was wonderful to see you…”

  “Now, I have been around the block,” he announces, using the voice that earned him the name “Boss.” “And I understand how complications can seem overwhelming, especially to a young couple.”

  “Just play along?” I stage whisper to her.

  “I really have to go!”

  But it doesn’t matter. My dad has no intention of letting her hand go.

  “So I will just come right out and say it… Chuck, you have to do the right thing!”

  I smirk affectionately. “Boss, I think I know exactly what you’re saying.”

  “It’s a man’s duty!” he continues, now that he is on a roll. “And maybe sometimes that choice seems difficult… But now that you are in the family way, you know what you have to do.”

  My smile turns to concrete. Joanna goes frozen and stops trying to tug her hand away. What seemed like discomfort at my father’s confused state of mine is starting to quickly seem like something else.

  “Chuck, you and Maude can make this work,” my dad insists. “A baby is a gift from God!”

  Joanna gasps, turning her head away.

  He’s not inventing this. This is not a drill. This is happening.

  “Great to see you!” she blurts out, finally snatching her hand back and stumbling backward. White as a ghost, she opens her mouth to say something and then clamps it closed, pivoting on her heel and darting through the front door.

  “You’re not just going to let her run away?!” my dad blusters.

  Slowly I lean forward and pick up her handbag off the chair. I hold it up for him to see and shrug.

  “Don’t worry, Boss, she won’t get far,” I reply. “I think I have her car keys. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Great work, son!” he bellows as I rise and leave the reception area.

  I find her by her father’s truck, leaning on the driver's-side window on her folded arms. She raises her head as I approach, her cheeks streaked with moisture.

  “Were you going to tell me?” I ask in a low voice, aware that my tone is not professionally neutral.

  “I thought you were in Costa Rica,” she sniffs pathetically. “Can I have my keys?”

  “No, you cannot,” I reply sharply. “And yes, I was in Costa Rica. I’m back.

  “I can see that,” she answers.

  I want to resist, but I can’t. I look her up and down, trying to see the signs. She’s lovely. She’s lovelier than before. I can’t pick out any one thing that stands out, but yes, there’s something about her.

  “Why would you tell my father and not tell me?” I growl.

  She blinks several times, gasping. “Tell him?” she repeats incredulously “I didn’t tell him! He doesn’t even know who I am!”

  “But that didn’t stop him from knowing you’re…”

  She squares off to face me, sticking her chin out defiantly and putting her hands on her hips.

  “Are you going to say it?” she challenges me.

  I pause, taken aback. Is this a dare?

  “Don’t worry,” she continues acidly. “You don’t have to do the right thing. You don’t have to do anything. I didn’t even know you were here. I just came here to see Didi and—”

  “You should marry me,” I blurt out.

  She rocks forward then sways back, like a piece of coral in the tide.

  “That’s insane,” she hisses.

  She doesn’t even know. She can’t even see it. She doesn’t know how lovely she is. She certainly doesn’t know how beautiful life can be, how beautiful I can make it for her.

  “People do it all the time,” I answer reasonably. “It’s just the circle of life.”

  She picks her hands up and then lets them fall and slap against her thighs, creating that sound I first heard on that first day. Now I can only think about getting her into bed, about tasting her new pheromones, about claiming her all over again.

  Properly claiming her. Making her mine.

  “I didn’t come here to get a marriage proposal,” she says in a rush, shaking her head. “I came here to just live my life, Sturgill.”

  “Sometimes that’s just the way things are,” I answer. “Everything happens for a reason.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I thought you were a man of science?”

  “Science has its limitations,” I shrug. “Part of being a scientist is acknowledging when you don’t understand something. And I don’t understand how you swept through my life, and somehow found a way back here… Carrying my child…”

  She closes her eyes when I say the words, shivering slightly. I move toward her, eager to feel her skin in my palms.

  “You should marry me,” I say again softly, pulling her close. “We are supposed to be together.”

  “Supposed to be together is just something crazy people say,” she objects weakly, but she isn’t pulling away.

  “Crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results,” I counter as my lips brush against her hairline.

  I can smell that she is different now. Her body is changing, thriving, going to work to do its essential job. I could no more let her go now than I could amputate my own arm.

  “I have things to do,” she whimpers. “I have a life! I don’t know…”

  “I know,” I counter as I pull her even closer, feeling how she aligns herself to me. We do fit together so well. There is something between us, something as immutable as gravity. Something I can’t think of a reason to fight against anymore.

  “Everybody gets divorced!” she squeaks.

  “Not my parents…” I counter. “Not your parents either. It’ll be hard sometimes. It’ll seem impossible sometimes. We will both have to be dedicated to getting it done.”

  She chuckles helplessly. “Well… I am pretty good at getting impossible things done.”

  “I know you are, Joanna,” I murmur as my mouth finally closes over hers.

  She’s sweet and pliant, finally no longer holding back. I feel her give in to me as my arms close around her, as I step across the threshold in my mind and pledge myself to her. Now I understand what doing the right thing really means. It might be old-fashioned, and it might be the hard road, but when something this perfect materializes in your life you have to do everything you can to keep it.

  That sounds mystical, I suppose. I guess I am changing too.

  Epilogue

  Joe… Joanna

  “Didi! Didi!”

  I bang on the door with the heel of my hand, breathless and concerned.

  “Didi, open this door up!”

  I hear a rustling around the side of the cabin and crane my neck to see her trudging through the sawgrass, holding her sarong over her knees.

  “Quit your yelling!” she fusses. “You’re going to wake the neighbors!”

  “You’re late!”

  With a sigh, she continues to the front yard, watching the grass for lizards and snakes as she walks. When she finally reaches me, she gives me a perfunctory smile and opens the passenger-side door of my truck.

  “Sorry, boss,” she mumbles as she climbs inside. I follow suit and twist the key in
the ignition, letting the sound of the engine drown out the white noise in my head.

  “You said nine,” I remind her. “It’s already nine fifteen.”

  “Yeah, well, all that yoga isn’t going to do itself,” she yawns as we head back toward the house. “What are you worried about, anyway? Everything is fine.”

  “You said nine,” I repeat.

  “Sure did,” she shrugs. “Oh, shit… Can we go back? I left my purse at the cabin.”

  I don’t even answer her. I wonder if she did that on purpose. She knows that she made me late, and that I hate to be late, and that the stupid bouncy house is supposed to be delivered at nine thirty.

  We pull into the driveway right behind the delivery guy, who gives me a polite salute when he swings down from the cab of the semi. Eyebrows raised, he glances around the front lawns, taking it all in.

  “Looks like quite a party,” he observes, then clams up when he sees my expression.

  “Only the best for the little prince,” Didi smiles at him as she exits the truck.

  He smiles at her automatically, then seems to pause and squint. Distractedly taking the clipboard back from me, he strolls over to her.

  “Little prince?” he repeats. “Birthday party for your son?”

  Didi smiles shyly and tucks her hair behind her ear, flirting shamelessly. She looks fit and tan, with a natural glow to her skin. After all that yoga and clean living, I guess she has reached peak Didi experience. She’s kind of gorgeous.

  “Oh, not my son,” she answers. “The new doctor in town, in about twenty-five years. Just as soon as he grows up.”

  “Grows up, that’s a good one,” the driver smiles.

  “So are you set up? You are ready to go?” I call out, trying to redirect their attention to the task at hand.

  What is it with people? Am I the only person in town who takes this birthday party seriously?

  “Why don’t you let me take care of this,” Didi suggests, shrugging. “I’ll make sure the tent gets set up, okay? Next to the petting zoo? And the carousel?”

  “Well… uf you are sure…” I mutter, but they are already back to gazing at each other. “Didi? You got this?”

  She waves a hand in my direction, pushing me away like a professional mime.

  “Totally under control!”

  Fine, whatever. I turn around and start walking quickly up the driveway, looking left and right to check out that everything is more or less where it should be. No one is arriving until one, but it takes a long time to set these things up. Sturgill insisted we invite the entire town, so it has turned into a bit of a carnival. We made a list of all the things that we could put into Jackson’s third birthday party, in his wildest dreams... then did everything on the list.

  It might be a little much.

  But, like everything else about marriage and motherhood, I am expecting this to turn out better than expected.

  It might’ve been insanity that made me say yes to Sturgill in the first place, but it’s been like walking through a dream ever since. As soon as he said “marry me” I felt a circle close in on itself. Leaving Willowdale was necessary, and I still believe that, but coming back home was inevitable. And coming back home to find that’s where I had left my heart all along was miraculous.

  Sturgill doesn’t fully appreciate it when I use words like miraculous, but that’s just too bad.

  As I walk through the front door into the grand foyer, Preston—Press—comes tearing across the gleaming wooden floors, his arms flung out jubilantly. I lean down to catch him, sweeping him up as he giggles and kicks his chubby little legs. He started walking right at a year old, so he has had a lot of practice. And I have had a lot of practice chasing him. Sturdy and resilient, he is the manifestation of the joy in my life. He is the embodiment of the best things that there are.

  “Press!” Harriet calls after him, appearing at the other end of the hall.

  Churning her arms, she trundles forward, breathless and red-faced.

  “I’ve got him, Harriet,” I smile as he wriggles and tries to escape.

  “Oh, I need to get him dressed!” she huffs. “I told Sturgill that he could take Press for his first pony ride before anybody gets here. I don’t want him to be disappointed.”

  Gazing down into Press’s angelic face, I try to imagine what he’s going to think of the ponies. He loves animals, and I know he’s going to be dazzled by the big, shaggy ponies and their flamboyant saddles.

  “You’re going to have such a good day!” I tell him.

  “Mama!” he beams, his cheeks as pink as peaches.

  Regretfully, I set him back down and nudge him toward Harriet.

  “You just go along with Harriet now,” I tell him. “She’s got things for you to do! I will see you later!”

  Press lifts his fists and jumps toward her, working out a little extra energy as he obeys like the good little boy that he is.

  “Birthday!” he declares as Harriet holds out her hand for him and guides him toward the back.

  Quickly, my to-do list overwhelms my fond feelings about Press and I hurry up the stairs, trying to focus on what needs to be done first.

  My hair is all right, but I can’t quite get my outfit on yet or risk soiling it if I need to help the caterers or something. First, I should probably check my emails and make sure none of the guests are trying to get a hold of me right now. That’s definitely my priority.

  As I rush into the bedroom, I hear the door close solidly behind me and turn around. Sturgill cocks an eyebrow at me and purses his lips.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

  “Oh!” I stammer with my hands up. “Actually, almost everything is done. I’ve got just a little list of things I need to check into… Maybe look at my emails… Did you see the ponies? Are they going to be okay? Do you think any of them have diseases?”

  Sturgill scowls, walking slowly toward me.

  “I think it will probably all be fine,” he says in a low, decisive voice.

  “Well, you know chickens have salmonella, right? And possums have herpes? Or is it leprosy?”

  He looms closer, gradually corralling me toward the bed.

  “That’s armadillos, and there are no armadillos in the petting zoo,” he says calmly.

  “Sturgill, sweetheart, I really don’t have time for this,” I tell him in an apologetic rush. “I have a million things to—”

  “Hush now,” he says in my ear, sending chills down my body. I feel his fingers undoing each button of my dress, sliding it from my shoulders.

  “Wait, I left Didi alone with the—”

  “Don’t worry,” he counters.

  And even though I want to continue worrying, I can’t. He says the words to me and it’s like a command in a computer program. I can almost hear the worry leaving my muscles as I slump backward, letting him lay me sideways across the bed. It doesn’t even bother me that the bed was already made, and I am messing up the sheets right now.

  “I’m not worried, it’s just—”

  And then I can’t continue, because he takes my breath away. Pushing my thighs open, he slides his hand between them, dragging his finger inside my panties, instantly turning my whole body on like a Christmas tree.

  His lips are tender but determined, drawing the words away from me with each sweet kiss. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t resist. I let him undress me completely, sliding my panties over my knees and dropping them to the floor.

  “Excellent,” he breathes encouragingly. “Now just relax.”

  The whole world falls away, crumpling like powdered sugar as he drops kiss after kiss, finding a path from my collarbone to my navel. Shivers race across my skin. My legs fall open as his mouth finds my sex and he begins to tease me, draping my thighs over his shoulders.

  I know there is no sense in fighting him. He has trained my body so well now, I can only obey his commands. If he needs me to relax, I am going to relax. If he needs me to lie here and l
et him lavish my body with his attention, that’s exactly what I'll do.

  We gave up the vibrator a long time ago. All I need is Sturgill. He gives me what he can give no one else: absolute devotion.

  His tongue is hot and quick, fluttering over my sex, probing me gently. My hips churn slightly, eager for more. More of him, more pressure, more of everything.

  The sensations overtake me, crashing over me like a wave in the ocean. Warm and salty. Irresistible. I hear him groan with satisfaction as his hands grip my thighs, pulling me closer to his loving mouth.

  The climax builds inside of me, swelling like a firework just about to go off when he suddenly retreats, shifting his body on the side of the bed. I am momentarily weightless as he picks me up and turns me over, laying me down flat with my hips in the air. I submit completely, helpless as a doll, trusting and happy. He slides inside of me, taking me in one long, tentative thrust. Burying his body inside mine up to the hilt, we rock together, each giving the other exactly what we need to find that magical connection, that space without words of explanation, something that is both science—I am sure—and magic—I am even more sure.

  It’s only us, just this moment for us as I pulse and quake beneath his weight, taking every inch of his throbbing manhood, opening myself to swallow him up. His fingers slide over my skin, pinching and kneading me in all my sensitive spaces until I am overwhelmed with sensation, past the point of no return.

  As always, we climax together, our bodies working as a single body, achieving that perfect union that I could have only ever dreamed about before.

  Panting, his weight almost crushes me before Sturgill leans slightly to the side, kissing the back of my neck lazily, our musk filling the air.

  “See?” he whispers. “See how good it is when you let somebody else take the reins for a minute?”

  “It’s very good,” I agree sleepily, forgetting all about my to-do list. “Very, very good.”