Doctor’s Duties by K.C. Crowne

Chapter 14

LOGAN

Ididn’t want to let go of her hands. Hell, not only did I not want to let go, I wanted to scoop her off the bench, draping those gorgeous legs over my shoulder as I carried her to the pool. I wanted to jump into the water with her, turn her around, pull her swimsuit to the side and take her right there.

The thought was enough to make my cock twitch, to make my heart begin to beat faster. I found myself thinking about the noises she made during sex, those soft gasps that rose into a crescendo of moans as she drew closer and closer to orgasm. And when she hit her peak, her mouth would open in a silent scream of pleasure, her back arching.

I pulled my hands away from hers before I got too carried away. This was a serious thing we were on the brink of doing, and the last thing I needed was to bring sex into it.

“Then we’re doing this?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“We’re doing this.”

Her expression turned severe. “Because we don’t have to. I don’t want you to think you’re stuck or something, or that you can’t change your mind.”

“Believe me, Abby,” I said. “If I was uncertain or wanted to change my mind, I’d let you know.”

“I get it. But still, I just don’t want you to think that I’d be mad if you did. This is kind of a crazy plan and if you start to have second thoughts, I’d get it.”

“It is a crazy plan. And if we’re going to do it, we’re going to need to set down some ground rules.”

“Right. Like what?”

“Like, we need to —”

Before I could finish the sentence, the door to the pool opened, and the chatter from a group of a half-dozen members of the men’s swim team, all wearing their Colorado Med Speedos, echoed through the huge space.

“First of all, we need to not look suspicious,” I said, raising my voice. “And a professor and student sitting here in the pool talking one-on-one is most definitely suspicious-looking.”

“Right. Let’s change and finish this at the snack bar.”

“Deal.”

We left the pool, both of us trying to look as casual as could be as we made our way out. On top of that, I had to adjust my swimsuit to hide the half hard-on I was sporting. We smiled at one another before splitting up to go into our separate locker rooms.

I didn’t waste any time taking a cold ass shower to calm myself down. Once I was done, I dried off and threw on my clothes before heading out. Dozens of people were in the gym lobby, most of them coming and going. Abby was already seated at one of the small tables in front of the snack bar area, a bottle of dark purple zero sugar Gatorade in front of her. Abby’s hair was pulled back into a wet ponytail, her look effortlessly sexy.

“Hey!” she said as I approached.

“Hey.” I sat down and opened my briefcase, taking out some papers and setting them on the middle of the table.

“What’s all this?”

“Making it look like we’re talking about school matters – you know, things actually appropriate for a professor and student to discuss.” I pointed to one of the papers, as if drawing her attention to something on an assignment. I followed this up with a slight smile, trying to keep it all nice and light.

“Good idea. And we should make sure to keep this short. Last thing we need is people asking questions.”

“OK,” I said. “So, first things first – we should meet outside of school and talk about this in more detail.”

“But you don’t have my number, right? That first day we met each other we just picked a restaurant.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But it’s pretty obvious when people are exchanging contact information.”

She smiled. “There’s an assignment we’re turning in by the end of tonight, right? That writing test you wanted us to turn in by five.”

“Yep. What about it?”

“It’s a blue book writing assignment, so it’ll be dropped off at your office. Read it carefully – I’ll make sure my phone numbers in there.”

I cocked my head to the side, confused and more than a little interested.

“OK,” she said. “I should probably get going so it doesn’t look suspicious. Talk to you later, OK?”

“Sounds good.”

With one more smile, she slung her purse over her shoulder and got up. As she left, I couldn’t help but steal a quick look at her ass, remembering what it felt like to squeeze it in the throes of passion.

Part of me wondered if that was the reason why I was doing all of this, for a chance to be with her again.

It would be a huge risk. But with Abby, there wasn’t a risk I wouldn’t be willing to take.

* * *

Later that evening, I was seated at the big wooden desk in my study. The tall, arched windows in front of me looked out onto the back sweep of my property, the lights of the city visible in the distance. In front of me was a glass of whiskey, my laptop, and a stack of writing assignments.

I had a policy for grading written material like that – I never read the name of the student on the front. It was a good way to avoid letting preconceptions I might’ve had about particular students cloud my judgement. Writing was unique like that. Some brilliant students were terrible at it, and some not-so-good students had a flair for the written word that they never showed for the rote-memorization parts of class. This assignment wasn’t anything too complicated – simply an essay in which the student briefly described what interested them most about oncology. It was more an assignment that I gave with the intention of seeing which students had more skill than simple memorization.

I was dying of curiosity, eager to find Abby’s in the stack and figure out her clue.

But I wasn’t about to break my rule. I went through the stacks one by one, grading the assignments and giving them all a healthy dose of red pen marking. As I did, I couldn’t help but notice how bad so many of them were. Sure, med students were med students because that’s what they were good at. But I remembered back when I was in my undergrad program, I had to take a healthy amount of writing courses. How did so many of these kids get through without getting flunked?

I sighed more than a few times as I made my way through the clumsy syntax, middle school level vocabularies, and poor handwriting that comprised most of the assignments. When I was done with a blue book, I’d decide on a grade, check the name, and input it into the online grading system so they could see it. So far, I hadn’t come across Abby’s.

I finally came across a halfway decent essay, one with some flare for style and clear organization. Part of me hoped that it might’ve been Abby’s, but I had a feeling it wasn’t – the writing was too boxy and straight to be a woman’s. When I was done, I decided that it would be the first “A” of the assignments. Then I flipped it over to read the name on the front – Blake Williams.

I smiled and nodded, recognizing Blake as Abby’s good friend in class. Like tended to stick with like, so it made sense that Abby would be friends with one of the other bright kids in the course. I wrote an “A” on the front, then keyed the grade into the computer before setting the book aside and moving onto the next.

However, as impressed as I’d been with Blake’s assignment, the next book flat out blew me away. The writing was fantastic, the organization of thought perfect, and even the vocabulary choices were impressive. The writing was flowy and stylish, and when I finished, there was no doubt this assignment had also earned an “A.” I flipped the book over and, sure enough, it was Abby’s.

Abby or not, this assignment was the best of the bunch so far. I wrote the grade on the front and keyed it into the computer. But something occurred to me as I did – where was Abby’s clue?

I turned my attention back to the essay, giving it another read-through.

Then I spotted it, a smile forming on my lips as I did.

“I’ve always loved living in Denver. Something about that 720-area code had always made me feel a sense of belonging that I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

I chuckled as I jotted down “720” on a scrap piece of paper. Then I read a little further to find the next hint – it didn’t take me long.

“My grandma moved in with us when my mom had just turned 50,” once again, the number was written out. I wrote down 50 after the 720.

The rest of the numbers were hidden in a similar way. Once I reached the end of the essay, I had a full phone number, area code and all, written down. I picked up my phone and typed in the number, along with a text.

Pretty clever, have to admit.

The response came moments later.

Ha! I was worried it might be too clever. Glad you figured it out.

I picked up my whiskey and rose from my desk just as another text came in.

OK, so we need to talk about this plan. Got something important to tell you. Want to Facetime?

Sure.

Seconds later, the phone buzzed with a call. I answered it, Abby’s face appearing on the screen.

She looked gorgeous as ever. She had her hair in a simple ponytail, no makeup on her face.

“Hey!” she said. “What’s up?”

She was speaking somewhat quietly, and I remembered she’d mentioned that her cousin was her roommate.

“Is it a good idea to be talking on Facetime like this? What if your roommate overhears?”

“Oh, Lexi? No worries. She’s off in her own little world with her painting.”

I nodded in a silent “OK.” “And what about you? You going to tell anyone?”

“Might tell my brother about it, but that’s it.”

“A brother, huh?” she asked, intrigued. “He as handsome as you?”

“The exact same amount of handsome, actually – we’re twins.”

Her eyes flashed. “Really? That’s so cool. I wish I had a twin.”

“It’s definitely got its pros and cons. But anyway, you said you wanted to talk about something regarding the weekend?”

“Yeah.” She glanced away, appearing a bit sheepish. “So, I told my parents you’d come to dinner so they could meet you.”

“You what?”

“I told them you were my boyfriend, and when I did, they were majorly keen on meeting you. So, I said that we could do dinner this weekend.”

I sighed, running my hand through my hair.

“OK, new rule – no secrets. Something like this comes up, I want you to tell me right away. No dropping bombs on one another.”

“I know, I know. And I wanted to tell you earlier, but you know…we were at school and all.”

“It’s fine.” Really, I had my hesitations about meeting her parents so soon. But no getting out of it now, it seemed. “What day?”

“Saturday. They want you to come over for a home cooked meal. That means home cooked by the help, just FYI. You don’t have any food allergies or anything, do you?”

“Just no seed oils if they can help it. Otherwise, I’m not picky. No allergies, either.”

“Got it.” She glanced offscreen and wrote it down. “OK, this should be good so far. And thanks again for doing all of this. You’re basically saving my life.”

She smiled, and I couldn’t help but match it with one of my own.

We said nothing for several moments, just looking into one another’s eyes.

“You look good,” I said.

She glanced down and laughed. “Laundry clothes. But thanks.”

“I mean it. You could be wearing a grocery bag with four holes for your arms and legs, and you’d still look great.”

Abby raised her eyebrows. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time we see each other.” Then panic flashed on her face as she realized she’d said something flirty. “I mean, well, um. You know what I mean.”

I wanted more than anything to tell her to hang up and come over right then. But I pushed that desire out of my mind. Last thing we needed was to complicate our arrangement with sex.

I grinned. “I know what you mean.”

More silence as we looked into one another’s eyes.

“Anyway,” I finally said. “I’ve got more papers to grade. Talk to you soon, OK?”

“OK. And thanks again, Logan.”

“My pleasure.”

She smiled once more, and the call ended.

When I put the phone down on the desk and took another sip of my whiskey, a thought occurred to me, one I was already more than aware of, actually.

I wanted more than a fake relationship with Abby.

I wanted a real one.