Doctor Good In Bed
All this talk of dating apps tonight has got me thinking.
That it’s time for doing.
Yup. Time to get on the apps again. I’m not meeting anyone in the waiting room at my veterinarian practice.
Or the exam room for that matter.
Wait. Scratch that. I’m meeting a lot of people, but generally speaking here in Tahoe, they’re little old ladies with Maltese Poodles, middle-aged ladies with six-toed cats, married couples with kids and huskies, and the occasional smoking-hot snowboard instructor who doesn’t have his own pet but brings in his mom’s Papillon.
Plenty of the latter are attractive. But I’m not interested in any of them, since making a move on a client while a thermometer is up their dog’s butt is not cool. Especially in a tiny, mountain town where I run a mobile vet business that relies on word of mouth.
And no one gives good reviews to the sleazy vet.
Ergo, I’m the non-sleazy vet who’s been dateless for too long.
I’ve tried.
I’ve absolutely tried.
I’ve written dating profiles. But I haven’t met a single guy who I wanted to have a second date with.
Maybe that can change with a little help.
After an epic Friendsgiving here at my cousin’s Airbnb, I have a feeling there’s a secret weapon right here in this house.
Once all the guests retreat to their rooms, I leave mine and return to the living room, phone in hand.
There’s the secret weapon.
TJ Hardman.
Romance writer extraordinaire, and one of the guests from the dinner.
TJ is still parked in front of the fire, his silver machine on his lap. But he’s not typing. He’s staring at the ceiling.
“Working hard?” I ask.
“Or hardly working,” he quips.
“I hate to interrupt, but . . .” I begin, since I need his help.
“No problem. I got nothing tonight.” He closes the laptop, then looks me up and down. “What’s on your mind?”
I flop down on a chair across from him. I have no game, so I just blurt out, “I suck at dating.”
He holds his arms out wide. “Welcome to the club.”
I shoot TJ a dubious look. The man is tall, buff, and laid-back. He’s got that ease that big, muscly guys have. “Something tells me you don’t suck at dating.”
TJ laughs. “Trust me, Tobey. I am incredibly single.”
“Me too. And I don’t really get it,” I say, going for bluntness since, well, that’s pretty much my MO. “I don’t get a lot of bites on my profiles. I mean, I’m not ugly, am I? I know I’m not some Hollywood stud, but . . .”
His dark eyes study me. “You’re a good-looking guy, Tobey. And I say that empirically. Plus, you’re in good shape.”
I beam a little inside. Can’t help it. Compliments feel good. “Thanks. I’m on a first-name basis with all the equipment at the gym. And I have a good job. College-educated, plus vet school, and I graduated early, so I’m young. A young vet. Some might even call me a doctor,” I say drily.
“Many will call you a doctor since . . . you are a doctor.”
“Exactly. Doctor Dog. That’s my dating profile handle. Plus, as evidenced by my last remark, I think I’m funny enough,” I offer, with a hopeful shrug.
TJ sighs deeply, takes a beat, then says, “I’d classify you as reasonably funny.”
“I will take that. I will take that and put it on a plaque.”
“Or keep it in your pocket. Whatever works.”
I mime putting the compliment in my jeans pocket. Then I lean a little closer, drop my voice, and gesture to my goods. “And I’m decent in bed.”
TJ laughs lightly. “Is that so? You sure about that?”
I nod a few times. “No one’s ever left my bed unsatisfied. If you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’m clear on that. Lots of finishing.”
“I consider finishing a prerequisite of sex,” I say.
“You’re doing the Lord’s work, Tobey.” TJ sets down his computer on the coffee table, the fire roaring beside him. “You’re on point between the sheets and you’ve got that shiny degree. You’re basically Doctor Good in Bed. So what’s the issue then? Got any idea?”
I’ve studied the problem. Analyzed it. Applied my problem-solving skills. “I’ve concluded there must be an issue with my dating profile. That has to be it.”