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“Nothing about this is comfortable, period,” I snap.
“I guess I’ll have to cure that, no?”
My eyes widen as I stare at him in shock. “What do you mean?”
With the most innocent face, he says, “I took an oath. My job is to make you as at ease as I can. Please lie down.”
Is he messing with me? Is that really what he meant? Taking the high road as a doctor? I don’t think so. He’s definitely messing with me.
I glare at him, but it has no effect. Defeated, I settle myself on the bed. I want to tell him to hurry the heck up with that injection, but I doubt that would help.
As I’m lying down, staring at the ceiling, his deep voice fills the room again. “I’m going to lift your top now.”
The words send a zap straight through my lower body, from my stomach, down to my belly, and finally to a place that should have no interest in whatever Dr. Proper has to say.
Swallowing quietly, I nod.
He grabs the hem of my blouse and slowly pulls it up, uncovering my belly, making me shiver at each caress of the fabric over my skin.
The view underneath won’t be pretty. After thirteen days of injections, my belly looks like a minefield of bruises. John traces a gloved finger just above the waist of my pants, causing another shiver to run up my spine and down to my—you get the picture.
“Do these hurt?” he asks in the softest voice.
“No,” I lie.
They mostly don’t, anyway.
“All right, I’ll try to find a spot that’s not as bruised.”
I scoff. Good luck with that.
For the next five seconds, his hand skims over my belly, eliciting all kinds of unwanted sensations. If he keeps touching me, the trigger shot will prove completely unnecessary as my follicles will burst spontaneously.
At last, he picks a spot. A cool swab of a cotton ball imbued with disinfectant is followed by the injection. The prickle of the needle is so light I almost don’t feel it.
“You’re all set,” John announces.
“Thank you.”
I quickly cover myself and shoot off the bed, ready to make a run for it, but he’s blocking my path to the door.
“I went to see your parents yesterday,” he says, distracting me from my escape plan.
“My parents?” I deadpan. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing. We brought over a basket of muffins and they invited us in for coffee. Just a friendly visit between neighbors.”
I don’t know what to say, other than wanting to scream: Traitors! Turncoats!
But apparently, I don’t have to talk because John continues. “Thank you for not putting them against me.”
The irony of being thanked for an attitude exactly opposite to the one I’ve kept threatens to make me break into hysterics.
Instead, I manage to give a totally false reply. “I’m not petty. Whatever happened between us was a long time ago. I’m over it. I’ve been over it since forever.”
Lies, upon lies, upon lies.
John studies me for a long moment.
