Page 9 of Stirred Up

”It’s, uh, cold in here.”Now why did I say that?Maybe he hadn’t noticed the perky, aching points shining like headlights, and I just had to go and point it out.

“Too cold?” His hands still with concern and my entire body aches for them to continue. For them to do their best, and worst, to my neglected breasts.

”No,” I fumble through embarrassment. “It’s—”

“Totally natural.” He lifts his gaze to mine and smiles thoughtfully. “All done.”

With the gentlest touch I’ve ever felt, he lowers my arms and places them at my sides. Whether professional ornot, I don’t complain when he rubs his hands up and down my forearms twice, warming away the chill.

It’s tender and innocent, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not his usual protocol. Chivalrously, he offers his hand to help me sit up. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You did excellent and everything felt good,” throat clear, “normal,” he clarifies, stepping away and swiping the chart off the counter in a rushed maneuver, writing feverishly with his head down.

As the seconds stretch on, I begin to loosen up. The nagging tingle in my stomach releases enough that I can breathe evenly now. He may do this every day with young, old, fat, thin, ugly, and pretty women, but much like I can’t stop my nipples from perking up for cold air, he can’t help that he is a man groping boobs. We’re both but human beings here. My shoulders drop with the easing thought that he too seems a bitaware of something.

Finally, he looks up as he retakes his seat on the stool and rolls over to sit before me, front and center. “Next, we need to do a pap smear. I’ll take a swab and we send that off to the lab. It tests cervical cells for various cancers or precursors. We usually have the results back in a week.Now, before your eyes get any bigger, let me just say, it’s invasive, but not painful.”

Good to know. Still, the stressed breathing has returned, along with the beads of sweat forming down my back.

“You shouldn’t have any soreness or discharge afterwards. If you do, call me immediately.”

I nod, unsure if he’s waiting for me to say the words “I understand” aloud. With the way he’s staring at me, it’s as if I’m before some judge. I’d think he was nervous himself if he didn’t do this daily, hourly. He’s simply looking out for his patient like any doctor would. That’s evident when he places his hand over mine, locked on the side of the table in a death grip.

“Are yousureyou don’t want a nurse in here? A lot of women do. I completely understand.”

His thumb travels over my knuckles and I release my hold on the table.

“How long does it take?” I ask, anxiety evident.

“Two, maybe three, minutes.”

“I’m fine then.”

“Okay, lie back for me and put your feet in thestirrups.”

“I’m not stirred up! I was actually beginning to feel calmer,” I snap, swinging my arms over my chest.How dare he!

This time he’s unable to contain his laughter, turning away as if I can’t hear it. “Stirrups,” he reiterates through the chuckle. “When raised and locked in place, you put your feet in them.” He turns back, laughter gone, but his expression still amused as he points to the medieval looking thingies folded at the end of the table. “Thank you for that though. Days get long without a laugh or two.”

Mortification doesn’t begin to describe my emotions at the moment. “You can’t repeat that, right? Funny water cooler story. There’s confidentiality and all, isn’t there?” I scowl, not wanting to be the running gyno meetings joke.

All traces of humor vanish instantly. “Addison, I will never,” he locks solemn eyes with me, “ever repeat anything that happens in here.”

I believe him. “Thank you,” I concede, unfolding my arms.

”You ready?”

I sigh and lay back. “As I’ll ever be.”

The metal clanks noisily as he prepares the stirrups. I tilt my head and watch as he moves a tray and lamp to his side.

“Feet up.” He taps my left ankle and helps guide it into the contraption, then does the same with the right. “Now scoot your bottom all the way down.”

I do, squirming awkwardly.

“More.”

I do so again, the paper robe rustling louder.

He snickers. “A little more.”

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