Dr. Stud

Preface

Joe (Joanna)

I’m sure it’s my dad or one of his crew coming to ask me a question, so I sweep across the living room in my bare feet, flinging the door open with a smile. And I’m frozen on the spot, not sure what to say.

“I got your prescription,” Dr. Warner explains with a tense smile, holding up a small pharmacy bag. His broad, muscular frame shadows the door, showing off its angular shape.

“Oh, of course,” I mutter, holding open the screen door with my palm. “And you brought it here?”

He squints, his eyes darting to my bare toes and then back up again.

“You probably forgot that we do house calls,” he explains, his voice friendly enough. “I know that’s probably not a thing anymore in the big city.”

“Um… would you like to come in?” I offer, trying to remember my regular manners.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, walking past me. As his body moves past mine, I get a whiff of his office: antiseptic, wood-scented, deeply masculine. My hand reaches out to steady myself as I go woozy again.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asks, steadying me under my elbows. His gaze sweeps over me from top to bottom, inspecting me. Examining me.

“I’m not used to this heat anymore,” I explain. “But thank you for bringing the prescription. I have so much to do… I’m sure I would have forgotten.”

He guides me to the sofa and pushes me gently, indicating that I should sit down. He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the refrigerator door open. In moments he reappears with two glasses of sweet tea. I didn’t even make that, so I have to assume my mother was here stocking the fridge at some point.

“Drink this slowly,” he directs me, his features concerned but analytical.

I do as he says, because I can’t think of a reason not to. The tea coats my tongue in sweetness, cooling my core immediately.

“I’m fine, really,” I insist. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“The gallery,” he nods.

I notice he’s not drinking his tea. He’s watching everything I do, probably taking my pulse with his mind or something. Somehow, just having a professional in the room makes me feel a little less anxious.

“It’s just a lot of work. More work than I was expecting,” I explain. “I mean, it’s all under control now. There’s a whole crew getting it done. But I just need to stay on top of it and make sure everything goes all right.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility,” he remarks.

“It’s my job,” I snap defensively. “It’s what I do every day.”

He raises his eyebrows and leans back. A smirk twists the corners of his mouth.

“You really are

very tense,” he repeats. “I can help you with that.”

Silence douses the room like a light going out. I force myself to breathe.

I am only here for nine more days, I remind myself. Nine days, and then I am gone.

“It’s never worked before,” I venture, clearing my throat. “Are you sure you can actually do it?”

He smiles, his cheeks crinkling confidently.

“I am 100 percent certain,” he nods. “Are you telling me there is some kind of problem?”