Turn It Up (22 page)

“Tingly, huh? Then hold out your hand and feel the heat in this.” Bastian handed her the four sheets of printer-warm paper and blew her a kiss.

“Oh, Doc. You
can
be naughty. Is this all for me?”

“You can have whichever emails you like. Top or bottom of the stack?”

“Now, you know me, I’ll always take the top position.”

“I’ll remember that.” His promise glided across the air, registering higher on her libido than on the vocal gauge. The smoldering blaze in his eyes burned her, stoking a fire he wasn’t willing to douse.

Taking the top two sheets, she handed him back the bottom two and turned to the face the microphone. He slid his chair beside her as she read, his hand falling to the small of her back. A jolt of electricity spiked from his touch and she blanked for a second, scrambling to remember what she was doing.

“Ready?”

“In a minute.” Bastian angled her microphone so they could share. “Just a message to Devin if you’re listening. I got your last text and that’d be great. I spoke with…the big guy and everything is all cleared. I really appreciate what you’re doing and I’ll give you a call in the morning to wrap things up. With your help, I’m sure she’s going to be blown away.”

He wouldn’t look at her. She narrowed her eyes as he sent coded messages over her airspace. She hated surprises.

“You and Devin blowing somebody, Doc?”

“You wish.”

“Well if it isn’t a BJ, then is it blowing someone away as in cement shoes in the river?”

“You’ll see.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Wait, tomorrow? Are you going to knock me off and dump me in the river?”

“Of course not. I want to marry you, not murder you. Now read your emails like a good girl.”

“If you’d give it up, you’d see how good a girl I can be.”

“Read, Honey.” The smug look he sent her shot frustration through her blood. But letting him know that would be stroking his ego and she wouldn’t do that, even though not knowing was killing her. It would serve him right if she slipped naked into his bed in the morning with peach-flavored lube.

Which might not be a bad idea. Reminder to self, call Deborah at the Pleasure Palace before signing off.

“Fine, be that way.” She stuck her tongue out. “Email number one comes from Candygirl. Candygirl writes, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, do you ever get embarrassed by some of the questions people ask you?’ Personally, it takes a lot to embarrass me so I’d have to say no, I really don’t get embarrassed. What about you, Doc?”

“There have been a few that have surprised me, but I don’t think I’d call it embarrassed. Of course, I hang out with you so I’m pretty much immune to embarrassment by now.”

“Don’t tempt me, Doc, or we’ll have another contest on our hands, but there you have it, Candygirl. We’re very hard to embarrass so keep calling us.”

Against her back, his thumb stroked in slow lazy arches. His leaning into her mike pressed the hand firmer to her skin, and her mouth went dry. His voice made it water.

“Tinkle Flower writes, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, What has been the strangest call you’ve ever received?’ Oh boy, the strangest call? I don’t know.”

“The duct tape guy,” Charlie said.

Remembrance dawned on his face and he grimaced. “Oh yeah, I’ve tried to block that call from my memory. Hands down, that was the strangest call ever. And no, I’m not repeating the story. It gave me nightmares for a month.”

“Poor Doc. Not much into lots of silver sticky stuff in delicate places?”

“No.”

“Me either,” she giggled. “Okay, Dreamchaser491 sends, ‘Dear Doc and Hiney’…she called me Hiney, look. ‘Dear Doc and Hiney.’”

“No comment.” He chuckled.

“Cute, Doc. Wait until some replaces the
o
in your name with an
i
and we’ll see what comments I make.”

“Read the letter, Hiney.”

“‘Dear Doc and Hiney, I’ve heard you talk about the Summer Kickoff Charity Show. Autism is a special interest of mine. My son was diagnosed three years ago. Where can I buy tickets?’ Well, Dreamchaser, you are now forgiven for calling me Hiney.”

Charlie let the familiar commercial fall from her lips with barely a thought. “You can click on the Summer Kickoff icon on WTXT’s website or call in here anytime during normal business hours. Tickets are also for sale at over fifty businesses in the tristate area. There’s a complete list on our website. Hurry, time is running out. And we’d love to meet you, too! Doc and I are emceeing this year so you won’t be able to miss us, will she, Doc?”

Caught mid-jaw-popping yawn, he took a second to answer her. “Nope, although I have no idea what I’ll look like since Hiney, I mean Honey, won’t tell me what costumes she picked out.”

“Live in fear, Doc.”

His hand fell from her spine. The tease on her lips faded in silence as she turned to him. Bastian sat stone-faced, brows locked and jaw stern. The wheels of his chair slid noiselessly across the small console to his own microphone where he laid the paper flat and glared at it.

He drew a slow breath. “Last email. Normally I just pick a random couple letters to read on the air. It’s about the only job I claim exclusively on this show, the rest is all Honey. We do get some nasty notes occasionally.” Steel framed his words. Each seemingly chosen with surgical precision, they sliced out with clarity. “I usually ignore those. If I’d read this before printing it off, I wouldn’t be reading it on the air now. However, I have it in my hands and I want to address it.”

His lips curled in disgust, viewing the paper as if it were contaminated. “Spacecowboy writes, ‘Dear Doc, I applaud your stance on the no relations with Honeypot until marriage. But I am worried. Her show is informative to many married couples and I understand the privacy issues that lead people to seek answers from a woman…of such low moral standards. Thankfully, you are there to lend medical credence to her claims of expertise. I plead with you to think before you enter into a union with a…tramp like her. There are many women of higher values than your radio partner available. She’s not worth your devotion.’”

In the control room, Justine sat with her mouth gaping wide.

Bastian pushed the offensive letter away. “Spacecowboy, first, this show is for any consenting adult who wants or needs information, period, regardless of marital status or orientation. Secondly, you have no idea who the woman sitting beside me is or what she’s like. She’s intelligent and caring and not ashamed of her very normal and healthy sexuality in the face of closed-minded people like you. She doesn’t cheat or lie or hurt innocent people out of a twisted sense of superiority. I will consider myself lucky if she does decide to marry me. Lastly, if you have issues with the subject matter of this show or of the moral character of its hosts, I suggest you turn the radio dial. The gospel station is three clicks to the left.”

Rage contorted his features as he pushed away from the console. Charlie longed to stroke the lines from his brow and ease his temper, but she faced her mike and looked at Justine in calm resolution. The need for an unscheduled break was easily communicated and the manager whirled to hit the local pre-recorded news-and-weather segment.

“Let’s take a short break for station identification and the weather update, lovers, while I turn a hose on Doc. He’s a bit agitated and needs some cooling off. Back in two.”

“He’s a crackpot, Doc, shake it off,” chimed Justine’s authoritative voice the second the airwaves closed.

“I know. Assholes like that just piss me off. I should’ve read the damn thing before printing it. If I’d had more sleep, I would’ve used my head and done it. I’m sorry, Charlie, but I felt it needed to be dealt with.”

“He’s right.” Swallowing her pride, she shared another of her private fears. “He’s not the first to feel that way and he won’t be the last. I’m not ashamed of who I am. I danced for four years, Bastian. There are hundreds of men who have seen me nearly naked and I’m okay with that. It was a job that paid very, very well when I needed tuition money.”

The dam had been breached and there was no escaping the rush of words as they spilled from her lips. She laid out the truth in all its harsh lines and angles.

“I’ll never be June Cleaver. I don’t want to be. Sexualized banter is my trademark and I’m good at it, but it gives people a reason to shun me, think less of me, devalue me as a human being. There are doors in society that will never open for someone who brings the bedroom to the airwaves in frank and honest words without apology. It’s okay for Howard Stern but not a woman. Women will always be judged more harshly than men for the same behavior. Do you really want to tie yourself to me knowing all that?”

Bastian drew a deep gulp of oxygen and forced it out with a loud sigh. He turned his chair, arms still crossed, and glared at her.

“I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what narrow-minded people think about me or you or our choices. I
am
tied to you, Charlie, and that’s exactly where I want to be. My butt has been in this chair since
Let’s Talk about Sex
first went on the air, and I don’t regret one minute of it. Sure, it’s fun but we do help people. How many have called back and thanked us for answering stuff they can’t ask to their doctor’s face? How many people have emailed saying we helped them talk to their partners, saved their relationships? I refuse to feel dirty because we help people.

“As for your dancing, who cares? You danced on a stage to pay for your education. It’s not like you were selling yourself on a street corner. I’ve seen thousands of people in this area buck naked and in much more embarrassing positions than talking about orgasms and condoms. If someone wants to judge me, let them. If they want to shun me, let them. I’m not ashamed of anything we’ve said, done or may do and I will never be ashamed of who you are. If I wanted June Cleaver, I’d have looked for her. I want you, just the way you are.”

Clapping came across the intercom as Justine applauded his words. Hot liquid filled Charlie’s eyes, sealing her throat and preventing words. The harsh lines of his face softened as he wheeled to her and pulled her close. Bastian gave the best hugs. She let loose a single sob and buried her face in his shoulder.

He kissed her. He didn’t care that Justine was watching, he just gave her his love. He gave it as he’d said, unashamed and not caring who thought what. The kiss lasted until Justine spoke a five count, ticking down the last seconds of the break. Charlie wiped her face and turned to the console, Bastian’s fingers wrapped tight around her own.

The Honeypot took control.

“Welcome back, lovers. Are you ready? It’s time.” One light finger press and the mixed and mingled songs of 2 Live Crew and the Dixie Cups filled the room. The back-and-forth opposing lyrics faded as she drew a cleansing breath. “Tally sheet. Who’s ahead in the Race for Wed or Bed? Last show the score was tied at two each. What’s the verdict, Doc?”

“Still no ring on your hand, Honey.”

“And no prying that zipper down. So ante up, how many points have I scored since Wednesday’s show?”

“Six.”

“Six? Okay, I know three came from tonight’s show. Where are you getting the other three?”

“Ah, the note you put in my dinner. That was cruel and definitely worth a point. Those words alone kept the cornbread hot.”

“Liked that, did you, Doc?”

“You could say that. Plus, there was a dream those words inspired tonight when I took a nap. Absolutely worth two points.”

“A dream? About me?”

“Oh, yeah.” His lusty sigh banished the heavy aftermath of turmoil.

Her giggle felt good after the emotional upheaval and she gave it free rein. “And just think, Doc, I wasn’t even trying.”

His groan spiked the vocal gauge into the red zone. “Okay, Honey, your turn. I admit I’ve been a little busy, so my point value—”

“Nine.”

He whipped his face toward hers. “Nine? How did I score nine points?”

“You underestimate yourself, Doc. Two points for trusting me to pick out costumes for the Summer Kickoff even though you’re scared to death I’m going to put you in another skirt or tights. Trust is a big thing. It’s worth two points.”

“I do trust you. Plus, I plan on carrying scrubs in the car just in case.” He winked.

“And another two points for actually eating my cooking. That takes bravery.”

“And antacid. I’m kidding. The chicken wasn’t half-bad and I did appreciate you bringing me dinner.”

Charlie tongued her lip and closed her eyes. Honey took a backseat for a minute. He deserved her public gratitude.

“And five points for not having to think twice about supporting me on that email rebuttal. Your anger on my behalf and your words meant more to me than any diamond ever will. No man has ever treated me with as much respect as you did and always do. Thank you, Doc.”

His hand pulled from hers to stroke the crown of her head, a gentle caress of immeasurable tenderness. He could have crowed but he didn’t. He let his fingers glide down her cheek and gave her a smile. “Does this mean I win, Honey?”

“No,” she tossed back saucily. “It just means you’re slightly ahead between the tally sheets. Score of eight to eleven for Doc. But we have a long weekend coming up and you’re not the only one with a few surprises planned. Better padlock that zipper.”

“Long weekend?” He frowned before understanding dawned on him. The indulgent smile lifting his lips widened as he leaned to the mike. “Oh, that’s right. Since the federal government has yet to officially recognize Honey’s birthday as a national holiday, she insists on taking it off every year and makes me do the same. So no live show on Monday.”

“That’s right, lovers. Instead, we’ve compiled a bunch of our most memorable moments on
Let’s Talk about Sex.
Sit back and reminisce with our recorded selves. Personally, I’ll be out doing my birthday thing on Doc’s credit card.”

“I guess this means I’m supposed to take you out?”

“You better. And there better be presents. I know one particular
package
I’d like to see.”

“Not until you say the magic words.”