Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (7 page)

It’s probably the pot, but I can’t help
but feel like Yuri and I are old friends who’ve just never really had the
chance to get to know one another.

“All right,” I tell her. “It’ll be nice to
have some company for the ride home.”

“Cool,” she says and takes another puff
before handing the pen back to me.

“Oh, I’m good,” I tell her.

“You sure?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m still a cheap date with that
stuff,” I answer.

She shrugs and takes another puff before
going back to her desk and collecting her purse.

“You
wanna
hear
something crazy?” I ask.

“What’s that?” she responds, pulling a
small bottle of eye drops from her purse.

“I’m actually kind of hungry,” I tell her.

“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?”

“It really is,” I answer.

Yeah, I just became pro-legalization.

She puts a few drops into each eye and
then tosses me the bottle. I sit there for a minute, feeling the presence of
the spout while not feeling any cold or wetness on my eye before I realize that
the cap’s still on.

I chuckle to myself as I unscrew the cap,
but I just sit there for another minute.

“I really like your hair,” Yuri says.
“Where’d you get it?”

With that question, we both start
laughing.

“There’s a place down on twelfth,” I tell
her. “They’ve got some good stuff.”

I finally get a couple of drops in each
eye and I give the bottle back to Yuri, who then helps me to my feet, asking if
I’m good to walk.

I tell her I’m fine, and I take one more
look at the office, breathing in the weirdness of right now, before we walk out
the door.

Yuri calls a cab from her cell phone, and
we sit on a bench out front while we wait.

“So, what’s your prescription for?” I ask.

“Oh, I really don’t like to talk about
it,” she says.

“Why not?” I chortle. “You know all sorts
of disgusting details about me, how about a little reciprocation here?”

“Did you know,” she says, “that it’s
actually against the rules to actually smoke as a method of delivery for this
stuff?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well,” she says, “I guess a lot of people
didn’t pay attention to this part, but in the Compassionate Care Act in this
state, it’s actually stipulated that smoking cannot be authorized as the way to
take your medical marijuana into your system.”

I ignore for a moment, the fact that she’s
dodging my question and say, “So, I’ve been breaking the law this whole time.”

“What have you been doing?” she asks.
“How’d you even get the green stuff?”

“A guy in my building’s been trying to get
me to try it out for a while now, and so I thought I’d finally take him up on
his offer,” I laugh.

Our cab finally arrives and we get in, but
Yuri’s not done with her questioning.

“So,” she starts again, “what did you do
with your script?”

“I just never got it filled,” I tell her.
“I figured if I could just get the same stuff from a guy in my building, it’d
be a time-saver. I didn’t know it was such a no-no.”

“Here,” she says, pulling the pen out of
her purse and handing it to me. “Why don’t you hang onto this and whenever you
run out of your stash at home, just go get that prescription filled. This
stuff’s better for you anyway.”

“I can’t take that from you,” I tell her
and I start to laugh. “It’s your little buddy. I can’t get between the two of
you.”

Either she’s not as high as I am, or I’m
not nearly as funny as I think I am.

“Seriously,” she says, “take it. It burns
cooler than what you’ve got, and it’s actually got a higher content of-”

“Sorry to interrupt your drug talk,” the
driver says, “but is one of you going to tell me where I’m taking you? If not,
I’m happy to sit here while the meter runs.”

I give the man my address and, making no
effort to be discreet about it, I scoff and say, “What a dick!”

“Whatever,” the driver says and pulls onto
the road.

“So,” I say, turning back to Yuri, “you
never answered my question.”

“No,” she says, “I’ve tried telling
patients before. It just bums them out.”

“How do you bum out cancer patients?” I
ask. “I mean, other than by telling them that they’ve got cancer. I mean, I’ve
got a fucking brain tumor. It’s not like-”

The driver scoffs in the front seat, and
I’m caught in that brief moment before fight or flight kicks in where it hasn’t
quite sunk in yet that the man in the driver’s seat thinks that me having a
fucking tumor in my head explains something.

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck is your
problem?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, keeping his eyes on
the road.

“Really,” I persist, “if you’ve got
something to say, why not just say it instead of being a fucking pussy?
Besides, if there’s something funny about my
oligodendroglioma
,
I’d love to hear it because it hasn’t been all that funny to me.”

Yuri puts a hand on my knee and leans
toward me, whispering, “He was clearing his throat.”

“He scoffed at me when I mentioned my
fucking brain tumor!”

“I really didn’t,” he says. “I would never
do something like that.”

Well, don’t I feel like the perfect little
piece of shit right about now?

The rest of the drive to my building is
quiet, but as I’m reaching into my purse to pay my portion of the fare, I ask
Yuri if she’d like to come up for a minute and show me how to change out the
fluid in my new pen, but she says that she’s got to get home.

She’s kind enough to give me a crash
course in the back of the cab, though.

I get to the door and Boris holds it open
for me.

“How did the scan go?” he asks.

“We’ll find out just as soon as the doctor
who was supposed to get me in turns up,” I tell him.

Boris mumbles through an empathetic
response to my bad luck when my phone starts to ring. I’m not entirely
surprised to see that it’s Yuri’s boss and my doctor/late night friend calling.

“Sorry, I should probably take this,” I
tell him. “Hello?”

“Hey, I’m sorry I missed our appointment
today,” Jace says. “I was wondering if there was any way I could swing by for a
little bit.”

“Why?” I ask, pretty irritated that he
left me high and dry and has the nerve to ask a favor.

“It’s Melissa,” he says. “I don’t know if
you were joking with what you said about her, but I need some advice.”

“I don’t suppose this is something we
could discuss through an intercom, is it?” I ask.

“It’s really something I’d prefer
discussing face-to-face.”

“All right,” I tell him. “You know where I
live.”

“Great, I’ll be right there.”

I hang up and Boris asks who called. I
just tell him it’s an old friend that’s going to be stopping by for some
advice.

Truth be told, I’m actually glad that Jace
is coming over. I don’t know that I could really handle walking into my
apartment alone. Since my diagnosis, I’ve started to realize just how alone I
am.

I’ve put so much time and effort into
being a success in my professional life that I’ve neglected cultivating
relationships with anyone outside of a business context.

Sure, there’s Mags, but she’s not really
the kind of person that’s going to be able to handle this sort of thing. So,
for now, I guess I’m just stealing moments with the people that I can.

Chapter
Six

Choking on the Sinker

Jace

I get to Grace’s building and the doorman
recognizes me, waving me through.

Right now, I don’t know what the hell I’m
doing. Things were going so well yesterday, but this morning, Melissa was
already gone when I woke up.

I press the button on the elevator, trying
to get the image of that video out of my head.

When it was happening, I was far enough
away from the screen that I couldn’t make out what Melissa was saying to the
camera. I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing to worry about.

Maybe my lip-reading isn’t nearly as good
as I think it is and maybe I’m just blowing this whole thing out of proportion,
but Melissa’s not answering her phone, and I happen to know for a fact that
she’s not at work.

I’m not proud to say it, but I checked.

I get off the elevator and walk down the
hall to Grace’s door and just stand there for a minute.

What I’m doing right now isn’t fair.

What I’m doing right now is bullshit.

I’ve prided myself, since I began working
at the hospital, that I’ve never let my personal life interfere with my
professional life, but that took a nosedive this morning when I didn’t show up
for Grace’s scan.

If I’d called Yuri before I did, Grace
still could have gotten in and I could’ve just taken a look at the scans later
today or whenever, but I was too busy having my precious little breakdown.

I knock and then consider leaving before
Grace reaches the door, but I don’t get the chance to think all the way through
the idea before the door opens.

“Hey,” Grace says. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” I tell her. “I’m sorry to show
up like this after no-showing at your MRI this morning, but I really don’t know
what else to do, who else to talk to.”

“It’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I start.

“No, it’s fine,” Grace assures. “Sit down.
What kind of advice did you need?”

I’m standing, staring stupidly into space,
trying to think of how to explain what I came here to do.

“It’s nothing,” I answer. “I should just
go.”

“Well, apparently it’s enough of something
that you skipped my scan this morning,” she says. “Now you’re here, so you may
as well just tell me.”

“I really don’t think it’s something I
should be discussing with a patient,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

I repeat myself a little louder and she
just shrugs.

Her eyes are different right now. It’s not
the irises, but the overall glassy appearance that I’ve seen from a number of
my patients, even before medical cannabis was approved in the state.

“I think maybe it would be better if I
come back when we’ve both got a clear head,” I say, knowing it’s probably going
to be at least a few days before that’s going to happen.

“Nope,” she says and sits on her couch,
patting the spot next to her.

Every instinct in me is telling me to turn
around and walk out the door, but I really don’t feel like there’s anywhere for
me to go.

“It’s Melissa,” I start and then try to
figure out how to continue.

“Sit,” Grace says and pats the seat next
to her again.

I sit, but I don’t say anything.

What I came here to do was to ask Grace if
she’d watch the video and tell me what she thought Melissa was saying. I even
cued the video up so we could avoid any images of actual penetration, but the
ridiculousness of it all is starting to set in.

This is the kind of thing that can get you
sued, but with Grace already aware of my second job, I don’t think that’s going
to be a problem here.

“I don’t know how to say this,” I start.

“You think she’s cheating on you? I’d say
it’s a pretty fair bet.”

“What makes you say that? You don’t even
know her.”

“It’s the way she acts,” Grace says.
“She’s just got that gleam of someone who’s getting some strange on the side,
but come on, you can’t sit here and tell me that would be such a surprise.”

“Well,” I sigh, “I think you’re right.
Yesterday, I, uh…I took a video, and she’s mouthing words at one point that
seems to be-”

“Did you come over here to show me porn
starring you and your girlfriend?” Grace interrupts with a smile.

When I don’t immediately answer, she
starts laughing uncontrollably.

And I thought I felt like an idiot before.

“I didn’t come here to show you porn,” I
explain. “The video is — well, that’s what’s going on, but you don’t really see
anything. I know it’s weird for me to-”

“Well, hand it over,” Grace says. “It’s
been a while since I’ve seen a skin flick where I actually knew the people
involved.” She leans toward me. “College was a strange time,” she says.

I would laugh, but I’d rather just jump
out the window.

Grace is looking at me, waiting for me to
pull out my phone and humiliate myself more completely. I shake my head, but I
pull out my phone.

“I cued it up, so you’re not really seeing
me or anything that’s going on directly,” I explain. “Are you sure you want to
see this?”

“Yeah, why not,” she says. “It’ll be the
closest thing to action I’ve gotten in quite a while.”

This is humiliating, but I need some
answers.

Maybe I’m just letting what Grace said
yesterday dominate my mind, but after watching the video and what it looks like
Melissa was saying into the camera, I don’t know if there’s anything else for
me to do.

I turn on the screen to my phone and
there, paused and ready to play, is the image of Melissa bent over the hood of
her car, her cleavage looking a lot more pronounced than it did before I had an
audience.

“Oh yeah,” Grace says, “those are fake as
shit.”

“That’s not really what I came here to
show you,” I tell her, hoping that she’ll keep the commentary to a minimum and
just tell me if I’m crazy or not.

“Well, hit play,” she says. “I’m losing
wood over here.”

I close my eyes when I start the video,
but that doesn’t make any difference. In my head, I can see exactly what’s
going on.

Melissa is moving back and forth in
response to my entry and, at first she’s only biting her lip, not saying
anything at all.

“She looks pretty happy,” Grace says.
“Looks like you’ve got a good dick there, doc.”

I’m hardly amused. I open my eyes and look
down at the video.

“Right here,” I tell her. “Watch her
lips.”

Melissa’s mouth starts going, and even
more than the thirteen times I’ve replayed this part of the video, I can
clearly see the words she’s saying.

“Oh shit,” Grace says, her voice turning
serious.

The video goes on and, with the wind over
the microphone, you can hardly hear it when I’m asking her what she’s saying
into the camera, but even with Melissa’s head turned toward me now, her
explanation is clear enough through the phone’s speaker.

“Yeah, she’s lying,” Grace says. “That’s
pretty fucked up, doc.”

“So, you can tell what she’s saying?”

“Yep.”

“And, it’s not what she said she was
saying?” I ask.

“Nope,” she says.

Well, that’s just great.

Melissa and I have been together for over
three years now, and I don’t know what to do.

As Melissa’s expression changes, I stop
the video.

“Hey, I was watching that!” Grace
protests.

“Yeah, she was about to hand the camera
back to me,” I explain, “and that’s not what I wanted to show you.”

“Men,” she chuckles, “it doesn’t matter
where we are, as soon as you’re done,
you
pull the
plug.”

“So, what did she say?”

“Put the video back to where she starts
talking,” Grace says.

I pull the phone closer to my face, doing
my best to block the view in case I take the video back a bit too far, but
Grace is leaning against me, looking over my shoulder.

“Do you mind?” I ask.

“Hey, you’re the one that blew off my
medical procedure and then came over here to show me a video of you nailing
your girlfriend,” she protests. “I think it’s only fair that I get to see the
money shot.”

I try to ignore her as I manage to find a
spot on the video before Melissa starts talking, but after the POV portion a
few seconds before, and I hit play again.

“All right,” Grace says as Melissa starts
talking now. “Right there she’s saying, ‘Do you like that? Oh, I know you like
that.’ That in itself isn’t necessarily anything bad, but it’s what she says
next — right here: ‘You love watching someone else fuck me, don’t you?’ She’s saying,
‘I know you wish this was your cock inside me again.’”

I feel sick.

There was a small glimmer of hope that
maybe I was just reading the wrong words on Melissa’s lips, but what Grace is
saying is exactly what I was hearing.

“This part, I don’t quite get,” she says.
“It looks like she’s mouthing the words, ‘Die, I can’t wait to have you inside
me again.’”

“She’s not saying ‘die,’” I tell Grace.

“What’s she saying?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s saying ‘Ty.’ It’s
her boss’s name,” I answer. “He gave her a promotion yesterday.”

“Now, that can’t feel good,” Grace says,
not being burdened with any perceptible amount of restraint. “What are you
going to do?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

“So, you’re looking for a reason to stay
with her,” Grace says. “That’s why you came over here. You already knew what
she was saying, otherwise you wouldn’t be having your little freak out.”

“People make mistakes,” I answer, hating
myself for it. “Maybe we can work this out. I mean, we don’t really know that
she’s even done anything with him-”

“I think the words ‘Ty, I can’t wait to
have you inside me again’ would beg to differ,” Grace says. Then, in a softer
voice, she asks, “Are you okay?”

No.

No, I’m not.

“Would you mind hanging out here for a
bit?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I think I’ve
already taken up enough of your time, and I’ve got to, you know, get back so I
can decide if I want to try to work through this or tell Melissa to pack her
shit and get the hell out of my apartment.”

“Where is she now?”

It’s a good question.

“I don’t know,” I answer.

“Well then,” she says, “give her a call
and if she answers, go ahead and get home so you can do what you need to do. If
she
doesn’t
answer, well, you’re not
going to be able to do much sitting alone in your apartment waiting for her,
other than to spiral.”

“I think I’m already there,” I tell her.

“Just stay for a little bit,” she says. “I
could use the company and, frankly, I think you owe it to me after ditching out
on me this morning.”

“Sorry about that,” I tell her. “Actually,
I’m sorry about everything. In med school, they tell you not to get personally
involved in your patients’ lives, but I think I’ve rejected that advice to a
pretty astounding degree with you.”

Grace shrugs and says, “Shit happens. Are
you going to try calling her or not?”

I nod and pull out my phone. The line
rings, but eventually goes to voicemail. I try it again, but after only a
couple of rings it goes to voicemail again.

“Rejecting your calls?” Grace asks.

I don’t answer.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “You can
stay here until you hear something from her.”

“Okay,” I answer, detached.

“You know, if you
really
want to get back at her, we could always make our own video.
I mean, I’m on chemo now, but I’m sure we could figure something out.”

I absolutely never know when she’s joking
about stuff like that. There’s not really time for me to find out, though, as
my phone starts to ring.

“Just a second,” I tell Grace and answer
the call. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” Melissa asks.

“Where are you?” I return.

“Why aren’t you at work?” Melissa asks.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it,” I tell her.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“I’m out,” I answer. “Why?”

“When are you going to be back?”

“I was just waiting to get a hold of you,”
I tell her. “I can be back home in twenty minutes, if you’d-”

“Why aren’t you at work?” she repeats.

“I told you,” I answer, “I wasn’t feeling
up to it. How did you know I wasn’t at work anyway?”