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“I’m the one who’s sorry. Here, let me help you up.” I offer my hand, which she gratefully accepts.
The moment she sits up, I see that her white T-shirt is ruined because when she fell, she was holding a tray of drinks. The drinks have spilled haphazardly across the floor, and I feel like a total ass, as I know those drinks will probably come out of her pay.
“Let me pay for those,” I quickly offer, reaching into my pocket to pull out my wallet.
Madison waves me off. “It’s fine, honestly.”
“No, I insist,” I press, trying to do a mental calculation of how much the drinks would have amounted to.
“It’s fine, Dixon,” she perseveres kindly, placing a gentle hand on my wrist to halt my movement.
The moment her fingers meet my skin, a zap ofsomethingsinges through my body, and we both pull away, taken aback by the unpredicted response. My eyes unintentionally drop to her soaked chest, and I see a hint of her pink bra peek through the sheer material. She may be a small girl, but damn, she sure is blessed in the boob department.
I quickly clear my throat and raise my eyes, as I’m sure she can see me staring at her.
“I better get back to work,” she timidly says, and makes a move to stand.
I move out of her way, and also stand awkwardly, not knowing what to say next.
I’ve forgotten how short she is, and standing in her black Chucks and black shorts, she looks simply adorable. Her long brown hair has slipped free from a loose ponytail, and with her stained T-shirt, she looks a total mess—but not in a bad way. She looks like a beautiful disaster.
“Well, see ya,” she says with a wave, when I don’t say anything.
“Oh, yeah, okay, bye.” I find myself wanting to ask her what time she gets off, but I don’t.
I just watch as she makes her way into the kitchen, leaving me to once again question what the hellthatwas.
It’s Friday, and my week has thankfully remained drama free since Monday. I intend to keep it that way.
Juliet’s very public display of self-gratification has definitely been an inspirational vision to accompany my jerking off, but funnily enough, so has Madison’s innocent pink bra. I’m attracted to both women, but for entirely different reasons. It’s not as simple and clear cut as this, but I’m drawn to Madison’s innocence while I’m enticed by Juliet’s depravity.
I haven’t really figured either of them out yet, but now that I know Madison works Mondays, I intend to pay her a visit and try to get to know her better. As for Juliet, I’m actually a little afraid to get to know her better; I have a feeling the real Juliet Harte would eat me alive for breakfast.
The phone thankfully interrupts my thoughts, and I answer on the third ring.
“Hello, this is Dr. Mathews.”
“Dixon, my friend, how are you?” says Chad Turner, who is on the Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences board.
“Hello, Chad. I’m great, thank you. To what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask, getting straight to the point because this isn’t a social call.
Chad chuckles, no doubt appreciating my forwardness, as neither of us are one for small talk. “Dixon, I’m calling because I would like to extend a formal invitation for you to attend our annual Gerald Harriet’s Fellowship Award night, which will be held later in the year.”
I take a moment to process what he just said, as this is big. I’ve been trying to get an invite to this prestigious ceremony for years, but I’ve always missed out.
Without further delay, I reply, “Chad, I would be absolutely honored. Thank you.” And I mean every word.
But I can’t help but wonder why this year is different.
Chad must be able to read my confusion as he quickly clarifies, “Although you’re not in the running for the award this year, your research on neurobiology and addiction hasn’t gone unnoticed by the board. You keep it up, and next year, you’ve got a real good shot at being a strong contender.”
It’s every doctor’s dream to be invited to this event, but the hint of possibly being nominated next year is phenomenal.
Keeping my calm, however, I reply, “Well, I better ensure I keep up the good work. Please send all information to my office, and I’ll make sure to RSVP by the date.”
“Excellent. I look forward to seeing you there,” Chad says happily. “Keep up the good work, Dixon. We’re keeping a close eye on you.” He hangs up before I have a chance to reply.
Holy shit, this is beyond amazing. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that me, Dixon Mathews, the only son of an Italian migrant family, would get this opportunity. I think this calls for a celebration.
