Pretend Love Romance by Penny Wylder
Claire
This is it. The first day of running my own clinic. It’s been a difficult road to get to this point. Eight years of my life with my nose between the pages of books. Countless graveyard shifts in different ERs. Most of that time I lived on ramen noodles and Red Bulls while still trying to maintain my gym routine. I swear, with the hours and schedules I’ve had leading up to this point, I could have very well ended up in worse shape than my patients. But it was all worth it in the end. This was the goal all along. Not only will I be running my own clinic, but it’s the Hope Center in Chicago. There’s been so much buzz leading up to the opening of this place. It’s a pay-what-you-can clinic where they’ll treat anyone and everyone regardless of who they are or what they can afford. And better yet, it’s not government run so there won’t be a bunch of red tape and politics to get around. There’s some sort of wealthy backer who is going to make my job a whole lot easier. It’s my dream job and I can’t wait for the doors to open for the first time today.
This opening will be one of the biggest and most important events I ever attend, so I decide to buy a new dress. It’s been a long time since I’ve bought any item of clothing that didn’t come from a medical supply store. Curve-hugging scrubs are about as sexy as I get. Well, not today.
I head into the city, using directions to get to Neiman Marcus. It’s a Pretty Woman moment—minus the prostitution. The clerks look at me in my sweatpants and ratty tennis shoes like I might be there to rob them. I try on everything until I find the dress that fits like it was tailor made for my body. A green, form-fitting dress that’s a little sexy because it’s off the shoulders, but also appropriate for the occasion since the hem rests just below the knees. Even the clerks take notice when I step out of the dressing room. One of the women even gasps.
“Honey, that’s the one. You were born for that dress,” she says.
Even with the jaw-dropping price tag, I know she’s right. This is the kind of dress that will get the attention of the Hope Center board. They will see a strong, powerful, confident woman and know they picked the right person for this job. There’s no way I will be forgettable now.
While I’m here, I get a makeover at their luxury makeup counter. I tell the girl doing my makeup about my event, and she calls one of her hair stylist friends who is able to squeeze me in today to get my hair done. I suppose I should have thought about all of this prior to the day of the event, but my world revolves around medicine and helping people. More often than not, me and my needs are the last thing on my mind.
I get highlights in my hair and watch my whole look change before my eyes. I went from tired-looking to radiant in the course of a few hours. How? I mean, I thought those bags under my eyes from so many sleepless nights were permanent. I feel beautiful for the first time since college. Judging by the men ogling me as I leave the salon, I’m thinking other people think so too.
It’s a full makeover from head to toe—even down to the sexy bra and panties I bought. I take a deep breath, fear and anticipation making my stomach wobble. I can do this. I deserve this. I am not a fraud. I’ve worked hard.
I try to hush all the doubts that creep into my mind. It’s not easy. I’ve been knocked down so many times and have had other people with less experience and less knowledge than me steal my opportunities. It’s easy to let those voices inside affect my self-esteem, but no more. I’ve got this.
Taking a deep breath, I dial the quickest route to the Hope Center into the GPS of my car and drive toward my future.
* * *
The party is in full swing when I get there. CEOs, members of the board, city council members, the mayor; everyone has shown up for the Hope Center’s grand opening. It’s a big day for Chicago. I think seeing everyone here and how many important people showed up for the occasion, the reality and magnitude of the situation hits me for the first time. Even the governor of the state of Illinois tweeted about the event this morning. It’s a big deal. And someone thought it was a good idea to put me in charge of all of it. My heart starts to thunder in my chest and I’m struggling to breathe, to focus.
I grab a flute of champagne from one of the servers and chug it like a frat bro at a keg party. I need to calm down.
I wander around, introducing myself to some of the doctors and nursing staff I’ll be working with. The food is to die for. This shindig is fully catered by one of the most famous celebrity chefs on TV. It’s a far cry from the gas station donuts and hospital vending machine sandwiches I live on most days at work.
Once I’ve thoroughly stuffed my face, I start to feel myself relax a little. That is until I hear an uproar from the reporters on site. I’m temporarily blinded by all the flashes of light as cameras and phones go off. Then I see him and realize what all the fuss is about.
My heart seizes at the sight of AJ Hargrove. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. It’s like seeing a ghost. I haven’t seen him since the night we spent together in college—a crazy, amazing night I’ve thought of often since it first happened. In fact, it took years for me to stop comparing other men to him. At one point I thought—and still do think—he ruined me in some way. I haven’t been able to have an orgasm from sex with other men since.
He’s gorgeous. Always was. Not much has changed about him except that he’s bulked up quite a bit since college. I guess that’s what happens when you become one of the highest paid NFL players. I imagine, like myself, he dedicated all of his free time to become the best at what he does. For me that meant sixty hours a week in hospitals and clinics. For him that time was spent in the gym.
I remember hearing that he’d signed an obscenely large contract out of college. I didn’t have much time to follow sports over the years, though I did like to watch the games from time to time on TV. I followed him as much as I could throughout his career. He was known for his bravado on the field, his lightning fast legs, an instinct like no other, always keeping one step ahead, and frustrating the opposing team’s defense with a cocky assurance.
I’d also heard that the Hope Center was primarily funded by a sports star. I didn’t think much more about that. Until now.
AJ steps up to the podium. His hair is sandy blonde, neatly trimmed in a style that fits his angular face perfectly. Though he has perfect, all-American good looks and could be a model—and has been at one point for the Nike shoes deal he had—there are scars here and there from rough game play that give him a rugged quality.
His blue suit fits him impeccably, and confidence seems to ooze from his pores. He’s still the same cocky son of a bitch he always was, yet there’s something very humble about his stance. His smile is disarming when a little boy wearing braces on his legs comes up to him and asks for an autograph on his football. AJ signs the ball and swoops the boy into his arms like he weighs nothing and gives him a hug. I imagine ovaries everywhere aching at the sight of it. I’m also not immune to the cuteness of the scene. If it weren’t for the boy’s mother’s insistence that the boy say thank you and get off the podium, I would have thought it was some kind of media stunt. But that’s also something AJ is known for: giving back to his fans and his community. He might be cocky on the field, but all of his actions off the field prove he’s just an all-around great guy.
AJ gives a short speech about how the clinic is going to help Chicago’s most vulnerable find the medical care they desperately need. I listen to his words; how genuine they are. There’s no denying that he means every word he says. Why did I think he was like every other dumb jock in college? Now that I think of it, I’m not sure he ever was. I’d heard plenty of sob stories from other girls about the other guys on the team and how they would use girls for sex and throw them away after like an empty red Solo cup after, but I never once heard that rumor about AJ. I’m the one who used him that night, and I treated him like shit. I remember the hurt look on his face when I’d openly shunned him after our encounter. I thought he probably deserved it for doing the same thing to other girls. What I did wasn’t fair, and seeing him now, I feel like a complete asshole. The good thing is he probably has no memory of that night, or me.
The crowd claps at something he says, the sound of it bringing me back to the present moment.
Once the sound of clapping dies down he says, “And I have full faith in the Hope Center’s new director, the smartest and most competent woman I’ve ever known, Dr. Claire Alverez.”
He turns toward me as though he’s known exactly where I’ve been standing this entire time. My stomach drops as all eyes focus on me. His smile is both amused and predatory. So he does remember.
“Please, join me,” AJ says.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and on shaky legs, I join him at the podium. I’m a shy person by nature, more introverted than not despite the chaos of my job. I hate crowds and the thought of speaking in front of one is terrifying. But I have my speech memorized. I just hate that I have to give it in front of AJ after he’s completely shaken me from my axis. It feels like those first moments right after getting off a particularly turbulent amusement park ride where the world continues to spin even after your feet are firmly on the ground.
Words come out of my mouth, though as soon as I speak I can’t recall what I’ve said. I’m on autopilot. Since there’s loud applause when I step down from the podium, I assume it made sense. AJ is clapping and nodding enthusiastically. A big blue ribbon spans the entrance to the clinic, and AJ gestures to me to follow him. He has scissors in his hand as he walks through the crowd, and I can’t help but notice how amazing he looks in his suit and how confidently he walks through the crowd. When his hand touches the small of my back, lightning shoots through me and I’m suddenly thrust into the memory of his fingers inside of me, his tongue between my legs, his huge cock that surprised me in the best way. You would think, with a dick that big, girls all over the college would be talking about it. But there were never any bragging girls, no stories of lurid nights. Seeing his giant dick came as a complete shock.
AJ grabs my hand. His is so large it engulfs mine. I shudder. We cut the blue ribbon together and again, there’s a whirlwind of press questions and flashing lights. We’re separated in the chaos of it all. He’s whisked away by his agent for questions, and I’m surrounded by the board, congratulating me and offering their support. Before I can get a word with him, he and his entourage leave.
I stand around, doing my obligatory thank you and goodbyes as the ceremony comes to an end. Though my second encounter with AJ was brief, I have a feeling, like the last time I was with him, that he will be stuck in my head for a while.
I sigh. I’m filled with a sudden sense of longing and loneliness. The buildup to this ceremony, with the new clothes and hair and makeup, and seeing AJ again, well it filled me with a sense of excitement, like I was on the precipice of something new. And now I look around at the thinning crowd and the discarded champagne flutes and I feel deflated. I guess it’s back to my normal life. Back to the routine of helping people.
