“Oh no,” I interrupt, “I’m fine with it. I’m just making sure I’m clear on what we’re doing.”
“Yeah,” he says, “that’s right.”
“Cool,” I smile. “What happens if you get caught? Would you definitely lose your license?”
“I’m not sure if it’s definite or not,” he says. “The penalty for this kind of thing can range from suspension, to being unable to put forth any more candidates for clinical trials, to having my salary docked, to, yes, losing my license to practice medicine.”
“In that case, I have just one more question,” I tell him.
“What’s that?”
“Why are you doing this? You have a lot of patients, and I know I’m a consistently arousing presence in the lives of many, but is that really a good enough reason to risk everything?”
He smiles and asks, “You’re a strange woman, you know that, Grace?”
“I like to think I’m just ahead of the curve,” I answer. “Seriously, though. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to give you every opportunity to get better,” he says. “Even if it’s a long shot, I want you to have a chance to be around for a long time to come.”
“But like I said, you have a lot of other patients. Have you done this for anyone else?”
“No,” he admits.
“Then why are you doing this now?” I ask. “Why are you taking these risks for me?”
“Because I think the world is a more interesting place with you in it,” he says. “Because so often in my job, there’s simply nothing more I can do for a patient. Because,” he pauses, looking away bashfully, “I like you.”
“I am pretty fuckable,” I tell him.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh, so I’m not fuckable?”
I wonder if he’s noticed that I tend to be at my most suggestive when I’m feeling nervous or vulnerable.
“When do we start?” I ask.
“Start what?” he returns.
With a laugh, I say, “The scans and everything. I’m assuming I’m probably going to need to meet this doctor friend of yours at some point, too?”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he says. “I’ve got you scheduled for an MRI in the morning. I wouldn’t plan anything for a couple of hours, though. We’re going to have to do it at least a dozen times, and even going as fast as possible with it,” he says, “it’s still going to take some time.”
“All right,” I tell him. “I think I’d be all right doing it with you at least a dozen times, though I’m not sure we’re going to want to ‘go as fast as possible with it.’ Some things take time and care.”
He’s smiling, blushing, and I’m wondering if he’s finally kicked that pincushion to the curb.
“What ever happened with you and your pair of fake tits?” I ask.
“You know she has a name,” he says.
“I’m sure she does,” I respond. “Are you still her cuckold?”
He sighs. “I don’t think it’s going to work out,” he says. “We haven’t really talked since we had our argument, not about anything important or personal anyway. Then, after I got that text from her boss-”
“Yeah, you told me that,” I tell him. “What you didn’t tell me was what it said.”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever’s going on with the two of them is still going on and probably has been for a long time. I was really hoping we could work it out, but-”