by J. P. Oliver
“I really don’t have time for any more of a social life than I already have, and no New Year’s resolution is going to change that. Maybe when I finish my residency, but until then, my social life consists of playing tennis once or twice a week and curling up on the sofa with my cat and a good book.”
“Oh, you have a cat?” She seemed thrilled at this new bit of information.
“Yeah, I just adopted him last month. I went to the mall to get some shoes, and the Humane Society had a booth set up. Bill—that’s the cat’s name—just looked so damn pitiful I couldn’t resist. He’s blind in one eye. Got it messed up in a fight, I guess. It’s all scarred up, but it doesn’t seem to bother him too much.”
“Oh, that’s so sad. You’re gonna make me cry.”
“What’s sad?” Mark had somehow extracted himself from the crowd of admirers and was now standing right in front of me. He swigged his beer and looked expectantly at Jolene, probably hoping for some juicy gossip. Jolene was the gossip queen of the Emergency Department, a title she wore with pride.
“Jason was just telling me that his cat is blind in one eye. Isn’t that sad?”
“I didn’t know you had a cat,” he said. “You never mentioned it.”
I shrugged. “It’s a new development. The Humane Society guilted me into adopting him.”
That wasn’t exactly true. The Humane Society hadn’t done a damn thing except bring the cat to the mall. The guilt and the decision to adopt was all me. In fact, the girl I’d talked to had tried to show me another cat—one that wasn’t so worse for the wear—but I’d only had eyes for one-eyed Bill.
Mark grinned. “You can’t fool me, Dr. Whitham. I know you, and you have a soft streak a mile wide.”
Heat suffused my face, and I had to look away. Mark’s dark eyes were far too perceptive, and I didn’t want him to see how his words had affected me. How they always affected me. The slightest bit of praise from him, and I was blushing like a school girl.
Tonight, it was worse than usual. Something about him, about his appearance, had my heart doing backflips. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, though. He was always the picture of masculine perfection, all pressed and polished and buffed to a high sheen. Rich and beautiful and confident to a fault.
Like a politician, I thought. Mr. Perfect.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, and suddenly it hit me what was different about him. He hadn’t shaved. There was at least two days’ worth of dark stubble on his face, and it gave him an air of wildness I’d never seen on him before. He was always handsome, but tonight he was absolutely heart-stopping.
No wonder the women had been all over him in that corner. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have joined them there, bouncing up and down and trying to put a crown on his head, vying for his attention like a love-starved fool. Because that’s exactly what I was, a love-starved fool.
“The cat’s name is Bill,” Jolene was saying.
“Bill?” Mark’s voice was loud—the kind of loud that comes from drinking too much beer—and I realized he was drunk. And drunk Mark was very different from sober Mark.
I’d seen him smile plenty—and flirt, good God the man could flirt a blue streak—but this wasn’t his usual movie star smile. This one was open and almost innocent, as if some invisible weight had dropped from his shoulders for just one night. As if he could finally relax and be himself. It made me wonder how much of the doctor’s confident demeanor was just a facade. If he was really as put-together as he seemed.
“Yes, Bill,” Jolene said. “Isn’t that a funny name for a cat?”
I was glad she was picking up the slack in the conversation because that drunken smile of Mark’s had me speechless. And the stubble along his jaw, that dark scruff I hadn’t seen before, had my fingers itching to touch.
“Your fan club is missing you, Dr. Johnson.” Jolene gestured in the direction of the nurses in the corner. A couple of them were still casting furtive glances in Mark’s direction.
“They’re probably looking at Jason,” he said, his slur confirming once and for all that he was definitely buzzed. “He’s a good-looking guy, and available, too. Aren’t you, Jason?”
I laughed. “I’m gay. I thought we already covered this.”
“I know that,” he slurred, and his lips curled into a salacious grin. “I probably know it better than most because I’ve spent time with you in the locker room.”
The locker room?
For one terrifying moment, I thought maybe he had noticed me sneaking glances at his body when he wasn’t looking. That maybe he had caught me staring at the monster cock that always hung low between his muscular thighs. That maybe he had noticed the color rising to my cheeks as I contemplated how long that thing could possibly get when it was hard. It was like an anaconda lying in wait, and sometimes I fantasized about what it might take to get it riled up.
Had he noticed that? Did he suspect I had a crush on him?
He put my fears to rest with his next words. “I’ve seen you checking out Brad Mitchell’s ass. Don’t try to deny it.”
I looked at Jolene, who had gone wide-eyed and silent.
“And that tall kid with all the muscles,” he continued. “What’s his name? You know who I’m talking about. The jack-of-all-sports who follows you around all the time. Mr. Long-Driver.”
“Kaden? He does not follow me around.”
“Does, too.” Mark tapped his index finger against his temple and grinned. “I pay attention. You think I don’t, but I do.”
“He offered to give me golf lessons, but he does not follow me around. That’s absurd.”
“Wait up, Jason,” he said, making his voice go high and silly in a very inaccurate imitation of Kaden. “Hey, Jason, what kind of racket do you use? Did you play tennis in college? You have excellent follow-through.”
“Shut up,” I growled.
“Hey, Jason,” he continued, his voice going even higher. “Could you take a look at my arm? I think I pulled a muscle during that last set. You’re a doctor, right? That is so badass.” He fluttered his lashes. “Did I mention I have a really long driver?”
“You’re drunk,” I said.
Jolene laughed. “He’s been sucking down those IPA’s like they’re going to disappear.”
“IPA’s?” I asked. “What are those?”
Mark held up his beer bottle and showed me the label, which I could barely see in the low light. “India Pale Ale. It’s pretty good.”
“Imperial India Pale Ale,” Jolene said. “It’s stronger than regular beer. Higher alcohol content.”
“Oh, no wonder.” Mark stared at the bottle as if it had tricked him in some way. “I don’t drink very often anymore. In college, I could drink and fuck all night, but now… I guess I’m getting old.”
Jolene turned to me, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. “As you can see, the good doctor is pretty toasted. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say the word fuck before.”
“Play tennis with him, and you’ll hear it plenty,” I said.”
”Well, maybe so. But still… you should probably call a cab for him and make sure he gets home safely.”
“Why does that task automatically fall to me? I’m not his keeper.” I was trying to play it cool. Trying to pretend that I wouldn’t do anything at all to keep Mark Johnson safe, or to spend more time with him. I was a fool for him, but Jolene didn’t need to know that. No one did, and especially not Dr. Perfect himself.
“I’m standing right here,” Mark said indignantly. “I can hear you talking about me, and I’ve gotta admit, I don’t feel very flattered.”
“I’m sorry, Mark,” Jolene said, patting him on the shoulder. “Look, I need to get back to my date. It’s getting close to midnight, and I want to make sure I get my kiss before he turns into a pumpkin.”
“A pumpkin?” Mark asked with an amused smile.
“Yeah, I met him on a dating site. They all turn into pumpkins eventually.”
“Maybe this one will be different,” I said hopefully, but she was already gone, making her way across the crowded room on those towering heels. “How the hell does she walk in those things?” I muttered to Mark.
He glanced back over his shoulder and watched her progress. “Very carefully, I hope. I’d hate to have to treat a broken ankle at the hospital New Year’s Eve party.”
He smiled at me, and I smiled back, and then we stood there in awkward silence. It was rare for us to have nothing to say to each other, but most of our interactions had to do with work or tennis. This was different. It felt weird, like when you meet an attractive stranger in a bar and have to pretend to have something to say.
I sighed into the silence between us. “God, we’re workaholics, aren’t we?”
Mark looked up, surprise etched on his handsome face. And then his features softened into a genuine smile that was so perceptive, so knowing, it took my breath away. “You feel it, too, huh? We’re so used to calling orders in the ED or talking shit on the tennis court, it feels weird just to be like this. Just the two of us with… I don’t know.”
“Nothing between us,” I said. “No patients, no hospital politics, no games.”
He grinned. “Yeah. No games.”
I’d been referring to tennis, but it felt almost like he was talking about something else. What the hell was happening here? Why was he saying things that sounded like innuendo? To me? I looked at my empty champagne cup. I must have drunk more than I’d thought. How many was that? Three? Four? Maybe even five. I’d spent a good time sucking down liquid courage at the open bar before I’d decided to mingle.
“You’re drunk, too, aren’t you?” Mark asked.
I shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. It’s been so long I’d forgotten how it can sneak up on you. One minute you’re saying I’ll only have a couple, and the next your head is glued to the carpet, and some frat boy is taking a picture of you and posting it to Facebook.”
“Instagram.”
“What?”
“I think that’s what’s everybody’s using these days. Either that or Snapchat.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “It’ll change in a month or two, anyway. I’ve given up trying to keep up with the trends. Not that I ever did in the first place. I was pretty much a nerd in school.”
“You?” Mark feigned shock. “Not hip young Dr. Whitham. I can’t imagine you ever being a nerd.”
“Fuck you, Mark.” I punched him in the arm. I’d done it plenty of times on the way to the locker room after tennis. Punching him, shoving him, getting shoved back. But it felt different tonight. More intimate. “And, by the way, I don’t think the word hip has been used since my grandfather was in grade school. You’re not as edgy as you think you are.”
“Edgy.” He laughed. “Is that what you are, Jason? Edgy? What does edgy Dr. Whitham do in his downtime? You and your one-eyed cat.”
“Okay, that just sounds wrong coming out of your mouth.”
“What, one-eyed cat?” Mark’s eyes narrowed, and there was a wicked gleam in them. “Do you stroke the one-eyed cat when you’re home alone, Jason?”
My face went hot. “Um… I think you mean the one-eyed monster.”
“I was just talking about you petting your cat, but I like where you’re going with this. Is that what you do, Jason? Do you stroke the one-eyed monster?”
My face got hotter.
“Set the stage for me,” he continued, that gleam still in his eyes. “What do you do? Take a nice hot shower, turn the lights down low, find some good gay porn?”
“I—” My words froze up. The scene he was painting was dangerously close to the truth, except sometimes—no, a lot of the time—there was no porn involved. My imagination could serve up perfect images of Mark doing wonderful, terrible things to me.
“Cat got your tongue?” Mark asked with a grin.
“Would you quit bringing my cat into this? I’m disturbed enough as it is.”
His eyebrows went up. “Does sex talk make you nervous?”
“Jesus, how much have you had to drink?”
“Just enough,” he said. “Maybe you need to have a few more. Loosen up that tight ass of yours.”
At my shocked expression, Mark’s face colored. I’d never seen him blush before, and it was fascinating as hell.
“That didn’t come out right,” he said. “I only meant that you’re uptight and you should relax a little. God, that was so embarrassing. Just forget I said anything.”
I still couldn’t wipe the shock off of my face. Dr. Mark Johnson—Vandy’s favorite golden boy—was actually flustered. I felt like I should call the Guinness Book, because holy hell that had to be a first.
His embarrassment gave me a surge of confidence because for once I could take the upper hand. Might as well have fun with it. See if I could make him blush again. I gave him my best flirtatious smile and took one step closer. “No need to be embarrassed, Mark. My ass is really tight.”
His mouth dropped open, and my confidence surged even higher. I’d rendered him speechless, and it felt good. Really good. Better than anything had felt in a very long time. I dropped my gaze to his slack, open mouth, and my dick started to get hard imagining all of the things I could do with that mouth. All of the things that mouth could do to me.
I wanted to reach down and adjust myself, to give my dick a little nudge in a different direction, but despite my discomfort, I managed to keep my hands still. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe Mark wouldn’t notice.
We stood staring at each other, neither saying a word, neither moving until Dr. Alex Trevayne showed up and ruined the moment. I had never hated him more, and that was saying a lot. Dr. Trevayne was one of Vanderbilt’s most respected surgeons, and he made sure no one ever forgot how brilliant he was.
“Good evening, doctors,” he said, enunciating the syllables in his pretentious Ivy League cadence. “What are you two doing over here all by yourselves? Don’t you see enough of each other working the ED together? I’d think you’d be sick of each other by now.”
Mark turned a huge smile on Alex that made me jealous as hell. “Alex, I didn’t know you were here. I figured you’d be somewhere much fancier than this for New Year’s.”
“I could say the same about you,” Alex said. He cut his eyes over to me, then back to Mark. “Actually, I did get invited to several other events, but I thought I should at least make an appearance here. It’s good for morale to let the others see that I’m a team player. That I’m not too good to attend work functions.”
Oh, brother.
Normally, I would have just walked away, but I still had a little bit of that unexpected confidence surging through my blood. Just enough to get me into trouble, probably. “So, you decided to slum it tonight with us peons. How magnanimous of you, Dr. Trevayne.”
“I try,” he said with a shrug, and I balled my fists against the urge to punch him in his perfect mouth.
Mark glanced at me, and there was a flicker of something on his face. Embarrassment? Shame? Worry? It was impossible to tell with the lights so dim. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“My father had a thing,” Mark said brightly. “I thought about going, but his parties have gotten so stuffy lately I just didn’t feel like dealing with it. Talking endlessly with boring politicians and businessmen is not my idea of a good time. All the nodding and shaking hands makes me want to shoot myself.”
Alex chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. I subscribe to my father’s way of thinking. You haven’t been to a real Nashville party until your hand is raw from all the handshakes.”
“Handjobs more like it,” I muttered under my breath.
Mark must have heard me because he shot a subtle smirk in my direction, but Alex seemed completely oblivious.
“Would you like to join me for another beer?” Alex asked, clapping Mark on the back. “This IPA is decent.” He held up a bottle that matched the one Mark had been sipping on.
“Thank
s, but I’m slowing down on the drinking. This will probably be my last one.”
Alex frowned. “We don’t have to drink. We could—”
“We’re leaving soon,” Mark said, then glanced sheepishly in my direction. “I mean I’m leaving soon. Not sure what Jason’s plans are.”
Alex didn’t even acknowledge me. “A raincheck, then?”
Mark nodded. “Sure.”
As Alex sauntered through the crowd of revelers, nodding to each like he thought he was the king of Vandy, Mark turned back to me. “You want to get out of here? This crowd is only going to get worse.”
He nodded toward the big-screen TV at one end of the large conference room, where the ball in Times Square sparkled on the screen. The digital clock superimposed on the scene read eleven-forty-nine. In less than fifteen minutes, it would be a new year, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted this one to end. Not when I had Mark Johnson all to myself.
4
Mark
The party had gotten downright stifling, especially after Alex Trevayne had made an appearance. Normally, I enjoyed talking to Alex. Enjoyed seeing the lust in his eyes as they roamed my body when he thought no one was looking.
Alex Trevayne was a force to be reckoned with. He was a brilliant surgeon, Ivy League educated, and backed by a wealthy family of doctors. Just like me. Alex was a good ally to have in my line of work, and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. He was like some larger-than-life TV doctor, with pale blond hair, intelligent blue eyes, and a strong jaw that said he meant business.
And he was gay. The perfect mate for me.
Even though I wasn’t out, I had to believe that my eventual coming-out would go a lot more smoothly if Alex were the one I took home to meet the folks. Figuratively speaking, of course, since my parents already knew Alex well. They had been close friends with his parents for many years. I knew they wouldn’t oppose a joining of our families, mainly because they had started randomly dropping Alex’s younger sister’s name into conversations—in a suggestive way I recognized all too well.