Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Fifty-Four

Day 7

I glance down at my watch, my eyes gazing over the familiar black digits again. It’s 12:34 PM. As promised, I’m downtown, sitting at a table for two at Pearson’s waiting for my coffee “date” with Jamie.

And he’s running late.

Half an hour late.

Of all the nerve. If anything, it should be the other way around. For crying out loud, this was his idea!

I, for one, had definitely thought about just not showing up. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind several times, in fact, including when I was on my way here. But each time it did, my stupid conscience got the better of me and I ended up feeling guilty about cancelling at the last minute.

I don’t date, but I’m all too familiar with the feeling of disappointment. I know I wouldn’t appreciate being stood up or left hanging for something I was looking forward to, and Jamie seemed fairly excited about the prospect of having coffee with me last night.

So, as tempted as I was to lock my Jiminy Cricket in a cage and set it on fire, I eventually talked myself out of bailing on him and showed up. So, here I am.

But now, as I sit here by myself, I can’t help but wonder if that was an overestimation on my part.

Perhaps I’d imagined his excitement, or even mistaken his extroverted personality for enthusiasm. Maybe this is some sort of trick, or a bet he made with his buddies. It’s not uncommon for guys like him to do those things, so I can’t say I’d be surprised if that’s what it turns out to be. I don’t even think I’d be mad, to be honest. I have way too much else to worry about, way too much else that continuously preoccupies my mind and every other part of my body.

I let out a deep sigh as I rub circles around my pulsing temples. I can’t believe it’s already been a full week since that crazy confrontation—the first of four weeks for me to “decide” if I want to get paid a great deal of money to be Dr. Dexter Frost’s whore.

I still can’t wrap my mind around it.

For some reason, my anxiety on the matter only gets worse and worse with each passing day.

The cafe door swings open again, followed by the tell-tale sound of a wind chime when it does. The serene jingle brings me out of my thoughts and back to the present.

I look over to see Jamie walking through the door. His large, athletic build is covered in washed out jeans and a Bon Jovi sweatshirt that would probably fit like a tent on me. His dirty blonde hair is ruffled and messy, but the disheveled tresses definitely look sexy on him. He wears the bed head look well. I could only wish.

He looks around for a moment, the expression on his face uncertain, but as soon as he spots me, his face lights up, and his features become brighter as his lips stretch into a smile.

He makes his way over, trying really hard to squeeze by a few tables, and I suddenly feel bad for picking a spot this far back, but then I remember that he’s kept me waiting for over half an hour, so I figure it’s fitting payback.

I honestly wasn’t even thinking about being strategic in my sitting arrangement. This position is pretty awful if I changed my mind and decided to ditch this joint and Jamie. I guess that can’t happen now.

“Hey, you,” he says, taking the last empty seat in the cafe opposite me.

“Hey,” is all I can think to say back.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, offering me a sheepish smile to accompany his apology. “Something came up and I had to—”

“No worries,” I say, cutting him short and waving off his explanation. Of course it’s rude that he’s late for something he initiated, but right now, I’m not really in the mood to know why he is.

As he adjusts himself in his seat, my eyes absently move over his shoulder, and I catch several people looking our way from behind him, their stares a mix of surprise, curiosity, and the most unmistakable of them all; envy.

I don’t know why, but suddenly, I feel like I’m being placed under a really large microscope. And I don’t like how it feels. Not one bit.

A group of three girls a few tables away seem to be especially focused on us, their eyes narrowed at me in obvious annoyance, clearly shooting death glares in my direction.

I try not to mind their stink eyes and rude stares. Despite what this looks like, they clearly have the wrong idea. I’m not their competition by any means. If they want Jamie Wrighton, they’re more than welcome to have him. Fuck, I don’t even know why I agreed to this in the first place. This guy can be nothing but bad news for me.

Damn Trixie for instigating this mess. This is the last time I’m ever letting her pressure me into anything like this. And damn my stupid conscience for guilt-tripping me into keeping my word despite my apprehension.

The barista comes around from behind the main counter and easily makes her way to Jamie’s side. Usually, customers just go up to the counter and place their order, but I guess like with pretty much everything else, star athletes get special treatment here as well.

“Can I get you anything?” she says in an overly friendly tone, not so subtly playing with her long, dark brown hair. Her attention is completely on Jamie as her eyes shamelessly drink him in. She has on the tightest skinny-jeans I’ve ever seen on a person, and the flirtiest smile known to man.

I can’t help but look at her, noticing just how giddy and excited she looks as she makes absolutely no effort to conceal her attraction to him. I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. I really have no idea why she, Trixie, and the overwhelming majority of college girls get the hugest lady-boners for these athletes. Sure, a lot of them look good and are typically in great shape. I guess the money and lifestyle they come by is certainly a bonus, but surely, there has to be more to a man than just his looks and his money?

I dunno. Maybe I’m uniquely naive or delusional—or both—about how the world really works. Or maybe it’s as simple as the fact that times have indeed changed, and said change has led to a drastic change in society’s priorities and attitude when it comes to things like this. Either way, this barista chick seriously looks like she’s two seconds away from straight up jumping his bones.

I’m willing to bet all of next week’s pay that she’s already creamed her panties thinking about screwing him right here on our table.

I mean, objectively speaking, Jamie is a very attractive and masculine guy, after all. I imagine having sex with him would be…interesting. Still, just because I find him physically attractive, it doesn’t mean that I’d automatically be sexually attracted to him.

Like the way you’re sexually attracted to Frost? a small voice in my head mocks.

I immediately frown. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t believe I’m even comparing them in that context! I don’t even know why I’m comparing them at all. Heck, why I’m thinking of either of them in a sexual manner is beyond me – especially Frost. They’re two very different, very distinct men; neither of whom I have any intention whatsoever of having sex with, in this lifetime or the next.

Especially not Frost…

I don’t know why, but some remote part of me feels like it’s trying really hard to convince the rest of me of that.

***