Unfriending the Dr by Piper Sullivan

Persy

“It’ll be okay, Lacey. The tech is going to take off your cast.”

The little girl had come in today excited to have her cast removed, until it came time to having the thing actually cut off.

She shook her head, brown pigtails swinging left and right. “I don’t want it to come off. Look, all my friends signed it and drew pictures.”

“Ah, I see.” I squatted down so we were face to face. “You can keep the cast. We’ll make sure the tech removes it with one clean cut of the saw.”

“Saw?” Her big brown eyes widened in surprise, and then interest. “Really?”

“Yep. That’s made out of tough stuff,” I told her and tapped the edge of the cast. “Ready?”

She looked up at her father, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Ready.”

“I’ll be right there, honey.” He gave her a soft pat on her backside and she giggled, taking off as soon as the tech arrived, peppering him with dozens of questions.

“Finally.” He smiled. “We’re alone.”

A chill went up my spine at the predatory smile he flashed. “Is there some medical problem you didn’t want to discuss in front of your family, Mr. Jones?”

He let out a half-amused laugh and shook his head. “Of sorts. My problem is that we’re both pretending not to want each other, Dr. Vanguard. Isn’t that right?” He took a step forward and I took a step back.

“No, that’s not right. You’re married and I’m not interested.”

“Oh, come on now, Dr. Vanguard, don’t tell me a woman like you is opposed to being my little bit on the side.” He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me close, his breath reeking of cigarettes and cinnamon gum.

I shrugged off his touch and gave him a shove away from me. “A woman like me?” The jerk had really pissed me off. “Smart and accomplished, in addition to being nice to look at? Yeah, why wouldn’t I want to be a convenient hole for a married father who probably doesn’t even remember how to give a woman an orgasm? Unbelievable.”

His frown grew darker with every word out of my mouth. “It was just a question.”

“An insulting question after an equally insulting proposition.” I let out a shaky sigh, reaching for calm before I went berserk on this douche canoe. “Why don’t you go hold Lacey’s hand while she gets her cast off, before I get us both in a world of trouble.”

A broken arm or a well-timed kick to the nuts would cause questions, and I would be happy to provide the answers.

Mr. Jones nodded, his eyes filled with shock that any woman would dare turn down an offer to be his unsatisfied mistress. As if.

His shoulders fell, his bravado vanished. “And please, stay home for the next follow-up visit. It’s in four weeks.”

Mr. Jones shrugged. “Suit yourself. And for the record, I give plenty of orgasms.”

“I’m sure you do.” Not. “Have a nice day, Mr. Jones.” I kept a polite smile on my face, but inside, I seethed. Men. They were complete and total garbage humans, always trying to stick their dicks in someone without regard for anything else.

As soon as the exam room was empty, I took a moment to myself to calm down before I went in search of Melanie.

“Persy, what’s wrong? You look mad enough to chew nails.”

“Isn’t the saying mad enough to spit nails?”

Melanie laughed and shrugged. “Maybe, but you look so mad that you might just ground the nails into dust and swallow them like a multivitamin.”

“Melanie, you are one of the most colorful people in this town. Keep it up.”

Her laughter rang out and a few of those waiting in the emergency room looked up, curious as to what was so funny. “So, who pooped in your oatmeal, Dr. Vanguard?” Melanie’s hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head. “It’s still weird to call you that.”

I got that often from the adults in town who knew me as a child. Some were former teachers, old employers. Melanie had been the school nurse in elementary school before getting her RN.

“Mr. Jones. I’ve asked him not to come back for Lacey’s follow-up, can you put in a reminder?” At her quizzical look, I gave Melanie a brief rundown of his disgusting proposition. “Same thing that always happens.”

Melanie’s look was pure sympathy. “Sorry to hear that, hon. Tell Ryan, I’m sure he’ll be eager to pummel the guy for you. He’d do anything for you, Persy.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But this guy isn’t worth the headache or the paperwork. He talks a big game, but he would probably be the first to press charges and I don’t want the hassle or the trouble for Ry.”

And, of course, now my thoughts were on the one person I tried to from thinking about all day.

Ryan. Kind and sexy and sweet. Funny. Witty. Gorgeous as hell Ryan. Thoughts of him inevitably led to thoughts of that night, more than three months ago. It was the hottest night I’d ever experienced, so damn satisfying that my toes curled inside my shoes just thinking about him and the things he did to me.

And the way Ryan responded when I did things to him.

A shiver went through my body and I gasped, grabbing the next file and marching away from Melanie’s knowing smile.

Not one night had gone by since then that I hadn’t thought of what happened between us. Every night when I laid my head down on the pillow, those images came back to me in vibrant, real-life color. The color of his blue eyes boring into me, the way he wore that crooked, slightly tense smile when he thrust into me. It was as if Ryan was programmed to know exactly how to please me because every touch, every kiss, every moan, brought me to a new level of pleasure.

God, yes! Again, please.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to Ryan for a repeat of that night, no matter how much I wanted to. Good friends were hard to come by in this world, and Ryan was the best friend I’d ever had. Sure, when I needed girl time or gossiping at the nail salon or spa, I called up Megan or Gus, Teddy or Hannah. But none of them were Ryan. He was my best friend, my confidante, my next-door neighbor. He was Titus’ godfather, and I couldn’t ruin all of that for something that was guaranteed not to work out.

Relationships and me were like tuna fish and chocolate mousse—we just didn’t go together. I’d had five relationships in my thirty-plus years of living, starting in high school. He’d dumped me because we were headed to different colleges. My first college boyfriend broke up with me because I wouldn’t screw him right away. Then, there was the biology major I ended thing with after he stole my midterm essay and nearly got us both expelled. In medical school, I met Tyson and he was great. Wonderful and loving, and just about perfect—if only he could stop screwing everything with boobs.

Finally, there was Ferguson. There was nothing wrong with Ferguson at all. He was a little bit geeky, but he was funny and kind, we just weren’t right for each other. The breakup was mutual, mostly. He wanted to return home to Canada and didn’t ask me to come. Two months later, I learned I was pregnant with Titus. It wasn’t enough to bring Ferguson back, and I didn’t want him back, but I thought Titus deserved a father. Ferguson’s fiancée thought otherwise, and that was the last I saw or heard of him.

None of my romantic relationships from childhood to adulthood had worked out, and there was no reason to think Ryan and I would break that mold.

I needed his friendship. I wanted to keep him in my life, and to do that, we had to remain friends. Just friends.

We couldn’t cross that line again, no matter how much my body actively rebelled at the idea.

I was stronger than my hormones, stronger than my wants and desires.

Wasn’t I?