Page 142 of The Doctors Will See You Now

She was full of baloney on this one. Pretty much every woman in the world saw Mateo Cruz and immediately thought, muy caliente. With a voice like honey and a face like sin, everyone wanted to get inside the pants of the next big thing in the music industry. Including my best friend, even though she refused to admit it.

Amanda: And don’t think I didn’t notice you basically admitted that Dr. Erotic took care of you in ER. Did you at least get his number so you can bone him after you’ve fully recovered? Which, pretty sure you should be good to go by now…

Me: Leave me alone. Go bone your Spanish client.

Amanda: I don’t bone my clients!

Me: Then go find someone to bone so you stop talking to me about boning. Anyway, I actually do have to go. I have an appointment in like ten minutes.

Amanda: An appointment to bone Dr. Erotic?

Me: Stop saying bone.

Amanda: I bet Dr. Erotic has nice bones…

Me: That doesn’t even make sense.

Amanda: I meant BONERS. I bet he has nice boners. I know they say the eyes are the window to your soul, but I’m pretty sure Dr. Erotic’s eyes are the windows to his penis. A man with those gorgeous fucking brown eyes, and who looks the way he does, has to have an ah-mazing penis.

She had a bit of a point. Scott Shepard’s eyes were like ooey-gooey chocolate morsels that contained the power to make any woman melt. But I didn’t need to add fuel to the already burning fire of penis metaphors. I had to change the subject.

Me: What about Mateo? Shouldn’t you be servicing his penis right now under the pretense of “PR”?

Amanda: Shut up.

Me: You’re totally going to go for a ride on the Spanish stallion. I know it.

Amanda: I miss you. But you’re an asshole. He’s my client. Business and BONE-ING do not mix.

Business and Bone-ing… Real fucking clever…

Me: Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?

Amanda: Nope. :)

Instead of simply putting my phone back in my pocket, I turned it off and then put it in my pocket. Otherwise, I would’ve received no less than ten more text messages about bones and boners and Dr. Erotic.

Plus, I didn’t want to be in the middle of my doctor’s appointment while my phone lit up with “bone” texts.

Forty minutes later, I was sitting patiently on my doctor’s exam table while he gently assessed the stitches on my forehead with gloved hands.

“These healed very nicely,” he said with a little nod of approval.

At the young age of seventy, Dr. Barry Williams had been my doctor for my whole life. From diaper rashes to upper respiratory infections to that time I’d managed to catch the flu when I was twenty-one, this guy had been privy to it all.

“How did you manage this one, by the way?”

“Uh…” I searched for a sugarcoated version of my sex injury. Dr. Williams was also a good family friend and golf buddies with my dad. The last thing he needed to hear was that my date had basically fucked me into his glass headboard. “Just a clumsy moment, I guess.”

He quirked an amused brow. “Was alcohol involved during this clumsy moment?”

I wish there had been more… “Of course not, Dr. Williams,” I lied. “You know I’m a good girl who stays on the straight and narrow.”

A barking laugh left his lips. “Yeah, and I’m one nomination away from being the next Democratic candidate for President.”

“You are?” I feigned gullibility, and he smirked.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to tell me what really happened because you’re afraid I’ll tell your dad?”