by Tiana Cole
I sighed heavily before answering, “A dead patient from midtown.”
Logan gave a little strangled noise. “Is it the same strain you’re looking for?”
“I think so. I’d have to check against Maria’s records.”
At the mention of my wife—dead wife? Ex wife?—Logan’s eyes shifted away, back towards the lab table. “There’s really nothing for you to do, Dr. Johnson. You should go home.”
“No, Logan. You go. Tomorrow’s Friday, right? Don’t you have some fun plans, maybe? It’s almost the weekend. And class—surely you have class?”
He fiddled with his glasses a minute more, then stripped off his latex gloves with a reserved groan. “I do have a paper due, Dr. Johnson.”
“I thought you might. Off you go. I'll babysit our little darlings.”
Within a moment he was gone. With plodding steps I made my way to my “office”—the indistinct room where I’d met with Denise—and locked the door behind me. I lay down on my couch and glanced at my watch. In about twelve hours I would need to be back in my lab, and I had no idea how I was going to spend them.
And then my phone buzzed.
Can I see you now? I can’t wait until tomorrow.
I didn't waste any time responding to her.
God, yes. I’m in my office.
It was like the universe answered the question I’d just sent it. And if I was honest with myself, I was hopeful that Denise was after more than just a late night chat.
Thirty minutes later there was a small tap on my door. I launched myself across the room to unlock it, and she was there on the other side. The second I had the door closed and locked behind her she flew into my arms. We spent about four seconds in a light embrace, pretending it was going to stop there, and directly after that we started peeling each other’s clothes off.
We were naked in seconds, and I gently pushed her down onto the couch. I stood in silent admiration of her dark, nude body, awed by her beauty as she looked up at me with her big brown eyes. As if reading my mind, she spread her legs and I wasted no time dropping to my knees to taste her. Her body writhed as I gently licked and sucked her swollen clit while sliding a finger inside of her, and she let out a long moan, grabbing the back of my head and pushing my mouth into her. Her back arched as I hungrily lapped up her warm juices, and I reached down to stroke my cock as my tongue worked her wet slit.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed as I sucked on her clit and managed another finger inside of her. She ran her hands through my hair, her thrusting hips indicating that my eager mouth was doing the right thing. I was lost in the moment, loving the taste of her, and heard her mutter the words, “Don’t… don’t stop.” Sensing that she was close, and not wanting to disappoint, I did as told and continued to slide my fingers in and out of her while gliding my tongue over her clit. “Fuck!” she cried out, her hands releasing their grip on my hair and pounding into the couch as she came in my mouth. I allowed her a moment to recover, my fingers and chin glistening with her warm cum, my erect cock throbbing in anticipation.
“Turn around,” I told her, my arousal adding a demanding edge to my tone. She was quick to oblige, her knees sinking into the cushions and hands clenching the back of the couch. Rising to my feet, I pulled her closer to me and fit my hard shaft inside of her, taking her from behind while her long hair flowed down her back. I grabbed her thick mane in my fingers, pulling it gently as I began to ram her deeper and faster.
“That’s it, baby,” I heard myself say as my other hand gripped her tight, round ass. “Take that cock,” I growled, unable to control the words coming out of my mouth.
She said nothing, just released a series of carnal moans as I plunged in and out of her, briefly noting the beautiful contrast of my pale complexion against her dark skin.
“God, you’re so big,” she finally spoke through gritted teeth.
With my face twisted in concentration and my orgasm edging nearer, I couldn’t form a reply. Instead, I pulled her hair harder and she cried out in pleasure as another orgasm shoot through her. Mine followed immediately, my body lurching as I filled her with my load. I collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily and my brow covered in sweat.
“You’re just… wow,” I panted, struggling to catch my breath.
I kissed her shoulder before falling onto the couch next to her, hoping Logan hadn’t overheard us.
Chapter 10
Denise
Well, that was one way to deal with conflict.
The head-on approach would have required me to be honest with Derek about Skip and my job; about the article I’d half-written but didn't want to submit, and about how an honest article about him would be lovely but wouldn't sell.
Or I could throw myself into bed with him. Which was, admittedly, a different way of doing things, but it was both effective and not objectionable. If I was honest with myself, and I should be because I wasn't being honest with anyone else, going to see Derek gave me a measure of comfort, even without the sex.
We stretched out on his leather couch, silent, for a few minutes before Derek spoke.
“And what brought this on? Not that I’m complaining.”
I sighed and rubbed my chin against his arm, which was hooked around my neck. “I drove to a little town south of here for a big story Tuesday with my photographer, and when we got there we found that it was pulled.”
“Pulled?”
“I was supposed to write up an arrest and arraignment of a government official, but it was pulled from the court docket. Lucky—my photographer—and I hung around all day trying to find out what was going on, but City Hall was locked up tight. That’s not a huge deal, except that my editor has a big hole in tomorrow’s edition that needs filling.”
“So what happened?”
With great effort I untangled my limbs from Derek’s. “Well, I got in contact with a semi-local lawyer who had something, so I had to drive down there again today. I found out that Tubby… er, the government official… presented new evidence that will supposedly clear his name. They postponed the arraignment to look at his evidence.”
“What’s the evidence?” Derek ran his hand up my thigh, severely impeding my progression towards getting dressed.
“I don’t fully know, but I have enough to write something tonight for tomorrow’s print, which will hopefully satisfy my editor.”
Derek’s hand dropped away from my leg, which was both satisfying and not. “Are you writing about me?”
Silence stretched between us for a beat. I probably could have been fully truthful, because honestly is the best policy, but I realized in that hesitation that I was scared of telling him everything. This thing with Derek didn't seem like it was going to be a fluke, and in that brief silence I told myself that I could find a way to both keep him and write something that would make Skip happy.
“I told Skip that you’re legitimate,” I began. “I still want to see the lab—in the daylight tomorrow, respectably—but I’m probably going to just pass you over to the Human Interest page. My byline is investigative, so now that we know you, your story doesn't really fit. Does that make sense?”
A wide grin spread across Derek’s handsome face, and it was like a punch in my gut. “That’s actually a relief, Denise. Thank you for respecting me and my work in this way.” He sat up and clasped behind my neck so he could kiss me. It was long, slow, and sweet; it held the desire of what just occurred without being suggestive. My stomach, just recently recovered from feeling like it was hit, warmed through me as I gasped. I squeezed my eyes against the fear that I was mishandling him terribly.
Derek pulled away and I smiled. “I should go. I've worked the last few nights and I still need to put this Decatur article together.”
His hand lingered on my knee once more. “I'll see you again tomorrow?”
“Definitely. Did we say 5:00 pm?”
“Yes. Hopefully my samples will have something to show you by then.”
I planted anoth
er kiss on his lips before I left.
Derek
After Denise left, I did something crazy: I went home.
I mean, it’s not like my place was abandoned, but I certainly was more prone to sleep at the lab than face that big empty box alone. But really, since Denise had spent the night there, it felt like a place of hope and promise instead.
God, but that sounded maudlin.
As I let myself in and saw that my cleaning lady had come and stocked my kitchen, I felt a pang of regret thinking I should have asked Denise to spend the night again. I walked straight through the living room, out to the terrace. It was too dark to really see the lake, but I could hear and smell it. Would Maria approve of Denise? I wondered. After five years, I was fairly certain that the statute of limitations on grieving had long passed and that I had buried it in my quest for a cure. As confident as I was in this, it was still fresh and new to feel so strongly about a different woman. Maria was the only woman I’d loved—did I have it in me to love Denise?
The empty apartment told me I should find a way. It reminded me what the alternative was.
I pulled out my phone and texted Denise:
Should have asked if you wanted to come back to my place. Now regretting my cold bed.
This time, she answered right away:
Finishing my article tonight, but that sounds lovely. Tomorrow night?
Definitely.
I blew a kiss to the lake as if I were kissing Maria; surely I could love them both.
Chapter 11
Denise
I would have absolutely loved to drive straight over to Derek’s and spend the night wrapped in his arms. Even the thought of it made my stomach bubble with excitement, but I knew as I pounded away at my laptop that if I had something good for Skip on the Decatur scandal, he’d be more likely to leave me alone about Derek.
The lawyer had some good info on Tubby. Lots of it was speculation, but there was enough there to create an interesting piece. I worked on it furiously—if I wanted it to print the next day, I had to submit it to Layout by midnight. Against my better judgment, I texted Skip to let him know it was coming.
Piece on Decatur ready to submit by midnight.
He responded immediately:
You got something?
Yes.
What about the doctor?
Seeing the lab tomorrow.
I guess I was expecting him to be excited and respond with elation and encouragement. This was how Skip and I operated, after all. However, he was oddly silent.
The article on Tubby took until the exact last minute; I actually hit the send button just one minute before midnight. With an exhausted sigh I leaned back in my chair, satisfied. I hoped it would buy me some time.
Friday morning dawned and the article on Tubby printed. I saw it when I arrived at work, and nearly wept with relief. Even better—Skip was out for the day. A meeting with the financial team, I gathered. The Chicago Tribune was an old paper with influential money behind it, but even the best paper in Chicago had to account for its spending. There were no messages or emails from him, so in a way it was one of the most relaxing days I’d spent in an age. I worked in my office most of the day, fine-tuning the next story on Tubby and talking to the lawyer in Decatur who had promised to keep me updated on what was going on down south.
By five I had arrived at Derek’s office. After a brief and awkward exchange with Logan the grad student, Derek ushered me into the main lab.
“This is where we’re hoping the magic will happen.” Derek had a hand on the small of my back; he kept a steady pressure there as we walked through the lab. “What we’re doing now is waiting for the cured cells to attack the cancer cells—we hope, at least. Logan and I keep staring at the cells. It’s like trying to watch a pot of water boil.”
I couldn't really tell what any of it was. To my unschooled eyes it was a backlit table of Petri dishes. “Do you think it’s going to work?”
“Well,” Derek’s fingers dug into my hipbone, “we’re encouraged because they’ve made it this far. In my five years of doing this, we often lose them in the first day.”
“Lose them?” I glanced at Derek. Our eyes met, and I realized that I wasn't taking information in as well as I normally do.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, often the cells kind of self-destruct even from the process.”
“Where do you get the cells to use?”
Derek’s shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “Different places. Banks. Cryo facilities that have expired tissue. Nothing illegal.”
A flush crept over my cheeks. “Of course. I didn't mean it like that.”
The idea of the cells pricked my interest. I dug around in my messenger bag for my notebook. “So tell me about what you’re injecting into the cells.”
Derek started talking but my thoughts momentarily wandered, and at the back of my mind something fell out of place. Something I couldn't put my hand on.
“Denise?”
“Sorry,” I blinked. “I’m listening. Go on.”
When Derek spoke about academic subjects, I noticed that he gestured with his hands, which were elegant and well-kept.
Again, I was distracted.
“We start with healthy cells which, as I told you, we get from a tissue bank. Generally they have tissue that’s no longer usable in a live subject. We inject the healthy cells with the cancer medium first. Sometimes this is where we lose the samples almost immediately.”
“From the cancer?”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “Not really. Often it’s just the process itself.”
I was scribbling now; my inquisitive side was intrigued. “Where do you get the cancer cells?”
I immediately regretted asking. Of course, as a doctor and a bereaved husband, he would have access to the crazy new strain of leukemia. I could see on Derek’s face that my suspicion was correct. “I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking. Of course you had access to Maria’s tissue.”
Derek nodded. “Yes. I was determined to use her tissue to study the disease that took her.”
There was nothing much to say after that. I was struck to silence as we finished walking the lab. My heart ached for the man next to me, but I didn't know how to express it without being terribly inappropriate. The lab was indeed top notch. I wasn't conversant in medical technology, but it certainly looked as if it the equipment was top of the line. To me, it showed Derek’s commitment. For him to receive such a large inheritance and spend all of it on such a quest… well, he just completely overwhelmed me.
***
We went back to Derek’s afterwards and made love, again falling asleep wrapped around each other as Lake Michigan pounded the shoreline below. Again, I wouldn't allow myself to think very hard about the convergence of Derek and the demands of my editor. On my flash drive I had a few versions of Derek’s story; I would expand the true story, the one of his brains and commitment, and would pass it to our Human Interest editor at the Trib. As for Derek and me, we would hopefully continue as we’d been, dipping our toes in this new relationship and seeing where it would take us.
Derek
One thing was certain: in the years I’d been working for a leukemia cure, I’d never been as distracted as I was that month. Obviously, she was the first woman I’d even looked twice at since Maria died… and more obviously, I’d done more to Denise than just look at her. As the days passed into weeks, Logan and I watched our cells. I also worked late at the downtown clinic and was completely wrapped up in Denise Willard. After I showed her the lab, we both went through a flurry of work that kept us apart for over a week. She had to travel for a story, and our cells had reached the critical stage of development. Truly, I’d never seen the process progress as far as it did that month. I was either sleeping at the lab or dreaming about Petri dishes. We still had a few weeks before anything concrete would form in our samples, but all the same, Logan and I were encouraged.
Three weeks passed since Denise came into the lab. O
ver those weeks we saw each other just a few times; it was a crucial stage in my experiment, and she claimed she was working on a small town corruption case in Macon county. We talked or texted every few days, promising to make the time. I meant it, but it was hard to execute.
One day I was working in my “fake” office, the one that the public saw on the 6th floor of the hospital. It was midday, when patients were either turned away for lunch or kept waiting while the staff ate, yet somehow a call sneaked through the switchboard and made it to my private line. For a few seconds I stared at the phone knowing it wasn't Denise or Logan, who would simply use my cell phone.
I finally just answered it. “Derek Johnson.”
“Doctor Derek Johnson?”
The voice on the other end was culled, laced with the sound of privilege, of summers on the Upper Peninsula, of Northwestern or the University of Chicago. It wasn't my kind of voice, for sure.
“Yes. I’m not seeing any new patients currently, but I have hours at the clinic downtown if you need to see me. Thanks.” I rushed my words on purpose and was about to lay the handpiece back in its cradle when the man stopped me.
“You’re doing cancer research on the top floor.”
My hand froze, along with my voice and my capacity for rational thought. How could he possibly know that? Nobody was supposed to know that. Even Denise, whom I had started to blindly trust the more I saw her, wasn't supposed to know that; but she was an investigative journalist. Considering that I didn't know how to answer him, I just kept my mouth shut and let the silence stretch between us, hoping it would make him uncomfortable.
It didn't. “Come on, doc. Don’t be scared. We’re very interested in what you’re up to.”
Finally, my tongue broke free. “Who are you?”
“Well, I work for a large company that would love to have access to your research. One that would pay a large premium for your studies, your materials… anything that you've had your hand to, we’d like to have. We have a team of doctors as big as any you've ever seen, Dr. Johnson, as well as the best facility in the Midwest. Let us come alongside you and help you with your work. You’ll get full credit for anything groundbreaking you discover.”