“Jones was white with irregular black patches over his entire body. He was small and pudgy with big paws and so ornery. But that’s not where the story begins.” Jillian closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I was Jessica then … Jessica Day.”
*
Day
Jessica Day was an actuary intern by day and vampire by night. At least that was what she put under reason for visit on the health form she filled out at the office of Dr. Luke Jones, Psychiatrist. Her brother got his name from a friend who said Dr. Jones was stern, unconventional, and had already received high praises from other more experienced doctors in the field. He was known as the go-to guy for the more challenging psychological issues.
“Dr. Jones will see you now.” The sixty-something receptionist smiled.
Jessica looked up from her computer resting on her lap. She was studying for her next actuary exam, and after that she would be studying for the next and the next … That’s all she did, worked, studied … oh, and made people bleed.
“Psst.” The receptionist beckoned her with a crooked finger as Jessica walked past her desk. “I tell everyone this on their first visit. He’s young but he graduated top of his class and he’s just … brilliant.”
Jessica’s eyes widened, her lips parted into an O as she tucked her long brown hair behind her ear. “O-kay.” She gave a slow nod. “Like Doogie Howser young?”
The receptionist’s brow lined with confusion. “Of course not. He’s thirty-two.”
Jessica winked. “Good to know.” As she opened the door she stopped before clearing the threshold.
Perplexed. That was the only word to describe the look on Dr. Jones’s face as he leaned against the front of his desk, one ankle crossed over the other, hands resting on the edge. She felt him making a ten-page assessment of her before she spoke her first word. Her assessment of him was much shorter: sex in a suit.
“Come in, Miss Day.”
Jessica peeled her eyes off him and turned to shut the door. “I’d like to come alright,” she mumbled to herself. Turning back to him she smiled.
Dr. Jones exuded confidence with his neatly parted black hair, a gleam in his blue eyes that tracked her without a single blink, and the way he held his shoulders back, chin up. He pushed off the desk and offered his hand with an air of calm self-confidence. “I’m Dr. Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His steadfast professionalism was reassuring and continued to feed her new naughty-doctor-troubled-patient fantasy. “Call me Jessica.” She gave him a firm shake, a very firm shake.
He raised a single brow, undoubtedly questioning the reason for her iron grip, but he didn’t back down from her non-verbal challenge. Her body language said more than she did that day.
“Please, have a seat wherever you’ll feel most comfortable.” He gestured to the chairs facing his desk and a brown sofa against the wall to the right by a fish tank.
Jessica surveyed her options. “Hmm … everything’s covered in dead cow. You don’t by chance have something in cotton or polyester do you?” She wanted Dr. Jones to feel distracted, slightly off kilter. She needed the upper hand. After all, that was the reason for therapy.
He straightened his light blue tie that looked sharp with his steel gray three-piece suit. Jessica expected a slight grimace, or some sort of stumble over his composure. How was he going to counsel her if she refused to sit on leather? Which of course she didn’t really have an issue with it, but wasn’t going to tell him that until she’d made him squirm a bit.
Dr. Jones tipped his chin, gesturing to the floor. “I believe the carpet is a nylon blend. Have a seat.”
She looked at the floor then back up at him. He held her gaze with eyes that said checkmate. Jessica ran her hand along the leather chair in front of him.
“Feels like aged leather. I bet the cow died of old age before they claimed its remains from a large grassy field under the arch of a late spring rainbow.” She stepped forward and slid down into the “humane” leather chair.
Dr. Jones studied her for a few intense moments before sitting in the chair next to hers. He looked over her paperwork without so much as a pen tap or lip twitch. Every move he made was controlled, calculated, and immune to her provoking antics.
Smooth. She thought of him claiming equal ground instead of the authoritative position behind the desk. So in an act that could have only been called “An Act of Jessica Day” she stood, walked around his desk, and sat in his chair. He glanced up from her chart, lips slightly parted. Jessica leaned back, hands interlaced and resting on her stomach.
“Well, this chair is ridiculously comfortable and neither one of us sitting in it seems like a waste of probably what…” she bounced a bit, spinning it side to side “…one? Two grand of complete comfort?”