Crashed (Mason Brothers 2)

“So she is, then. What does she do for a living?”

“At the moment, she’s at a photo shoot, modeling bras.”

“Good lord, son.” Dr. Arnaud rifled through his classy leather messenger bag. “Hold on a minute.” He found a stack of brochures and picked out four of them. “Take these.”

“What?” I took them and looked at them. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Spinal Cord Injury, Sex, and You.

Yes, You Can Still Have Satisfying Sex!

Couples Intimacy After SCI

26 Positions To Try

“Give them a read,” Dr. Arnaud said. “You might find them interesting.”

“Why is everyone so interested in my sex life? And do you just carry these around with you?” I flipped to the last one. “Twenty-six positions?”

“I’m a doctor, so I carry a lot of things with me. And yes, twenty-six positions. You can try some with your bra model.”

“For fuck’s sake. She isn’t my bra model. And I’m probably the most sexually frustrated patient you’ve ever had, but this is still a bit much.”

“Sexual frustration isn’t healthy,” Dr. Arnaud said without batting an eye. “As your doctor, I don’t recommend it. Actually, if you could alleviate it, you might be able to get off some of these meds.”

I glared at him. But I didn’t give back the brochures.

“Okay, that was a joke,” Dr. Arnaud said, though he’d shown no sign of laughing. “Sexual activity does not actually alleviate depression, anxiety, or PTSD. However, healthy sexual habits release endorphins and raise dopamine levels in the brain. It’s good for you. There’s no reason you can’t have a healthy sex life, Andrew. I’ll leave you some condoms.”

“I don’t need condoms.”

He gave me a stern look. “Believe me, you do. As your doctor, I won’t hear otherwise.”

“No, I mean—”

“I know what you meant, and I’m not buying that either. Look, I treat a lot of patients with SCI. It’s my specialty. The healthiest ones find a way to have regular sex, and some of them are married. With kids, even.” He took some packets out of his magical bag. “Though it’s a bit early for kids if you’ve just met this bra model, so as I say, here are some condoms.”

There was movement on my security feed, and I saw a car pulling into my driveway. A familiar car. Nick had texted me earlier, saying they had landed safely and were home.

“Shit, my brother is here,” I said. “You have to leave.” I looked at the brochures in my hand, the condoms on the table. “Oh, Jesus.”

Dr. Arnaud was pulling a small bottle from his messenger bag. “I have some lubricant, too. It’s probably going to be helpful.”

“What? Give me that.” I gathered up the brochures, the condoms, the bottle. “You carry lube around, too? What the hell, doc? You’re worse than Donna the wellness therapist. You sure you don’t want to put some crystals around my house?”

“Crystals are not scientifically proven,” Dr. Arnaud said, finally closing his goddamned bag and standing up. “Lubricant, however, is.”

“For Christ’s sake, get out of here already.”

He left while I wheeled quickly to my bedroom and dumped the loot into the drawer of my bedside table. He must have let Nick in my door while he was exiting, because next I heard a familiar growly voice: “Hey fuckface, we’re back. Where are you?”

I slammed the door and wheeled back out to the living room. Nick was standing there in his usual worn jeans and tee. He had Evie with him, her red hair tied up in a messy ponytail, a smile on her face at the sight of me. They both looked tan, happy, relaxed, and, yes, completely sexually satisfied after two weeks of nonstop, uninterrupted banging.

Jesus. Seven years of perfectly content celibacy, and all I could think about anymore was sex.

“Andrew!” Evie said, coming forward. She was wearing a pretty sundress. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. She smelled like suntan lotion and happiness.

Fuck, it was hard to be in a bad mood when Evie was around. “I see you’re still married to my brother,” I said to her. “If you’re in distress, blink twice.”