Rebound

by Rosemary Rey

  REBOUND

  The Pentagon Group

  Book I

  By Rosemary Rey

  Published by Rosemary Rey at Smashwords

  Copyright 2014 Rosemary Rey

  Published by Rosemary Rey

  Copyright © 2014 Rosemary Rey

  Cover Artist: Rosemary Rey

  Editor: Rosemary Rey

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To all the readers of romantic erotica with a twist, I had to get this story out of my head. This is a first effort, and I hope I did the characters and storyline justice.

  To my family who allowed my crazy while I wrote and edited, especially my son who said to finish ‘your stupid book’--encouraging words from a ten-year-old who wanted dinner on time. If this writing thing works out, I’ll try to get myself on a better writing schedule. I promise.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  Stay Tuned . . .

  ONE

  I hated visiting doctors. I don’t have the patience to sit and wait in the waiting room, watching people sick or injured wait to be attended to. My dislike of them started when I was seven, hives broke out all over my chest and shoulders while waiting to be seen by one. My mother asked him to also look at the ensuing rash on top of the anemia that I’d been suffering. The blood draws, the medicines prescribed, and my mother’s fears for my health was a perfect combination for creating an irrational fear of doctors. I felt tortured by those sadistic men in white lab coats, stroking their beards as they looked at me and thought or convened to discuss my illness. Despite my fear I’ve never wavered from attending annual visits or when I was profoundly ill.

  My animosity worsened when my mother became terminally ill, and as the only caretaker in the home I was tasked to take her to her doctor’s visits or the emergency room when things would go bad fast. I’d have to tell them her life history and answer endless questions about her illnesses, medications, diagnoses, and I felt like a broken record as these men would listen passively and look at me and my mother clinically.

  The worst is the smell. The smell of disinfectant is distinct and seems to be a universal smell that can be found from a small doctor’s office to a large medical hospital; unmistakable and unforgettable. Waiting to see an orthopedic doctor for the hip, lower back, and sciatica pain that I’ve been dealing with since starting to teach at the gym increased my anxiety a thousand fold. I thought getting a job as a membership sales consultant would be the spark that I needed to lose the pesky twenty pounds that I’ve gained on my five feet, six inch frame since separating and divorcing Ben; my husband of five years. Because of the classes I teach, I managed to lose ten of the twenty pounds in the last two months, and I can already see the tone. I feel stronger, but the discomfort in my hip was a reminder of the pain that I experienced as a dancer at the Conservatory. I tolerated the pain because I was young and loved to dance.

  I was grateful for my best friend, Chelsea, whom recommended me for the job. She’d been working at Duration Fitness for three years. She loved her job as the Director of Group Fitness. She thought I’d be great for the Sales Director position. The owner was not quite sure if I was capable of doing the job, but I’ve worked there on a contract basis. I’ve been asked to take on more responsibilities and have received great praise for the work and suggestions that I’ve offered to boost and retain membership.

  Chelsea, whom I call Chelz, also scheduled me to teach a couple of the fitness classes. I was a bit embarrassed to teach because I don’t have a dancer’s body anymore. She assured me that I’m too talented of a dancer to not teach the ‘Latin Cardio’ class. I’m embarrassed to admit, she also has me teaching the ‘Take It Off’ class, which is a burlesque dance class. It isn’t pole dancing, but more sensual dancing with feathers and other props. It has been such a hit, that we’re considering scheduling a second class during the week. The extra classes give me a bit more money, and every little bit helps me live independently as a twenty eight-year-old divorced woman.

  The extra exercise and jobs, rather than sitting behind a desk at my former job as the Financial Director at Ben’s company, probably has exacerbated old injuries from my dancing days at the Conservatory. For the majority of my shift at my other part time job at the Liberty Inn, I get to stay off my feet.

  I asked Paul, the Director of Personal Training, about my hip pain and he recommended that I go to the office of Dr. Mathias Keene, who is renowned for his work with athletes both in the United States and internationally. Because of his prominent reputation, I was concerned that he wouldn’t be part of my mediocre health insurance. I was pleasantly surprised that my insurance would be accepted, and thankfully, my contribution was minimal under the insurance plan that I’d signed up for at Duration. My insurance kicked in within the nick of time.

  I was glad that I was given an 8 a.m. appointment because I could go straight to work when the Sales Office opens at nine. Dr. Keene’s office isn’t too far from Duration, and I could walk, just making it to my shift.

  I arrived fifteen minutes early, dressed as required for the appointment. I made sure to wear shorts underneath my navy skirt. I convinced Duration’s co-owner, Warren, to allow me to wear my own clothing and not the non-form fitting logoed shirts and khaki’s. I wore a cream colored top, which accentuated my great upper body. It had been typically rainy this April morning in Boston. I wore my navy rain coat and rain boots. My brown colored oxford heels will round out my look once I get to work. Due to the rain, I put my long, curly hair in a French twist, held up by a clip. It’s the only way to manage the frizz that plagues my hair. I didn’t put on any more makeup than usual; tinted lip gloss and waterproof mascara would have to do, so nothing runs down my face from the excess moisture in the air.

  Despite the extra ten pounds I carry in my midsection, hips, and behind, I looked good. I felt sexier because of all the workouts I’d been doing on my own and those when I teach. Now that I’m finally free of Ben and his family, my confidence has skyrocketed. I even indulged in my favorite treat this morning, a medium sugary, soy latte as a reward for taking care of myself with the doctor’s visit.

  The nurse called my name. She ushered me to a room at the end of the hallway. I put all of my things on the second chair and laid my latte on the desk. She took my vitals and asked me several questions regarding my hip pain. In between the formal medical questions, we talked about the weather, exercise, and work. We had a few laughs at my expense when I would inject a few comedic answers. She told me that I could remove my skirt, leave my top on and stay in my shorts and socks. She was sweet and when she left the room, the smile on my face remained. However, the jitters intensified while waiting for the doctor’s gentle knock on the door requesting entry.

  I felt an itch at my neck and scratched my neck. My heart started beating faster, and I could feel the nervous squirms in my belly. I stopped myself from scratching further, but I couldn’t stop fidgeting. And then the pacing started. I found myself chewing on my index fingernail. I wanted out. Just when I d
ecided to live with the hip pain for the rest of my life and walked over to the chair to retrieve my skirt, I heard a quick knock at the door. Without answering, the door opened, and the doctor entered.

  I turned my head to see the most gorgeous man enter the room. He was tall, probably stood at about six feet, three inches. Ben was five feet, nine inches tall, and this man stood much taller and broader than my ex. His muscular shape showed through his fitted button down shirt and denim jeans. His longish hair was black and wavy with the early presence of gray at his temples, which trailed down to his trimmed beard. He was dressed in an athletic cut, button down shirt in blue, a plaid blue and green tie. His jeans were dark denim, which fit his athletic legs like a glove. I was shameless in my ogling of his amazing frame. I even noticed the brown leather belt, which matched his brown leather shoes; neither looked worn or faded.

  “Hello. I’m Dr. Keene. How are you?” His voice was deep and masculine. He extended his hand for a handshake. I turned completely around and walked toward him, extending my hand.

  “Perla Mercurio. Nice to meet you.” I said. We shook each other’s hand firmly. He gave me a terse smile and walked to the desk. I sat down on the examining table, pulling my shirt away from my body so that my belly wasn’t accentuated by the fabric. I folded my hands on my lap, and waited until he started to ask questions.

  He asked the same questions that the nurse already asked about my health, what I do for a living, and where I work. It didn’t help my nerves to have to repeat myself, which lead me to give monosyllabic answers. I could feel myself becoming agitated. I took deep breaths and hugged myself to curb my anxiety. He read, asked, and clicked around on the computer during the question and answer period.

  He turned around, and said, “Mrs. Mercurio . . .”

  “Ms. It’s Ms. I’m not married.” I corrected.

  “Oh, my mistake. It’s listed here that you’re married.”

  “No. I’m no longer married. I thought I clarified that with my primary physician when I asked for a referral to your office.”

  “I can fix that on your record.” He turned around and clicked again. “Ms. Mercurio, I want to do a bit of testing on your legs to see how things are working. It’s just a series of movements. I’ll manipulate your legs to see the range of motion. I want you to tell me when I’ve pushed you to discomfort. Can you lie down on your back?” He stood up and proceeded to walk toward me.

  I started thinking about how miserable my life is that the only way I can get a hot guy to touch me is to be in pain. I leaned back, resting on my elbows, and lay flat on the table. The clip in my hair dug into my scalp. “I’m sorry. I just have to take this clip out of my hair.” I said as I sat up on one elbow, stopping him in his tracks before he touched my leg.

  “No problem. Whenever you’re ready.” He said, raising his palms in the air, and watched me while I pulled out the clip. His hands were huge with long fingers. With my anxiety, I didn’t notice how his hand dwarfed mine when we shook each other’s hand. The long thick twist of curls unraveled. I pulled my hair forward to rest on my shoulder as I lay back down.

  “Ready?” He asked with his hands up. I noticed there wasn’t a ring or tan line on his ring finger, which I already knew meant nothing because Ben claimed that because of work he couldn’t wear his wedding ring. I never bought the claim that he had to work in construction sites and could get it caught on machinery; like he’d pick up a tool to save his life. However, I’d never suspected infidelity.

  “Yep. Thanks.” I said. I put my hands on my belly and took a deep breath. I exhaled gently, and said a silent prayer of healing and recovery without this God touching me having to intervene any further. He made me more nervous than my regular doctor’s visit. Thank goodness he wasn’t a gynecologist or I wouldn’t have been able to keep my arousal a secret.

  He manipulated my legs in different poses to stretch and see if there was pain. He tested the strength of my legs and measured the length of each. I walked in a straight line to show my gait. The worst was bending over so he could feel my spine. I wasn’t prepared to be ass up in front of a hot doctor, especially if he wasn’t going to be grinding up behind me. At thought, I realized that I needed to get laid, soon. He was very thorough. Having him near, but still so far was excruciating. It took a large amount of willpower to not jump on him, wrap my legs around his slender waist, and shove my tongue in his mouth.

  “Ms. Mercurio, generally, you have great flexibility and strength in your legs. You have some decrease in flexibility in your right side where you have pain. It may come from a sedentary lifestyle through your job. You could benefit from some physical therapy to increase the strength on the right side, focusing on strengthening muscle to your lower back, glutes and hamstrings. If working with a PT doesn’t help, you can schedule another appointment in three months. My nurse will get you a referral to the physical therapy group that we closely work with and you can schedule an appointment with them at your convenience. Any questions or other concerns?”

  “That’s it?”

  “Did you expect more?”

  “I guess I expected a battery of tests and visits, so I’m pleasantly surprised. Thank you.” I extended my hand and he shook it. As he released a hold of my hand, I hopped off the table before he moved. I bumped into his torso, slipping a bit on my stocking feet. He grabbed onto my arm and waist, dangerously close to my breast. My hands instinctively held onto his strong arm. I could feel the muscles flexing to hold me. My nipples tightened at his touch. I felt a warming sensation in my pelvis and then the tell-tale sign of arousal in my panties. I needed him to leave, now.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m a walking calamity sometimes.” I smiled, not looking directly into his eyes, hoping that I didn’t blush. His reaction was unaffected. And the lack of interest in his face was deflating. I begrudgingly removed my hands from his massive arm. I will use this closeness for future reference in my most quiet and intimate moments.

  “No worries. I wish you well.” He said curtly with pursed lips, and removed his grip on my body. When he walked out and closed the doors, I walked toward my clothes to dress. After slipping on my skirt, I heard a gentle knock on the door.

  “Come in.” I said, expecting the nurse to drop off the referral.

  “Perla, here’s a copy of the referral that Dr. Keene told you about. We’ll send them the original with his diagnosis and recommendations. You just have to call and schedule when you can. Don’t forget to make an appointment. Call to schedule with us if PT doesn’t seem to help after three months.” The nurse had the warmest smile.

  “Well, no offense, but I hope I never have to come back here, even with the eye candy for a doctor.”

  “He’s cute isn’t he? He’s also very sweet. Dr. Keene is good man. He reminds me of my oldest son.” She whispered.

  “Hmm. You don’t look like you have children his age. You look fabulous. You must tell me your secret.” I smiled.

  She laughed the sweetest laugh and offered, “Live life to the fullest and have no regrets. And moisturize.” She winked.

  “I like that. I’ll put that into action, if that means I get to look like you when I have a son in his thirties. But one thing I’ll miss by not coming back here. Not getting more advice from you. Thanks so much. Take care.” I grinned.

  “You’re so sweet. Have a great day, love.” She left me to continue getting dressed.

  I put my rain boots back on and my outerwear to combat the rain on my mile walk to work. I remembered to put my hair back up in a twist. I didn’t want to go through the day with a mass of frizz while giving tours of the facility.

  When I stepped out of the room, I saw the doctor and the nurse conversing at the end of the hall. I waved and extended a “thank you” and “have a nice day” to them both. The nurse waved and said goodbye with a cheerful smile and brightness in her eyes. The doctor nodded and gave a curt smile returning his gaze to the computer screen he was reviewing with the nurse. I felt a
little disappointed that he was so indifferent. I don’t go out often enough to find a viable candidate to date and refuse to do online dating, so when I encounter a hot man, I like to fantasize that I’m hot enough to see a glimmer of want. And when I didn’t see that in the Doctor, my ego was further deflated.

  I walked out the door into the waiting room. The room was filled with several people waiting to be seen. I noticed an older man with a walker, a young woman with a boot and a kneeling scooter, and an older woman with a knee brace. I was happy to have scheduled early. A visit scheduled for an hour later, seeing all these injured people, would’ve set me off into a full blown panic attack.

  TWO

  I walked from the doctor’s office for about a mile to Duration Fitness. For the first few yards, I thought of Dr. Keene, wondering everything about him. Did he have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Is he always so serious? I can usually get people to be a lot more open and comfortable with me, even when I’m uncomfortable. I’ve been told that I put people at ease. Honestly, I was hoping he would show some interest, but I shook away the feeling when I reminded myself that I’m the patient and he’s my doctor. Was my doctor. I never intended to go back. Not just because of my fear, but because I didn’t want to create a fantasy that would never play out in reality. It would’ve been totally inappropriate to flirt. The little fantasy I held onto should’ve ended the moment he walked out of the examination room.

  I entered the large glass doors of Duration and said ‘hello’ to Curtis at the front desk. He gave me the key to the Sales office. I unlocked and entered, turning everything on, and checking to see if there were any voicemail messages that I needed to return. I had a couple of tours and sales pitches already scheduled this morning.

  While putting on my work shoes, I heard a knock on the door. It was Paul. He’s of average height, but of large, muscular build. His muscles displayed in his tight t-shirts with the Duration logo. He’d asked me out many times, but I declined, stating that I don’t date co-workers. Honestly, I was not attracted to Paul. He was too short, too blond, and worst of all, had a wandering eye. I was quite certain that he did much more than ‘train’ his clients. I have a type. I like a man that is tall, dark and handsome; much like Dr. Keene. Surprised that I thought of him again, I pushed away any thoughts of him, and placed my attention on Paul. I gave him a smile.