Beautiful Disaster

by Rye Hart

  “I think his side piece has a side piece of her own,” Liv said, flagging down the waiter. “And seriously, what better revenge would there be than him realizing she's fucking around on him and then finding out you can really have kids after all, huh?”

  “I suppose,” I said, shrugging.

  “You suppose?” Liv asked as the waiter poured us more wine. “Wouldn't you love to wipe that smug look off his face and tell him that he's the one who's broken?”

  “Well, yeah, but I don't think that's the case, Liv,” I said grumpily.

  “Aren't you a Negative Nelly?” Liv said, rolling her eyes. When I didn't say anything, she sighed and added, “Just humor me, alright?”

  “Fine,” I said, shrugging. “I guess I have nothing to lose.”

  Well, except for all my dreams of one day having a child with a man I loved, sure, but since I already figured that was the case, it wasn't like I'd be getting any worse news.

  At least I hoped not.

  I didn't think I could take any more.

  Chapter Two

  Preston

  Dr. Preston Winters, M.D. The name plate had been added to the door recently. It was a matte silver with black lettering. Simple and yet, classy. I was the newest doctor to be brought on at the Hollywood Hills Women's and Children Center, and seeing my name officially listed on the office door was thrilling as hell. A dream come true for someone who wasn't even sure they'd survive medical school, much less my residency. Getting to this point in my career had been harder than I ever imagined it to be, but I couldn't have asked for a better clinic to start with.

  Our receptionist, Kelly, was sitting at the front desk when I entered. She smiled politely at me, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose.

  “Good morning, Miss Temple,” I said, stepping through the door and into the back.

  “Good morning, Dr. Winters. Looks like you have a full day today,” Kelly said, scanning the appointment calendar in the computer with a furrowed brow. “Looks like you're taking a few of Dr. Garcia's patients today, her son is sick.”

  “Not a problem. That's why they brought me on,” I said.

  “Your first patient will be here right at nine,” she said. “She requested the earliest possible appointment with Dr. Garcia.”

  “Shouldn't be a problem,” I said, continuing down the hall toward my office.

  My personal office was already coming together. Several bookshelves filled with medical journals sat behind a large oak desk. The obligatory diploma and a few personal pictures hung on the pale blue walls. I sat down at my desk, which had several photos on top as well. One photograph of my mom was prominent, a reminder of why I'd gone into this field in the first place. My other reminder was in another frame beside her photo. It was of a little boy wearing a soccer uniform and shooting the camera a gap-toothed grin. He had his mother's large, brown eyes, but my family's naturally tanned complexion and sandy blonde hair.

  There was a knock at my door, pulling me out of my brief reverie.

  “Yes?”

  One of the nurses, Paola, popped her head in and said, “Sorry to bother you, but your first patient is here and keeps asking when Dr. Garcia will see her. Says she has to be back at work by ten-thirty, at the latest.”

  “I'll be right there,” I said, chuckling to myself.

  So many people schedule doctor's appointments, expecting to be in and out in an hour or less like this was some cheap fast-food joint. We catered to a higher-end clientele, meaning many of the people were impatient and entitled. It came with the territory there in Hollywood Hills, I supposed.

  Since I was taking on Dr. Garcia's patients at the last minute, I hadn't had a chance to look over the patient's file. I was walking in blind, essentially. I followed Paolo to the room, and before I entered, she handed me the file on her. I glanced down, started to read through it when the door opened.

  “Hello? I really need to –”

  Big, sparkling, sapphire blue eyes stared back at me, and they grew wider once she saw me stepping through the door. Couldn't say I wasn't a little bit surprised myself.

  I couldn't help but note the mahogany curls and how they fell just perfectly over her cool, pale skin, gently touching her freckled shoulders – shoulders that were bare thanks to the sleeveless pink sundress she was wearing. Looking into her face, I realized I knew her from somewhere. I couldn't place it right away, but I'd seen that face somewhere before. We handled a lot of celebrities, and she was definitely attractive enough to be a model or actress, but I wasn't sure that was it.

  I looked down at the name on file. “Camille O'Hare? Is that –”

  “Preston? Preston Winters, is that you?” she stammered.

  “Yeah, that's me,” I said and smiled.

  When I heard her speak, the pieces fell into place, and I knew where I knew her from. High school. A long time ago in a galaxy far away. There was no mistaking her though.

  “No offense, but where's Dr. Garcia?” Camille asked, looking past me at Paola, who still stood in the doorway.

  “Apparently I'm Dr. Garcia today,” I said, giving my old high school friend the once over.

  Damn, Camille looked good. It was an unprofessional thought, but one I couldn't shake. I almost didn't recognize her.

  “Glad to see you still remember me,” I said.

  Paola stepped away to help another patient, and I walked into Camille's room, opening her file on the table and reading through it. I closed the door behind us when Camille stepped back inside, her jaw nearly on the floor.

  “So you really did it, huh?” she asked.

  She flopped up on the examining room table, her arms crossed in front of her. She was smiling, though a bit tense. But, I took the smile as a good sign.

  “You made it through medical school,” she said.

  “Either that or I'm really good at faking it,” I teased, turning to face her, mirroring how she folded her arms in front of her chest.

  I had a hard time concealing my amazement at the transformation. Camille had changed a lot since high school. Her porcelain skin was clear and smoother than it had ever been back then. Her hair was a tad darker with some highlights in it now, and longer too. She used to keep her hair cut short, but the length did wonders for bringing out the soft features of her perfectly oval face.

  “As you can tell, I'm not Dr. Garcia,” I said. “She had a family issue and won't be in today. But if you'd like to reschedule and wait for her, we can arrange it.”

  She bit her bottom lip and looked away. I could tell she was considering it. Not that I blamed her, given our past. Instead of answering my question outright, she smiled at me softly.

  “You look good, Preston,” she said. “I know it's been what, ten years? But I'm glad to see you're doing well.”

  “You seem to be doing well too,” I said, forcing myself to maintain eye contact with her.

  Camille's dress showed off some ample cleavage, and I was having a hard time not admiring it. I'm a professional. I couldn't have made it this far if I checked out my patients like a pervert. It was difficult though because I am still a man, and Camille was different.

  “Paola mentioned you were in a hurry to get back to work so I won't take too much of your time,” I said. “If you'd like to reschedule, we can arrange for you to see Dr. Garcia another time.”

  “I can't reschedule,” she sighed. “There are no other doctors here today?”

  “No, I'm afraid not,” I said. “It's just me at the moment.”

  She took a deep breath, and the smile that had been on her face earlier fell as she stared at her hands. She picked at her perfectly manicured nails as if the nail polish was chipping, but she was only fidgeting. She looked tense and uncomfortable.

  “I mean, I guess it's been ten years or so since we –” she cut herself off, clearing her throat before continuing, “I think it'll be fine. You're a professional, after all.”

  “Of course,” I said, my voice softening. “I take my jo
b very seriously, and what happened in our past will stay in the past, Camille.”

  She turned her face up and met my gaze. In her eyes, I saw so much pain. I was taken aback at first, assuming that look was because of me, but then she wiped at her eyes and shook her head.

  “I'm here because my fiancé' – err, my ex-fiancé' – believes I can't have children.”

  I pulled out her file, read through some of the notes from her past visits.

  “Have you seen a fertility specialist before?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and again, she looked away. “No, but we've been trying for well over a year, and there's been no luck.”

  “You know it takes two to make a baby, right?” I asked. “It very well could be –”

  “He apparently got another woman pregnant pretty recently.”

  “Oh,” I said, closing the file.

  I figured that this went deeper than her medical history anyway. Her blue eyes were wide and filled with fear as she looked to me for answers. Being in this field, I often worked with women worried about their fertility. She wouldn't be the first woman I'd seen who was fearful about her chances of ever having a baby. She just so happened to be first who'd admitted such personal details as to why she believed she was the problem.

  “You'd been trying for a year, no birth control?” I asked.

  “I was never on the pill, I used non-hormonal methods. No hormones to wean myself off of, I thought I'd get pregnant pretty easily, but –” she stammered, taking a deep breath and seeming to gather her composure before speaking again, “but obviously that hasn't happened. As you should be able to see in my history, my periods have never been regular, and while I've never been diagnosed officially, Dr. Garcia suspected I might suffer from ovarian cysts.”

  I opened the file again and looked through the notes, studying them a little more in depth. There was one little note mentioning some discomfort and cramping from a few months back, which could be cysts, or it could have been cramps.

  “Is there something we can do, Preston?” she asked.

  Given that we were trying to keep it all professional and above board, I was surprised by her use of my first name but didn't say anything. Her voice was pleading with me, practically begging for some hope. That same, sweet voice I remembered from back in high school.

  Looking up, our eyes locked on one another, and our shared past came rushing back, filling my head with memories. It was before I'd met Melody, before I had a son – hell before I'd even gone off to college. She'd been my best friend, my next-door neighbor, and for a while, the love of my life. Or, as least, so I'd thought.

  Young love was fleeting, especially when you're on two totally different life tracks – she'd wanted to go to art school, I wanted to become a doctor. She got a scholarship for a fancy school in New York City, I stayed local and went to UCLA. God, I would do anything to help her, even still. Even after all these years. I wanted nothing more than to tell her I'd fix this for her. Tell her that we'd find a way to give her a baby. At one time, marrying her and starting a family had been on the top of my list. Even now, the idea of impregnating her and proving that bastard ex of hers wrong caused a tightness low in my groin. Or maybe, just the idea of being with her again was causing it. Either way, blood rushed down my body, forcing me to turn away from Camille, afraid she'd notice my erection.

  “Well, I will complete an exam, and we can run some tests,” I said and cleared my throat.

  I cursed at my lower body as I pretended to read through her file some more, waiting for my cock to get the message that this wasn't the time or place for such antics. As soon as I felt my body listening to me, I turned back around and gave her what I hoped was a comforting smile.

  “Do you mind lying down for me?” I asked.

  Camille's eyes were wide, her movements tense and almost hesitant, but she did as I asked. She laid down on the examining table, her back flat and her feet hanging off the end just barely. She'd had her gynecological exam recently, so thank God I wasn't going to have to do that. I wasn't quite sure I could handle seeing her exposed from the waist down. With a head full of memories, I might have exploded on the spot.

  Instead, I felt around her abdomen, feeling for any cysts or enlarged reproductive organs. I couldn't deny that she was in great shape. Not too fit, not overly muscular, but she was petite with just the right amount of curves and softness to her belly that made it nice to touch.

  “Well?” Camille asked, staring up at me like I had all the answers.

  “I don't feel anything that would make me think you had cysts, but of course, the only way to know for sure is to run some tests and do an ultrasound,” I said. “But, even then, we may not detect them if there's currently no cysts present.”

  She sighed. “That's what Dr. Garcia told me. She said that birth control would be the best solution, but since we were trying for a baby, I didn't want to use it.”

  Camille sat back up, the paper material of the examining table tearing as she did so. She placed her hands on her lap, her eyes filled and an inscrutable look, and waited for me to say something.

  “Like I said, we can run some tests,” I said with a shrug, leaning back against the counter as I studied Camille's face. “But quick question -- are you doing this for you or for your ex?”

  “That's none of your business,” she said, her cheeks flushing red.

  “No, it's not, but I'm looking out for you, Camille,” I said. “Sounds like your ex was a real piece of work –”

  “Preston, you're my doctor, not my therapist,” she said, her voice firm and strong.

  I was taken aback by the strength behind her words. Camille had always been a quiet girl. The artistic girl who doodled in her notebook, as opposed to joining in with the crowd. It's one reason I'd originally taken notice of her.

  “Fine, okay, I'll drop it,” I said as I closed her file. “I'll order those tests for you, and we'll see you back to discuss the results in a week.”

  My initial exam complete, I was surprised she hadn't rushed out of the room like I'd expected her to. She just sat there and stared at me, her brows furrowed as if she was trying to figure something out. I stared back because, truth be told, she was a sight for sore eyes. She had to be one of the most beautiful women I'd ever laid eyes on. I'd always thought she was pretty back in high school, albeit a little eccentric, but she'd grown into a stunningly beautiful woman.

  I would have been lying if I said the idea of coming onto her wasn't lurking around in the back of my mind. I envisioned laying her down upon the table, her breasts pushing into me as she gasped. I pictured feeling her body pressed to mine, filling her up completely, making her forget about the scumbag ex.

  “Preston, it really is nice seeing you again,” she said.

  Suddenly, the room felt tiny, almost claustrophobic, and I felt my pulse racing. She reached out and touched my arm – a friendly gesture nothing more – but, that single touch sent a burst of electricity coursing through my body. It wasn't an actual shock, but it sure as hell felt close enough. I pushed myself away from the counter and cleared my throat.

  “It's great to see you too, Camille,” I said. “It really is.”

  A smile pulled at her lips, and God, it was an amazing sight. Her dimples were hidden, but when she smiled, it highlighted the soft, sweet indentions in her cheeks. Her tongue ran along her bottom lip, and I had to fight the urge to lean closer and taste it for myself. It was almost like she was beckoning me to kiss her, teasing me – daring me. But, I stepped back and cleared my throat. It was all in my head. It had to be.

  But then, maybe it wasn't. I mean, I looked pretty damn good myself these days, and we did leave things hanging way back in the day. Was she suddenly interested in rekindling those old fires, perhaps?

  She leaned in and I leaned in too, and for a moment, it felt like everything around us had stopped. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath and the only things that existed were Camille and myself. I
t was like we were moving in slow motion; our faces being drawn inexorably together. Just as our lips were mere inches from pressing against each other though, there was a knock at the door. And just like that, the spell was broken, and the real world intruded upon that fantasy.

  I cleared my throat and pulled myself away, stepping back from Camille as far as I could.

  “Yes?” I choked out.

  Paola opened the door and peered in at me. “Sorry Dr. Winters, but Dr. Garcia is on the phone for you,” she said.

  She looked at Camille, then me. Was it that obvious that we were in the midst of a private moment? God, I hoped not. Having just started, that would be the last thing I needed.

  “I'll be right there,” I said.

  Paola nodded and closed the door, just as Camille stood up and walked toward it.

  “I should probably get going anyway,” she said, no longer looking at me, her cheeks a little flushed.

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, you said you had to get back to work,” I muttered.

  I couldn't help but notice the swish and sway of her as she walked out the door. Her tight, but round ass. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to. My cock strained against my slacks and I had to adjust myself, to relieve some of the pressure. I moved my lab coat, trying to hide the bulge in my pants before stepping out of the room. Camille turned just as I was in the middle of making myself presentable, her cheeks pink and rosy.

  We were in the hallway now, with nurses all around.

  “Well, thank you, Dr. Winters,” she said, smiling politely. “I appreciate your time, and I'll schedule a follow-up in a week with Dr. Garcia.”

  She turned and walked toward the front of the office and spoke with Kelly. I dropped off the paperwork for her bloodwork and other tests and tried my best not to look at her again. I didn't need an erection at nine-thirty in the morning – especially one caused by a patient. And with no way to relieve the pressure, no less.