“What’s the bad news?” I ask.
“Well, the fact that you’re having the symptoms you’re having,” he says. “How severe did you say they were?”
“I don’t know that I’d call them severe,” I tell him. “It’s a little freaky when my mind goes blank on me, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
He rubs his chin, and I can hear that invigorating sound of his fingers moving over light stubble.
“Well,” he says, “it doesn’t look like you’re in any immediate danger, but I would like to take another scan in a couple of weeks. It’s best to keep an eye on these things. And if you notice your symptoms getting any worse, do let me know.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “After all the nonsense of the last few days, it’s just ‘come back and we’ll see if your tumor’s going to kill you ahead of schedule?’”
“There’s not much else to do,” he says. “How are you doing with your medication?”
“Oh, right now, I’m feeling fucking spectacular,” I tell him.
He smiles, and with a chuckle, h
e says, “I meant the chemo. You’re almost done with this round, isn’t that correct?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of hit or miss on whether I feel up to getting out of bed, but the other medication does seem to be helping with that.”
“Are you having any nausea, vomiting, diarrhea?”
That line of questioning right there is precisely the reason I don’t think things with Jace would work out so well, even were he to drop his baggage at the gate.
“A little of one and three,” I tell him. “I haven’t puked, though.”
“That’s good,” he says. “What about body aches? How’s your appetite?”
“Depends on how long it’s been since I’ve imbibed,” I tell him.
“You know,” he says, “the word ‘imbibed’ actually means to drink, but that’s neither here nor there. Have you noticed any weight loss?”
“A bit,” I tell him, “but not as much as I was expecting. You see people with cancer, and they always look totally emaciated.”
“Well, I think the fact that the cannabis seems to be helping your appetite is helping with that,” he says. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, “I do actually have a couple.”
“Okay,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”
“What kind of nimrod do you have to be to make up with a woman who cheats on you the day that you figure it all out?”
That may not be the kind of question he was referring to.
“Excuse me?”
“It just seems to me like you’re selling yourself short,” I tell him. “I mean, you’re quite the dish, and I’d bet that you’ve even got some money stashed in the mattress. What’s keeping you with someone like that?”
“You know,” he says, “I think that while we’re in the office, it’d probably be for the best that we keep it professional.”
“Ah,” I answer and pull out my phone. I find the number and wait for an answer.
“Marquis Escorts,” the voice answers.
“Yeah, this is Grace Miller. I’ve used your service a few times before, and I was wondering if my usual gentleman would be free this evening, say maybe in an hour or so?” I ask.
Jace makes a noise that’s closer to a growl than anything, but he doesn’t say or do anything while I’m making my second appointment of the day with him.