The Reason for Me

by Prescott Lane

  He pushes the glass up to my lips, and I give him an approving smile. What’s the worst thing that can happen?

  Well, I didn’t anticipate how bad the waiting would be. That’s the worst thing. I’ve been laying here sipping for an hour, listening to the click-click of the keys, followed by long stretches of silence, then head shakes, and the slamming down of the delete button.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Dirty Truth Blog

  November 14

  Pussy Mechanic here. I’m taking over The Dirty Truth while our girl recovers from the flu. And I think it’s time I set the record straight about a few things.

  First things first, us groinologists got a bad rap in an early post. Yes, we should warm up our hands, and I suppose the gowns could be a little nicer, but please remember the purpose of your annual trip is to possibly save your life. It’s not that we enjoy sticking a metal vice up your vagina, it’s a job requirement.

  Which brings me to something your Dirty Truth bloggette and I have debated many times—the pervert male gynecologist, as she affectionately refers to me. Straight up truth, we do not check our penises at the door. I try to switch that part of my brain off, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen. I know you want to know, so yes, I’ve gotten a boner examining a woman. She had nice tits, what can I say? But I stay professional, always. I don’t hit on my patients, although sometimes they hit on me. Trust me, guys don’t become gynecologists for the tits and ass. In fact, it’s the opposite. Most guys in med school avoid gynecology, afraid that the vagina will forever be ruined for them.

  So why did I choose this profession? Well, I lost my mom to cancer. That was the driving force, but there were other reasons. Honestly, I spent enough hours in the emergency room to determine that women are just better patients than guys are. They tend to tell you exactly what they are feeling and follow through with treatment. Also, the profession in and of itself is rewarding. Four of the five leading cancers in women are curable if detected early. I like those odds.

  Okay, number two. I guess if you follow this blog, you’ve figured out by now that I’m the random kiss from Halloween and the date-phobic neighbor our bloggette really likes kissing! I’m happy to report that I’m putting my phobia aside and taking her out on a real date. And I haven’t done this in a fucking long time, so I need some ideas. And please not the standard dinner and a movie. There is nothing standard or ordinary about her. I need to hit this one out of the park. She deserves it, and I owe it to her because I’ve been a complete ass. So hit me with your comments below, and I’m sure one of us will keep you posted.

  *

  ANNALYSE

  Smiling, I read his post twice. Holt’s laying next to me, reading over my shoulder. He’s trying to play it cool, but I know he’s nervous about what I think. It’s cute that what I think means so much to him. I hit publish then playfully swat his chest. “You got a boner during a breast exam!”

  “This one woman. Every fucking year.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “I’m kidding,” he says.

  Leaning up, I kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for writing it for me.”

  He pulls me between his legs, holding me tightly. “How’s your head?”

  “A little better,” I say, leaning my head back on his shoulder. “Dinner and a movie would be just fine.”

  We lay quietly, watching the comments roll in. There are some real doozies: a video game competition, bungee jumping, and bar hopping. Then some people go way overboard and write a damn thesis on starting the date off with flowers and chocolate, and hiring a private chef. Seems a bit over the top to me. But Holt and I have fun watching it all unfold.

  We spend the rest of the weekend the same way. He stays with me constantly, except for his brief nightly visits to his house, which I don’t bring up anymore. He takes excellent care of me, and by the time Sunday night rolls around, my temperature is almost back to normal, 99.8. I’m walking around without assistance, and the IV has been removed. The only real lingering symptom is my lack of energy. Holt says that’s normal, and that it will probably take a couple weeks to have all my strength back.

  There is one other side effect of my being sick—Holt hasn’t really kissed me in days. I know, I know, I’ve got the flu, but I miss the feel of his body, his tongue. I don’t want him to get sick, I don’t. But it’s torture to be so close to him and not really kiss him.

  I walk out to the patio where Holt is putting out a ton of blankets. I’ve been stuck inside for days and was hoping some fresh air would give me a jolt of energy. Meg and Patrick have this cool television and outdoor fireplace on their back patio, so I figured we could binge-watch something. At least the change of scenery will be nice. I watch Holt start up the fire.

  Here’s the thing about fire. It’s one of those double-edge sword things. You need it to stay alive. In fact, it’s one of the basic needs of human survival—but it can also kill you. So how close is too close? Is a little burn okay? Most of us had to get at least one bad sunburn before we learned the importance of protecting ourselves. And even after that lesson, we are still drawn to the warmth of the sun, the flicker of the flames. Holt looks back at me, his eyes smoldering, his silhouette framed by the blaze, and I wonder how much I need to protect myself.

  “What should we watch?” he asks, walking towards me.

  I think about suggesting Scandal since Meg thinks Holt looks like Jake, but I don’t really think guys like that show very much.

  “Anything but some medical drama,” he says.

  “But I love Grey’s Anatomy,” I say. “The early seasons with McDreamy and McSteamy.”

  “You know being a doctor or a medical student isn’t anything like that?”

  “Don’t ruin the dream,” I tease. “Besides, you could be McTidy.”

  He tickles my sides a little. “Tidy! That’s the best you could come up with?”

  We settle on watching Sons of Anarchy. Holt suggests it because of the motorcycles, I think. I know he just likes the fighting, but who am I to complain—seven seasons of Charlie Hunnam. Yeah, I can deal with that!

  But midway through season one, my eyes are getting heavy. Laying on the outdoor sofa, I adjust my pillow, placing my head on Holt’s chest, and flip the blanket off. His fingers lightly go through my hair, which only makes me more tired. I start fighting my sleep. I know at some point, in some season, Jax Teller is naked. I don’t want to miss that, but my eyes close.

  “Hey, man.” I hear Doug’s voice. Okay, so I’m a chicken, but I keep my eyes closed. I know Doug was interested in me, and here I am curled up with his neighbor. I feel Holt shift, no doubt looking to see if I’m asleep or not. “She’s out,” Doug says.

  “She’s been sick,” Holt whispers.

  “Judy and Carla said something about that.”

  “Yeah, they brought some food over.”

  “Look, man, I don’t want this to be weird between us. She never said anything about you guys at Halloween or that day on the dock. I didn’t realize you guys were hooking up,” Doug says.

  Hooking up? I’m fake-sleeping, so I can’t really tell him it’s none of his business what we are doing. Hope my resting bitch face is in full force.

  “We’re good,” Holt whispers.

  “Lucky bastard,” Doug says. Holt’s body tenses, and he moves the blankets back over me, no doubt to keep Doug’s wandering eyes off me.

  “I don’t want to wake her,” Holt says.

  “Sure, man,” Doug says. “Catch you later.”

  “Okay, he’s gone. You can quit faking,” Holt says.

  I lift my head, resting my chin on his chest. “Why in the world would Meg want to set me up with him?”

  “He’s got all the woman around here fooled except Carla and Judy.”

  “Still, Patrick and he are friends, so I’d think Patrick would’ve warned Meg.” Holt’s eyes betray him. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  I dart up. “Is this some
bro code?!”

  “No. But I know Patrick was a player before Meg.”

  “I know. That’s why they haven’t gotten married.”

  “And I’m sure he doesn’t want Meg to know he’s hanging out with someone like Doug. Meg might think he’s falling into old habits,” Holt says.

  “Patrick hasn’t cheated on Meg, has he?” I ask—because if he has, I’ll slice his nuts off with a dull knife and feed them to the fishes in the lake.

  “Not that I know of. He seems happy with her, but I’ve heard stories of how he used to be.”

  “Do you hang out with Patrick and Doug much? I mean, you aren’t like that.”

  “A little. They remind me a lot of my buddies from med school,” he says, his eyes lowering. “Patrick’s a good guy and so is Doug. He’s just a serial cheater.”

  I collapse down on the sofa. “Don’t ever do something like that to me, okay? I mean, if you want to fuck someone else, just tell me. Don’t go behind my back. If you don’t want to screw me anymore, just say it. Just like that: Annalyse, I’m sick of your pussy, we’re done.” His laugh is so loud that I swear the house vibrates.

  “When you get sick of my dick, please don’t tell me like that. Lie to me instead.” I giggle, realizing how crazy I sound. “You gonna be alright when I go back to work tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “I asked Judy and Carla to check on you. Don’t think you’ll be contagious anymore, but wait a few more days before you’re around Rachel and the boys.” I nod as his fingers gently stroke my cheek. “I’m going to miss you.”

  Hearing him say that warms my heart. We haven’t made any huge promises to each other. There’s been no formal definition of what we are, but in his own little ways, he’s starting to open up. And I know how hard that is for him. “Any part in particular?” I ask.

  “Don’t torture me.”

  “The flu is the biggest cock blocker there is.”

  He pulls me onto his lap, so I’m straddling him. “I know you need a few more days,” he says, his eyes focused on my mouth. It’s been days since we’ve done anything. I can’t blame him. I’ve been a hot mess, but I’m over the little platonic pecks on the cheek and forehead. And from the way his eyes are lapping over me, I know he is, too. “Fuck it,” he says, his lips crashing into mine. Gripping a fist full of my hair, he gives it a little tug, causing my mouth to open, granting him the access he’s so desperate for. As soon as his tongue finds mine, his grip relaxes, and my body melts into his.

  Every time Holt kisses me, it’s like he’s kissing me for the last time. It’s incredibly sexy and scary at the same time. It’s like he’s planning for us to end, or perhaps just doesn’t have any faith in things lasting. I know the feeling. And I know the feeling of holding on to the last time you kissed someone. He pulls back, looking into my eyes. “What the hell are you doing to me?” he whispers.

  “I’m just kissing you,” I say.

  “No, you’re bringing me back to life.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ANNALYSE

  Monday morning means Holt’s back at work, and Meg’s in full-on mother mode, and there is simply no way to appease her when she gets like this. You just have to go with it. She called bright and early at nine in the morning. It’s the afternoon there, and I knew it was killing her that she hadn’t talked to me while I was sick. So after assuring her a dozen times that I’m better, taking my medicine, and resting, she finally fills me in on London and everything she’s been doing. “Think Patrick and I will be back for Christmas.”

  “That’s great! For good?”

  “His project is going well, but I’m not sure yet. Either way, I want you to stay. Patrick and I already talked about it. Please don’t feel like you have to rush to get your own place.”

  “Thanks, that’s sweet,” I say.

  “You aren’t planning on taking more writing jobs that make you travel, are you?”

  “I told you. I’m done with all that. I just haven’t given much thought to the long-term.”

  “Is Holt long-term?” she asks.

  “I doubt it,” I say, my heart squeezing the way it does when I talk to Logan.

  “Why? He called me every day while you were sick. He seems to take good care of you.”

  “He does. But I’m not sure he’s interested in anything serious.”

  “Then make him interested,” Meg laughs.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why? Do you want something serious?” she asks.

  “Maybe, but with my history, my issues, I just don’t see how. The kind of man I’d want is going to want things I can’t give him.”

  “Annalyse, talk to Holt. He’s a doctor. He’ll understand and maybe . . .”

  “I’ve got to go.” I quickly hang up without even waiting to hear her say goodbye. It’s rude, I know. But I also know that Meg wouldn’t have let me off the phone. And there are certain flames that I’m not brave enough to walk into.

  It’s almost like I can feel the flames nipping at my heels, and for the first time since I’ve returned home, I want to run.

  *

  HOLT

  The only thing that’s saving her ass from what I’m sure would be an enjoyable spanking is that she didn’t take the motorcycle here. I don’t know what part of rest and take it easy she doesn’t understand. Days of fighting the flu and watching over her, and the first time she’s out of my sight, what does she do? Go shopping.

  I had a break in my patients and snuck home to check on her, only to find her gone. Luckily, Judy and Carla had checked on her this morning and knew where she was off to. In my mind, I knew she must be feeling better if she went out, but I also knew I wouldn’t relax until I saw she was okay for myself.

  As soon as I pull my car up to the corner, I see her through the picture window of the bookstore, all nuzzled in a chair, one book in her hand and a dozen others surrounding her. She looks totally lost, but in the best way, like she’s on the best vacation. I don’t want to drag her back to reality, so I stand for a minute just watching her, wishing I could go wherever she is in her head.

  Before she spots me, I walk inside, a young guy clerk greeting me. “Can I help you?”

  I point to the window. “See that young woman over there?”

  “I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” he says. “She turned me down flat.”

  My chest puffs up a little bit, and I say, “Good for her.” My body relaxes at the thought she’s with me. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Okay, suit yourself,” he says.

  I glance towards her again, thinking. How should I play this? How would I approach her if we’d never met? Hell if I know. It’s been forever since I had to pick up a woman, and generally they just sort of fell in my lap, anyway. But Annalyse is different. She deserves a man to work for her. Yeah, we slept together quickly, but she’s making other parts of me besides my dick work pretty damn hard. She’s chiseling into my heart and head, making me think about things I’ve avoided thinking about for years.

  I step towards the clerk. “I’d like to buy a copy of every book she got out.”

  “Nice,” he says and holds out his hand for a fist bump, which I ignore. He disappears for a few minutes, and I stick my head around a bookshelf, sneaking a peek at her. God, she’s beautiful. What the hell was my problem? This sweet, beautiful woman only wants me to take her to dinner, spend time with her outside of bed. Her eyes look up, and I dart back. I’m not ready for her to see me yet.

  And that’s been my whole fucking problem—not being ready for her to see me.

  “Here you go,” the clerk says, handing me a bag full of books. I give him my credit card and take a deep breath. Holding the bag, I start towards her.

  As usual, she feels me coming before I get there. Her smile covers her entire face, and there’s no being worried or pissed when she looks at me like that. “You’re busted!” I say playfully. “You’re supposed to be resting.”


  She leaps into my arms, kissing me hard, and I give her ass a little smack. She giggles. I know she loves it when I do that. And I don’t give a shit who sees us—her ass belongs to me, just like the rest of her. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “I went home to check on you, and Judy and Carla ratted you out,” I say.

  “Sometimes I kind of love how protective you are. It’s very sweet,” she whispers, raising an eyebrow at me. “When it’s not overbearing and ridiculous.”

  She still looks pale, her skin flush. I know she’s probably running a low-grade fever still, and there’s not a glass of water in sight, so I also know she’s not following my directions to stay hydrated. Glancing down at her stack of books, I see they are all travel books. That means one thing for Annalyse; she’s wanting to escape. I thought we were on better terms, but maybe not. “Going somewhere?” I ask.

  She just gives a little shrug. “Old habits. What’s in the bag?”

  Fuck, I bought these damn books without even realizing what I was buying. So basically, I bought her books so she could pick a place to run off to. Real smart. I hold them out to her. “Since I want you in bed resting, I figured I’d bribe you.”

  She peeks inside, shaking her head at me. “For a man who hasn’t dated in so long, you sure do have some good moves.”

  Smiling, I pull her to me. “Glad you like them. Otherwise, I saw a book called Dating for Dummies that I might need.”

  She looks out the big picture window, whispering, “I don’t know what I’m doing either, Holt.”

  This isn’t like her. She’s usually very sure of herself. Sitting down on the chair, I pull her into my lap, and pick up the book she had open. “What were you reading?”

  “I was reading about the Santa Monica Mountains. I’ve never been there, but I’d like to see it.”

  “What’s so special about them? You’ve been all over the world, I’d have thought . . .”

  “There was a fire there,” she says. “You know how California gets a lot of wildfires?”

  “Yeah.”