Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Two Hundred and Six

I pull up to Frost’s address, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. Over half an hour early. The exact opposite of last week, even though the weather is worse. Then again, I have all the incentive to be. Fear is a hell of a motivator, and I’m more afraid of the real abominable snowman waiting inside than anything nature could hurl at me.

“…teaching you a much-needed lesson in being respectful of other people’s time—as well as your own.” 

I pick up the Ice Block, debating whether to text Frost that I’m here. My heart thumps wildly at the thought that the woman of the house might be there. His wife. It is the holidays, after all. A flash of blonde hair in my mind’s eye makes my stomach lurch. I can picture her so clearly—eyes several shades of blue darker than his, model-esque features settled in a neutral expression from the photo in his office. Is she inside right now, moving through rooms I’ve only glimpsed? The thought makes me shrink in my seat, shame burning hot on my cheeks.

My finger hovers over the phone, trembling slightly. What if I text and she answers? The image of her picking up Frost’s phone, confusion turning to realization as she reads my message, makes my heart race. I drop the phone into the cup holder as if it’s burned me.

Before I can lose my nerve, the gate lifts, an ominous invitation I can’t refuse, even though every instinct screams at me to turn back. I drive through, each inch forward feeling like a step deeper into quicksand. And then, I see him. Frost. Standing there like winter personified, tall and imposing. Seeming to dwarf even my Polo. My breath catches, and I hate myself for it. Hate the way my body responds to him even as my mind screams about the wrongness of it all.

His piercing eyes cut through the falling snow, finding me behind my windshield as the lousy wipers wave at him.

God help me, he looks good. Unfairly, devastatingly good.

Fuck.