Dr. Stud

“And I’m only here for a little while. Nine days.”

“Understood,” he confirms.

“I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say quickly, aware that I am beginning to babble. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I don’t want this on my insurance or anything. But I understand you have a valuable… treatment. Something that could help me relax or whatever. And since I’m leaving soon, I just thought—”

“Joanna,” he interrupts me.

“Joe!” I correct him immediately, incensed.

He shakes his head. “I’m not going to call you Joe,” he announces. “That’s not your name around these parts, all right? Jen says you’re called JoJo. I can call you that, or Joanna. Your choice.”

My breath catches in my throat. The audacity of this man! Absolute chauvinism. Florida-brand chauvinism, pure and simple.

And yet, what of it? Of all the things that have gone sideways in the last couple days, is being called by my name some big tragedy? There are bigger hills to die on.

“Joanna will be fine,” I growl.

“Perfect,” he smiles. “So it sounds like we have a treatment plan outlined?”

“An absolutely no-strings treatment plan?” I add, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Completely,” he affirms.

Despite my irritation, I appreciate the attention and the affirmation. That’s more of that doctor-patient training, I suppose. Whenever he praises me, no matter how small, I respond like a puppy.

“Okay, well, I guess I was a little tense in your office this afternoon,” I admit.

He crosses his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. His hair sweeps over his face lightly, a bit of a country boy look. I’ve gotten used to staring into the faces of men whose hair has been glued into complete submission. This looks more like something I might like to touch. Eventually. I mean I don’t see us holding hands or mussing each other’s hair just yet.

“A little tense?” he jokes. “You ran out of my office like your ass was on fire.”

“Oh? Is that your clinical diagnosis? Ass on fire?”

He shrugs. Every time he moves, I can see the width of his shoulders. He really doesn’t look like a doctor. He looks like an actor playing a doctor.

“I’ll bet you I am not like any doctor you ever met.”

I nod, curious if he’s reading my mind or what. Is that another doctor trick?

“So… I thought maybe you could—”

He holds up his hand, cutting me off in midsentence. My lips snap back together as though I am a puppet and he just pulled my strings taut.

“I know exactly what you need,” he tells me in a firm voice that leaves no room for negotiation. “Just lie down on the couch, please.”

Well, at least he said please, I say to myself as I shuffle toward the sofa, nervously untying my dress. I feel his hand under my elbow when he guides me forward, as though we are in some kind of a dance. I turn when he directs me, and then sit down when he directs me, and then lie down as he opens my dress, leaving me in only my bra and panties.

With his fingers behind my knee, he lifts my right leg and places my calf on the back of the sofa. Shifting his weight, he sits next to me and regards me clinically.

“Excellent,” he murmurs as his eyes rake over me from top to bottom.

Somehow, I am able to lie here. Maybe it is simply the magic of him being a doctor, but though I shiver slightly, I feel like I can let him look at me. Undressed, legs spread, lights on… I allow him to examine me.

“Let’s just finish what we started, shall we?” he begins.

I realize that is not really a question. It is not up to me.

Reaching into his pocket, he draws out a small, handheld device. The buzzing begins immediately.