I nod.
“Hey,” is my nonchalant greeting, looking around. The waiting room’s empty, which seems weird. “Am I the only one here?”
The old woman titters which seems out of place because her dress and hair indicate someone who’s a serious professional. She wears a matching twinset and I’d bet she has serviceable khakis and a pair of comfortable loafers on under the desk. But the elderly lady titters again.
“You’re our first post-lunch appointment,” she whispers, blushing pink. “Go right ahead, I believe Dr. Parker is ready.”
My eyebrows go up at the receptionist’s flirtatious attitude, but frankly, I’m not that surprised. Ever since I turned fifteen, women have gone ga-ga over me, losing their shit at my massive form. Maybe it’s my height. Maybe it’s my ripped bod and imposing aura. Maybe it’s the alluring charisma that I exude. Naw, scratch that, that’s my ego talking. But to my amusement, I think this sixty year-old woman with a gold wedding band on her finger thinks I’m dreamy, and I shoot her a smile.
“Sure,” I growl. “Thanks.”
And with that, I let myself into the hallway beside the receptionist’s desk.
“Right down there,” Brenda gestures. “Exam Room 2.”
I take a deep breath, ready to meet my fate. Because I selected Doctor Carter after careful research. Melissa Carter graduated from a ritzy medical school and then did a fancy residency and post-residency internship after that. The woman was chief resident way back when, and evidently also does a ton of charity work in her free time, providing urological services to impoverished areas in Africa. Shit. The woman travels to Ghana and the like during her vacations to provide medical services to men who otherwise have no options. I do no charity work at all, by comparison, but then again, her smarts and can-do attitude are exactly why I chose her.
So as the door swings open, I’m expecting to see someone frumpy and grizzled, maybe with premature lines from hitting the books so hard. Someone pasty and pale from spending all their time under fluorescent lights looking at peoples’ asses. And yet, the air whooshes out of my lungs when I glimpse my new doctor because she’s absolutely ravishing. Dr. Melissa Carter is a curvy brunette with wild chestnut curls and a body that makes my mouth water. She’s got huge tits under that white lab coat, and as she stands to shake my hand, I get a load of wide, swaying hips and a ginormous behind. Oh fuck yeah. Just my type.
What the hell is wrong with you? the voice in my head rasps. You’re thinking about fucking your new doctor? You’re here to get a prostate exam, not to do the dirty.
Shit, my subconscious is right. I manage to shake her hand like a normal person, without letting on that I’m attracted as all get-out.
“Nice to meet you,” comes my low growl. “I’m Mace Jackson.”
Dr. Carter blushes prettily but manages to speak in an even tone.
“And I’m Dr. Mel Carter,” she says in a husky voice that’s honey to my ears. “Most folks call me Dr. Mel.”
Dr. Mel? That seems like something from Sesame Street, but the multiple plaques on the wall assure me that this is no kiddie doctor. My eyes take in a degree from Harvard, and then another degree from Harvard, and then multiple certifications from multiple institutions. Oh shit. She’s definitely well-qualified, that’s for sure.
She gestures to the exam table before glancing at her chart.
“So what are we here to discuss?” comes that dulcet voice. “Are you here for a specific purpose?”
My guess is that the good doctor already knows what I’m here for, but she’s using her emotional IQ to let me take the lead. And leaning against the metal table, I look her square in the eye.
“I’m here for a prostate exam,” I growl. “My father had prostate cancer, as did my uncle. So I’m here to get that checked out.”
The woman nods, her expression serious and concerned.
“I see,” she says slowly. “And how did the disease progress in your father and uncle? What was the outcome?”
I take a deep breath.
“My dad’s still alive, yeah. After two rounds of chemo, he finally beat it. Been in remission for five years. But Uncle Robbie wasn’t so lucky, and he passed last year. It was tough for my entire family.”
She’s silent, her expressive face projecting sorrow as well as empathy.
“I’m so sorry to hear,” she says quietly. “But it says here that your Uncle Robbie was treated at Hudson Hospital? That’s the best in the city. My medical school friend leads the urology team there, and I can assure you that your uncle received triple-A care.”
I nod.
“Thanks for your kind words,” I say a little woodenly. “They mean a lot.”
Oh shit, am I about to break down? Hopefully not in front of this beautiful woman whom I’ve just met. But she merely nods, eyes empathic.