Dr. Orgasm (A Holiday Romance Collection Book 2)

by Michelle Love

  ‘Another night at work’, she thought, forlornly. Her day of classes had been long, she was still smarting from her Color Theory teacher’s lecture that her shades were consistently too dark. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and brooding?

  The dinged-up silver Accord let out a raucous screech as it came to life but it started, so that was something. As she rumbled down the street to work, Aullie said a little prayer to her own agnostic God that she would finally make some money. To cap off her struggles with Weston, the bar had been slow, tips had been low and her rent was due in a week.

  Yeah, see? I definitely have more important things to think about than some boy.

  She jerked to a stop in the depressingly empty parking lot behind the bar. Bundling up, Aullie headed into the bar. She said hello to the young blonde host, turned out her name was Calli, and made her way to the back, where the smell of rancid fry grease hung heavy in the air.

  Clearly glum, she nodded and grunted hellos to her various co-workers as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up. As she secured her apron, a nasally voice dropped her low spirits into the gutter.

  “See you’re going for the depressed goth-girl look. Again.” Eric wore his trademark sly, demeaning grin. “Yeah, you got that brooding look down to a T.”

  “Guess it’s hard to ignore the hunger pains, being a starving artist and all,” she smarted off, meeting his smug little eyes with a steely glare. ‘I need to start selling some art’, she thought, ‘if for no other reason than to get away from this tiny prick’.

  Eric chuckled at her dry joke, though she hadn’t meant it to be funny. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Aullie turned to walk away from him. Before she could, he said, “You gonna be grumpy all night? Cause that might affect your tips. Wouldn’t want you to have another bad night.”

  How could a person be so insensitive and infuriating?

  She strode away, not dignifying his bloated ego with a response. She furiously tapped at the POS computer, clocking in, for what she had already accepted was going to be a long night.

  One slow hour later, Brittany walked in the door in a flamboyant faux-fur jacket. It was what Britt charmingly referred to as cheap-chic and she actually pulled it off rather well.

  Aullie nodded a hello, felt like her first in ages. Brittany had been upstate, visiting her loud, lovable Latino family all week, so Aullie hadn't even had anyone to vent her boy woes to.

  After Britt ditched her stuff and clocked in, she made a beeline for Aullie, an anticipatory gleam in her dark chocolate eyes. “How’s it going?” The simple question was clearly not intended to glean information about Aullie’s current state.

  “I don’t know. How are the cold, dried up piles of shit in your yard?” Aullie said, sarcastically. Britt lived in a tiny townhome with a tiny yard that was constantly littered with tight coiled little waste piles from her massive pitbull mix named Tinkerbell.

  Brittany’s face fell. “What happened?”

  Aullie appreciated her empathy but could only muster a shrug. “Well, he came to pick me up Monday. In an Aston Martin.”

  Brittany’s jaw dropped, she was obviously thinking about the crappy car Aullie had described the first night and looked as confused as Aullie had been. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what my face did too. So, I tried to play it off, got in the car and he proceeds to tell me that he’s a Calloway.”

  She let that sink in. Brittany’s brows knitted, and she suddenly blurted, “Wait, like the Calloway building?”

  “Yep! So, he’s not some fancy surgeon or anything like you guessed, he’s actually way richer than that!”

  “Only you would sound disgusted by that,” Brittany laughed. “That is really big, though. That’s like… A lot of money. So, let me guess.” She tapped a finger to her full lips. “You got the hell out of dodge didn't you?”

  Aullie sighed. “I tried to stick it out. I really liked this guy. And I was all decked out in some of the clothes I made.”

  “You should really sell your stuff on Etsy,” Brittany interrupted quickly. “It’s really cute. Anyway, go on.”

  “I’m getting a table, shit,” Aullie glanced at the back of a lone man, Calli was guiding to one of her open booths. “Long story short, he made a comment about my clothes not being nice enough, I got mad and stormed off like a child. Felt bad at first, but then he called me eighty-seven-million times and I just haven’t answered. So, that’s that.”

  “God, I just can’t stand it when they’re too dirty stinking rich.” Brittany winked. “I am sorry, though. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  Aullie snagged a few coasters in case her new table occupant had some joiners. She was powering up a phony megawatt smile, but it dropped almost immediately.

  “What are you doing here, Weston?”

  His unkempt hair hung loose, it was longer than Aullie thought it was and the floppy cut made him look younger, a little softer, and almost more human somehow. He smiled, bitterly, “Obviously, you didn’t listen to my last voicemail.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t listen to most of them,” Aullie snapped. She was furious that he was there. It wasn’t going to be any easier to get over him if she could see him, especially since she had spent so much time trying to forget him that she had forgotten just how attractive he really was.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t want to.”

  “Why not?” he repeated.

  Because hearing your voice would’ve made me want to call you back. “Does it matter why not? I didn’t want to because I don’t want to. I’m not interested, ok? You’re not my type. I’m sure it won’t be hard for you to find another woman who wants to slobber all over you and all your money, so I would appreciate it if you would just leave. I have a job to do.”

  “But I don’t want to leave. And, considering that you’re a waitress and I’m seated at a table in your section, why don’t you go get me a beer?” he said, smiling like a fox.

  In lieu of a response, Aullie stormed away. Hot rage burned down to her fingertips.

  How dare he? What an entitled prick!

  She’d meant to find someone else to take the table but found herself angrily jabbing her fingers at the POS screen, ordering him a stout. In the midst of cursing him, she cursed herself for remembering his order from his previous visit. Once the beer was rung in, she printed the elderly men’s tab, she’d also been waiting on just to waste more time.

  Striding over to the bar, she drummed her short nails against the metal grate. Recognizing her nervous habit, Brittany appeared behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  Still seething beyond the point of words, Aullie jerked her ponytail backward toward her table and waited while Brittany scoped out the table.

  “Oh, shit! That’s him, isn’t it?” she replied, appropriately surprised.

  “Yep,” Aullie spat. The rhythmic clackety-clack of her nails against the metal did nothing to soothe her agitated state.

  “I’ll take him if you want.” Brittany’s eyes were still fixed on Weston.

  Aullie was suddenly prickled with a very surprising and unwelcome jealousy. “No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with him.”

  The bartender, a blonde named Teri with a tragically crooked boob job, set the frothy glass on the well. Aullie grabbed the dark beer and thumped it on the table in front of Weston. She had a new table and, anxious to walk away anyway, she asked impatiently, “Need anything else?”

  “Not presently,” he said, that smooth British accent sounded even better than she had remembered. “Seems as though you’ve gained another table of customers, peach. Attend to them, I’ll still be here. You can come check on me later.” Then he winked.

  Infuriated, she hissed, “Don’t count on it… Wait, why do you know my section?”

  “Checked the host stand when I got here. Wanted to know when you were busy and had valid reasons not to be talking to me.” His grin was sly enough to make her fury grow.

  “Any reason not to talk to you is vali
d,” she snarled, stalking away.

  Thankfully, in her years of waitressing work, Aullie had learned to fake a good mood and quickly. She cheerfully greeted her table, a foursome of preppy college boys and checked their IDs. When she brought them their pitcher of beer, she could feel the warmth of Weston’s gaze upon her back, which she purposely turned to him. It sent a shiver down her spine. Despite being thoroughly creeped out that he was there, she was actually a little flattered that he cared enough to show up.

  The Friday evening drinking crowd began to filter in. The more bodies that packed into the tiny bar, the hotter it got and the muggy air began to smell more like body odor and beer.

  Cooks yelled at each other in the kitchen while fryers sizzled, waitresses bickered and shoved each other around. The bar was in chaos but Aullie was actually grateful, not only for the distraction from Weston but from the high-income potential.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Weston typing swiftly on his phone with his thick brows furrowed. His glass was empty, save for a thick layer of tannish foam. Hoping that whatever he was doing wouldn’t be easily interrupted. Aullie stopped next to the booth, arms laden with dirty dishes, with sweat beginning to bead under her thick bangs.

  On her next trip to the computer, Aullie printed a tab and slapped the flimsy scrap of paper down next to Weston’s finished beer.

  Before she could walk away, he asked, “What’s this?”

  “Your tab,” she replied. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

  “Actually, no,” he smarted off. There was that sexy, devious little smile again that made her heart beat a bit harder. “I’m actually fairly hungry. Can you bring me a menu?”

  “You’re not staying.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. I’ll be here until you crack and talk to me.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” she asked, exasperated. “You’re not my type, ok?”

  “You’re intimidated by my money,” he stated with a flat expression which told her he was well aware of why she’d run.

  “No!” Well, yeah. “Personally, I’m just not a fan of the whole flashy car, fancy dinner, entitled men thing. Plenty of women are, though. I bet you could pick up any of the other waitresses, or patrons, in this building and they’ll be all about it.”

  “I’m not here for them. I’m here for you.” The sincerity in his eyes, mixed with a little bit of hurt and sadness and slight desperation, softened something in Aullie but she did her best to shake it off.

  “Why me?” She was surprised by the way her voice broke as she asked it.

  “I already told you,” he said with a heart-stopping smile. “I’m bewitched by you.”

  Aullie sighed, defeated and speechless. “Do you want another beer or something?”

  “Yes, please,” Weston gave her a wicked smile. “Flattered that you remember my beer, by the way.”

  Aullie rolled her eyes and walked away. She couldn’t believe the boldness, the audacity, the clearly crazy man was displaying. However, she’d wasted too much time talking to him and had some catching up to do.

  Weston moved quickly to the back of her mind as she made her rounds through the bar. Food, beer and, liquor orders were taken and delivered, credit cards were run and returned. Weston ate and Aullie wished he would leave, but he didn’t.

  Over an hour later, she brought him his third beer. “So, when are you leaving?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on when I get to see you again.”

  “You’re actually just going to sit here until I agree to go out with you again?”

  “Yes. I have emails to catch up on anyway.”

  “Oh, from your little work from home job?” Aullie glared as she mocked his lie-by-omission he’d told on their first date.

  “Hey, I do actually work from home most of the time,” he defended himself. “So, when’s it going to be?”

  “Ugh. Fine. I’m off Monday night again. I’ll text you or whatever if you just leave.”

  “Why? Am I distracting you?” he asked, wickedly.

  “Ugh, whatever, yes. Go,” Aullie urged.

  “Good, I’ll see you Monday then.” He looked smug as he slipped a bill from his wallet under his glass and stood to leave. Before Aullie could protest, he put a hand up and said, “Before you get all huffy about the money, I occupied your table for hours and that’s a fair amount, considering. Now, you have a good night. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  Oh, that purr in his delightfully foreign voice. He stood so close, even in the packed, stinky bar, she could smell his musky scent. It took everything Aullie had to maintain her aloof air. “Yeah. Bye.”

  Torn between relief and disappointment as he left, Aullie went back to work. She wasn’t closing, which she thanked God for. Her feet ached but she still had a few hours left to go, so she sucked it up. Rent, rent, rent, she chanted to herself as she picked up other people’s trash. Her job wasn’t a source of pride in her life, but the mundane nature of the work left plenty of free space in her mind to ruminate over Weston.

  Was she really going to text him? If she didn’t, would he come back? Did she want to see him? Yeah, kinda, she internally admitted.

  The last two hours at work dragged painfully by. Men whooped and hollered, glasses clinked, and chairs scraped the floor. The noise died slowly as drunk patrons stumbled their way out the door.

  The music was almost overbearing in the quieter bar, and Aullie caught the bartender’s attention. She made a twisting motion with her fingers to mime adjusting the volume.

  “So, how was your night?”

  The chair across from Aullie squawked as Brittany sat down across from her. Two large gray tubs full of forks and knives, a mountain of napkins, and a box of sticky tabs occupied the table surface between them. With a clink, a swoosh and a stick they fell into the tedious rhythm of rolling silverware together. This nightly ritual had become prime gossip time among the girls at Tackleman’s. As each of them joined in to finish up their side work, everyone got filled in on the Weston saga as Aullie vented out her frustrations.

  “Ooo, British accent huh?” a chubby redhead named Tasha asked, as she wore a dreamy expression.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know. Isn’t this all kind of stalkerish? Seems like a red flag.” Aullie usually didn’t care to open up to her co-workers but it felt good to get it off her chest.

  “I don’t know. I can’t even get a guy to text me back. That sounds way better. Plus, again, British.” said Janelle, the whippet-thin mom of a darling two-year-old boy.

  Brittany nodded. “His accent is nice.”

  The gaggle of girls clucked away, and before long the mountain of silverware before them had been rolled and placed in baskets. The general consensus had been that, at the very least, she should give him one more chance because he was so committed, and yes, the British thing came up a lot.

  Aullie considered this as she wrapped up her night. After she shrugged into her coat, she took the plunge.

  -Hey- was all that she texted to Weston. Aullie plunged the phone into her pocket and bundled out into a dark, freezing rain.

  ‘I won’t look at it the whole way home’, she promised herself. ‘I’ll make him wait’. Despite her promises, her phone burned a hole in her pocket. Every red light and stop sign she almost justified checking it, but instead turned up the radio and powered through.

  The roads were slick and shiny under the dingy yellow streetlights and rain rhythmically drummed against the windshield. Thankful to finally be safely home, Aullie parked her car and trotted up the stairs to her cement box of an apartment with a white-knuckle grip on the slick rail.

  She flicked on the switch and her tiny haven came to life. The light, coupled with the bright variety of colors, were a stark contrast to the melancholy world outside. Any wall space that wasn’t occupied by a painting or a pinned-up sketch was draped with colorful tapestries. Her full-size mattress, dressed in paisley sheets, sat atop a bunk bed type piece of furniture with
a cluttered, messy desk underneath.

  Instead of a living room, Aullie had built a small variation of a dining room. She wasn’t much into TV, so she didn’t own one, not that she could afford cable anyway. Instead, a massive turquoise dining table that Aullie had bought from goodwill and spray painted herself, dominated the space across from the bed.

  On one side sat a bright yellow couch printed with Aztec-style flowers, where her massive gray cat Bruce lay curled up on his favorite corner. On the other side sat two clunky chairs that came with the table. The table top was littered with random art supplies and pieces of various sculpture and ceramic projects Aullie had been required to do over the years. Anyone that opened the door could tell an artist lived there, and Aullie loved it that way.

  She hung her wet jacket on a coat rack made of real broken branches wrapped in rugged rope. As she slipped out of her work shoes, she pulled her phone out of the pocket and illuminated the screen.

  A hearty rush of breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, flooded out of Aullie. There it was.

  Or rather, there they were. A -Hey!- and a -How was work?- both from Weston, four minutes apart. Though she was happy to hear from him, she wanted to remain standoffish.

  -Fine. How was the rest of your night?- She typed back.

  She left the phone on her counter next to the fruit bowl and stripped down to shower all the restaurant off her. Under the warm drizzle, the crappy shower didn’t really get hot as she scrubbed at the grease, beer, and ketchup that always seemed to stain her worse than her paints did.

  Thanks to her quick bathing session, she burned off a few more minutes which kept up her intended aloofness. She changed into a pair of oversized, black and white checked flannel pajama pants and a baggy university shirt stained with red, white, and yellow paint. Aullie scooped her phone off the counter and checked it again, giddy to see the two text notifications.