Playing Doctor

Chapter Six

fate [fāt] - noun

1. the supposed force, principle, or power that predetermines events.

2. the inevitable events predestined by this force.

3. unfavorable destiny; doom.

Friday evening, instead of doing the normal thing and going out with friends or on a date, I lay on Mena's couch with a highlighter, a pen, a pad of sticky notes, and Strip Style next to me. And I was completely disgusted with myself.

The first problem: I'd applied to a couple more jobs and they hadn't even called me back for interviews. Had they seen through me and found me lacking? Very discouraging.

The second: I hadn't met any other men so I hadn't exercised my womanly wiles much less made any progress on starting a family. The more I thought about Art, the less I was sure I wanted to pursue him. Even though he'd called me. Twice.

Kevin had called at least three times as much in the same time period. I didn't take his calls, but I did call the coordinator for the symposium to arrange my own presentation. That way the research would become public domain and Kevin would be foiled. But the coordinator said the schedule was booked. It was only several weeks away, she'd told me.

But I already had a call in to a colleague who had a seminar scheduled. I was fairly certain I could convince him to give me his spot. After all, he gave the same talk on immunization every year.

I had, however, gone through Strip Style once already this week. Fascinating read. In a way, stripping was much like research: you start gyrating in a certain direction and go with whatever you discover, paying attention to all the little details along the way.

I uncapped the highlighter and opened the book to the chapter on bikini line styles, which I found particularly interesting. Who knew so many styles existed, and that they had names? The Mohawk, the Arrow of Love, the Telly Savalas... It boggled the mind. I marked the styles that intrigued me, made a couple notations on the margins. I.e.: did certain styles look better on certain body types and, if so, which would suit mine? I was leaning toward the Arrow.

I was about to begin dissecting the chapter on pole etiquette when I heard the front door open. It could only be Mena or her best friend Matt, and I wanted neither one to see my research material.

"Hey Daph," Mena shouted from the landing downstairs. "I have Rio with me so I hope you're decent."

"Don't call me Daph," I called out as I scrambled to shove everything under the couch's cushion. I righted myself and was smoothing my hair when my sister and her fiancé stepped onto the landing.

Mena gazed at me suspiciously, but Rio smiled. He had a beautiful, welcoming smile, which always startled me. He was a boxer and gym owner, not to mention formerly in the military, so I expected him to be testosterone laden instead of as gentle as he was.

"How's it going, Daphne?" he asked.

"Well, thank you." Truthfully, while I liked Rio a lot (he was going to be my brother-in-law, after all) he intimidated me. He was too imposing, too striking. Too masculine. Like the clinic doctor.

I remembered the feel of his arms under my hands and flushed.

Mena frowned. "You okay? You look kind of feverish."

"I'm fine." I waved my hand to cool my cheeks.

"Are you sure?"

"Why are you always asking me if I'm sure? It's irritating. Wouldn't I know?"