Sack Time
A Stand-Alone Romantic Comedy
A.M. Willard
Copyright © 2017 by A.M. Willard
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
A.M. Willard
P.O. Box 22822
Savannah, GA 31403
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real person, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: [email protected]
Cover Design by MadHat Books
Edited by Silla Webb @ Masque of the Red Pen Publishing
Contents
NEWSLETTER SIGN UP
1. Sherry
2. Greyson
3. Sherry
4. Greyson
5. Sherry
6. Greyson
7. Sherry
8. Greyson
9. Sherry
10. Greyson
11. Sherry
12. Greyson
13. Sherry
14. Greyson
15. Sherry
16. Greyson
17. Sherry
18. Greyson
19. Sherry
20. Greyson
21. Sherry
22. Greyson
23. Sherry
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by A.M. Willard
To Shari
My sleepy sunshine… Because of you and how you can disappear on me in text, Sack Time was created…
I love you my little eggplant lover you...
Sherry
Do you ever fall asleep in the weirdest places? I'm not talking about on the sofa while binge watching Netflix on a Saturday night… No, I'm talking about on your desk at work, eating a nice dinner with your roommate (because who could date a walking zombie), or how about today when I fell asleep during my yearly OB/GYN appointment. Which, by the way, is happening now, and I'm going to leave this office mortified in more ways than one.
Let's rewind a few minutes, shall we? I mean, you totally need to get the FULL effect of this humiliation. Here I am, all five-feet-two-inches laying on the uncomfortable chair in the tiny room. Oh, let's not forget the thin paper blanket covering my body that's only dressed in an even worse paper-plastic gown. Seriously, why are we forced to wear this? Can't we get real robes in these places? I've been asking Dr. Davis Sr. this same question for the past five years that I've been coming here. You'll understand my dilemma here soon… Yes, you read the last sentence correctly, five years I've been coming here at least once every year. I mean, a woman who's twenty-five-years-old needs to have her check-ups and birth control filled, right? Not that I'm getting laid regularly; that would require me to stay awake long enough to make it out on time for a date.
Laying back I make myself as comfortable as I can and stare up at the dingy off-white ceiling tiles. I start to count them row by row, gridding them off one by one in my OCD way that I do when I count to stay awake. This is the only thing that I've been able to do over the last few years to stay awake. Seems the focusing on numbers keeps the sleepy side of my brain working. Time passes, and I stop counting; shifting on the temporary table, the thin fake blanket falls to the ground. I lay here contemplating if I want to actually move and pick it up, or just wait it out a little longer before moving; hell, I'm comfy. Deciding to forego picking it up, I adjust my robe and before I know it my eyes slide shut. Time is nothing to figure in at this point, because when I'm out, I'm out until I startle or hear voices.
"Miss. Wilde, I'm Dr. Davis Jr., and it's a pleasure to meet you." The deep, raspy voice booms throughout the tiny space causing me to fly up straight, halfway falling off the table. Lucky or not so lucky for me, I'm caught by a pair of arms that are totally not MY Dr. Davis' arms. Nope, those are not his frail older arms… And that voice isn't the voice of a man who's been doing this for over thirty years… My face comes level with his as he's bending down to push me back up. My throat’s dry like I just swallowed a handful of sand from the beach as I stare into his graphite gray eyes. They resemble the ones I'm used to seeing, but they don't belong on this imposter’s body.
Leaning back up, I wipe my eyes as I try to focus on what's going on and where I am. I don't recall making an appointment with anyone other than my doctor, so who's this person? I know for a fact that my Dr. Davis is the only doctor who works in this practice. It’s only been him over the last five years. Just as I go to ask, I happen to notice that the light paper robe is wide open, and my goodies are on full display. I shouldn't let this bother me because what has an OB/GYN not seen before? Pretty sure they’ve seen a pair of boobies, and if they haven't—well hello, here's mine for you to stare at. Grabbing the side and crossing it over my chest, I gather my wits and clear my throat.
"Sorry, who are you again?"
"Dr. Davis, well junior, that is."
"Oh… Well, I made my appointment with your father…He's been my doctor for years, and I don't think this’ll work," I say quickly as there is NO way he is looking at my tunnel of love.
"I assure you that you're in good hands, Miss. Wilde, and since I've taken over the practice, my father has turned over all his patients to me."
I sit here staring at him like he's grown a set of horns. How did they not alert me of this change when I scheduled my appointment? Or, for that matter, checked in? This has to be against some policy, law, or hazard to the general population. I liked coming here to see his father; he's old, and it's not weird when he's down in between my legs looking around the tunnel of love for issues. Or, what's going to happen when he has to push and grab the double lattes? My heart rate speeds up, and a tiny bubble of sweat forms on my forehead. Someone has stolen my ability to speak, or act like a normal human being because right now all I can do is stare at him.
Jumping down from the table, half of the stupid robe catches on the side of those foot contraptions and rips in half. Great, now my body is on full display. I ignore it and dash over to the corner, pulling the 80’s style curtain closed so I can dress.
"Miss. Wilde, is everything okay?" he asks from the other side of the room.
"Yes…. Well, no it's not okay. You can't be old enough to stare at my goodies, and I refuse to allow you to touch me. I demand to see your father." My voice booms from behind my current shelter, and if I'm not mistaken, I swear I just heard a soft chuckle coming from him. I peek my head around and look at him. Yep, that smug ass is leaning against the counter, tapping his pen against my file with the sexiest smile I've ever seen on someone's face.
Quickly, I run through the reasons this appointment shouldn't happen.
Reason One: Never allow a handsome man to examine your lady parts.
Reason Two: Never let someone that you might be attracted to, to dig around in an area that should not be violated in that manner.
Reason Three: I can't remember when the last time I waxed was, so revert back to reason one.
Lord, this list could go forever, but at some point, I just have to pull this curtain back and face him. Dressed and satisfied that I’m covered, I slide the thin material back and square my shoulders at the imposter of a doctor. My voice is quiet and steady. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'll need to reschedule at a later time."
"Why?"
"Why, what?" I ask, scrunching up my face as I can't understand why he thinks this is normal.
"Do you care to explain to me why you're dressed and about to walk out without your exam?"
"Not really, just… just I don't feel like doing it right now, okay," I quickly respond. Grabbing my purse, I sling it over my shoulder and huff over to the door.
"My father is retiring; just thought you should know that you'll eventually have to see me or change doctors. If it would make you feel better, you can call me Greyson or Dr. Greyson."
I stop in my tracks with my hand on the handle to my escape. The room’s heating up, and I feel like I'm someone just turned the heat on. "Guess I'm looking for a new older doctor," I state firmly before I head out into the hall. Briskly I make a dash to the check-out counter; plopping my purse up on the counter I stick my head through the window for a familiar face. Not seeing the usual receptionist behind the desk now, I slouch forward in defeat.
"What's happening," I say out loud to only be startled by the raspy sexy voice behind me.
"Panic attack, denial, afraid of change. It could be many things, but without examining you, or doing a Q&A session, I can't help you." Dr. Davis—or the junior, I should say—cracks his funny joke only to cause me to cut my eyes in his direction.
"All done, Miss. Wilde?" the peppy nurse's voice beams with excitement as my head spins back to her.
"No, no I'm not all done, and I need a new appointment with his father." I practically scream it at her, causing a snort from behind.
"Sorry, but he's no longer accepting appointments. Want me to reschedule you?"
"No, no I don't," I say, snatching my purse off the counter. I stop, turn toward him and go to open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How can I respond to him while those graphite gray eyes are staring back at me with a cocky grin? I leave frustrated and not to mention without my prescription because I couldn't let the tunnel be searched.
Greyson
Today definitely hasn't panned out like I thought it would. No, in fact, it's like the worse day in the history of first days. Yesterday, I showed up to allow Dad to show me around the office. It wasn't like the first time I'd ever been to his practice; he felt the need to show me the ropes, introduce me to the staff, and hand over his office. I’d expected him to be here this morning, especially since he never said anything to me about skipping out on my first day. When I called him this morning, his response was, "Son, you've gotta leap, and if I'm there holding your hand you'll do nothing but depend on me." He might've been right. It would’ve been good to know this beforehand as it would’ve given me time to prepare myself. The image of shadowing him while he introduced me to his patients must've been some foreign dream because today I'm going in blind and oblivious to them all. For the most part, they’ve all been understanding, and hell even accepting of me taking over the practice. I talked with our office manager about putting together some kind of flyer that can be mailed out to everyone. This should've been done months ago, but while I was packing up my apartment and finding a new one here in Miami, Dad forgot to let his roster know about my arrival.
I stand in the hallway just outside my next appointment, scratching my head as I read over her file before entering. Yes, it's what I do before each appointment today. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do this on any given day, but today I’m playing catch up—scanning for something important before making a fool of myself. Stand, read, and walk-in while praying that the female behind the door is accepting; this is being repeated at every door.
"Miss. Wilde, I'm Dr. Davis, and it's a pleasure to meet you," I say while entering the room. My voice startles her, causing me to leap forward to catch her before we have a head injury added to the list of things today. When I take a chance to look at her, I'm taken back with how her skin looks to be made of porcelain, and her eyes resemble an icy blue crystal. I swallow before I speak, then help her back up to the seat. It's then that I notice her gown has come open, and I try to avert my gaze from her perfect chest. This is the one thing you learn in medical school… Do not pay attention to any particular area of the women's body. Especially when you are the treating doctor. Miss. Wilde goes on and on about why she needs to leave and how I can't examine her today. She's flushed, and I can see tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her once pale, perfect complexion is now dressed with tones of pink filtering across her skin; even her neck has flared up to the point where I want to run my long fingers against her skin. I want to take her pulse to see if it matches mine at this moment.
I shake my head and go back to the cardinal rules…
Rule number one: Don't sleep with a patient.
Rule number two: Don't envision doing dirty things to your patient.
Rule number three: Don't sleep with a patient.
Leaning against the counter, I try to focus on something other than the woman before me who's now dressed and running from the exam room. My long legs move out into the hallway where I can listen to her beg the nurse for another appointment with my father. I can't help the small chuckle that emits from my throat as I grab the next file and read it. Before I enter the next room, I stop and turn back toward the counter where she's shifting from one side to the other, drumming her fingers against the laminate. I can't help but hope she comes back. I'll need to dig deep to fight the attraction. All I have to remember are the rules—that should be easy enough, right?
Pulling into my parking space at the condo, I throw my car into park before I run my fingers through my chestnut brown hair. Today was more than I bargained for. Ever since the cute blonde known as Sherry Wilde ran from my office like it was on fire, I can't stop thinking about her. Before leaving, I found out that she refused to make an appointment and said she'd call back. I don't know if she thinks the situation will change and Dad will be back, but either way, it's probably for the best. I need to be honest with myself, my self-control of keeping my dick in my pants isn’t my strong suit. No, I'm not a man whore, I just appreciate a nice-looking woman. I'm a hot-blooded single dude, do you blame me? Just sitting here in my car thinking about her causes me to shift in my seat. I slide out my phone and scroll through my contacts. This is what I like about being single: I have options, and many of them still live in Miami just waiting to land Dr. Davis Jr.
My finger hovers over Suzanne's name; her long legs and bronze skin taunts me. With one tap, I'm sending her a message.
Me: Care to join me for drinks out by the pool and fun later?
Alarming my sleek black Lexus GS 350, I head toward the bank of elevators that'll lead me to my half empty condo. I've only been back for a week, and this place is twice the size of my apartment back in Savannah. That place was like a matchbox while I finished my residency. Dad helped me find this place as it's close to the water and not to mention the office and hospital. I toss my keys and wallet down on the dining table before checking to see if Suzanne responded. My night might be looking up.
Suzanne: See you in an hour.
Perfect, I've got enough time to shower, grab a beer, and relax for a moment. Once in the master bath, I turn the knob all the way to hot, heating up the water to adjust and wipe the tension from the day away. Today was a slower day, no babies, only about thirty people; I think that's what I counted from the stack of files on the corner of my desk. I hear the faint ding from the phone, sliding it open I see it's from my father.
Dad: Hope your first day was easy. I'll come by tomorrow for lunch.
Me: It was interesting, and lunch sounds good.
He actually did pull a fast one on me. The more I think about it, I should've seen it coming. I mean, his office was empty the day I showed up for my walk-thru. That should've been my clue, but no, I was blind to the fact that my father was actually done. He's been counting down the days until I returned for the past four years. I tried to get out of it as I wanted to start fresh someplace else and not follow in his footsteps. With the determination of both my parents, I caved and agreed. Now, I just have to fight them on the settling down and starting a family conversation. That'll come later, much later. Right now, it's time to focus, find my release with the ones that I know can deliver, and, of course, the growt
h of the practice.
Dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a pale blue pullover, I pace the condo until Suzanne buzzes. I've learned from the past when she arrives you head out, or you'll never leave. At times this isn't bad, but tonight's a meet and mingle for the condo. Since I'm new, I already RSVP'd to the thing and need to meet my neighbors. Maybe I shouldn't have invited her, but at least this way I can watch from a distance, admire the ones worthy of looking at, and with her on my arm, it'll fight the needy people off. Tonight's still young, and anything can happen.
Sherry
I told Ava that I'd meet her out by the pool as I left her giggling so hard she was crying over my day. For the life of me, I don't know why we're friends. Of course, her response was, "Sherry, it's been so long since a man has seen your tunnel that you should've just allowed him in. I mean, at least the cobwebs would be wiped away." After that statement, I grab a tissue, since I've been sneezing since I arrived home, and my book. It'll be at least thirty minutes before she joins me. That'll give me time to read and relax. Well, that's if I can stay awake long enough. I refused to take an allergy pill when I arrived home just so I could keep my eyes open for our evening. Making my way out to the lounge chair, I cover the plastic with a towel before sitting. Adjusting the back, I cut my eyes around the place and notice that not many people are here yet. This thing will be another bust, but the food and drinks are good which keeps us coming back each month. Crossing my legs, I open my book and begin to read. I can feel my eyes growing dark, and as much as I try to fight it, I'm not going to win. Glancing at my watch, I notice that I have a few minutes before Ava will join me. Laying the book on my chest, I take this chance to rest a moment. It's not until I'm being shaken and yelled at by Ava that I quickly realize that just a moment turned into drool-worthy sleep. Sitting up, I wipe the corner of my mouth that's dripping like a Saint Bernard that just drinks from a water fountain.
Sack Time Page 1