Page 29 of Comforting the Grump

But he hadn’t. He’d asked me… Well, technically, he hadn’taskedme. He’d wrongly assumed I wanted to spend the weekend with him, but he’d been happy about it. He’d said it would be really good to have me.

Really good.

He’d started by sayinggoodand had then amended that toreally good, as if good hadn’t been a strong enough description. That meant he was truly happy to have me, right? Or was I now reading too much into it? Ugh, leave it to me to overthink two words.

I’d have to pay attention to his reactions this weekend. The man was a master at hiding his emotions, but maybe now that I’d seen a crack in his facade, I’d be able to peer behind his proverbial curtains and see more of the real Marnin?

I couldn’t wait.

11

MARNIN

The receptionist—a middle-aged woman with spectacles slipping down her nose—glanced up from her computer screen and gave us a practiced smile.

“Last name?”

“Rosser. Marnin Rosser,” I replied, my voice betraying none of the apprehension that gnawed at my gut.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Rosser. You’re a little early. Please take a seat, and Dr. Stein will be with you shortly.” Her fingers danced across the keys as she checked us in, efficient as the click-clack of a metronome.

“Thanks,” I muttered and turned toward the waiting area. I chose two chairs by the window, which were wet and foggy from the drizzle. Ennio followed suit, perching on the edge of the chair next to mine, legs crossed at the ankles.

Dressed in bright red pants and a tight-fitting orange, yellow, and red silk shirt, he looked like a colorful bird amid the beige walls and nondescript furniture—a touch of vibrancy in an otherwise dull space. His sparkly red nail polish fit his outfit, and as usual, he was wearing subtle eyeliner. He was so gorgeous, like the prettiest bird you’d ever seen.

I hadn’t spent a lot of time in medical practices and hospitals, but I had noticed they always tried to soothe you with their decorating choices. As if various shades of boring would prevent you from worrying about possibly having prostate cancer. Though the art—detailed photographs of orcas—was a nice touch.

I was still nervous as fuck and struggled to keep my leg still. It kept bouncing, my foot tapping on the floor. Ennio simply took my hand and laced our fingers together. Funny how a little gesture like that could mean so much. He didn’t even need to say anything. Knowing he was there was enough to keep that ice-cold fear from invading me.

“Marnin Rosser?” The nurse’s voice sliced through the hum of the waiting room. I stood, my legs feeling like they might buckle beneath me. Ennio let go of my hand, and I missed his warmth immediately. He stayed seated.

“Come with me,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

I didn’t know why, but I needed him there. The thought of facing this alone was terrifying. “Please.”

“Okay.”

Relief filled me as he followed me.

“Right in here.” The nurse motioned us into an examination room that smelled of antiseptic and faintly, oddly, of mint. “Can you step on the scale first?”

I was the same weight as six months prior at my yearly physical, which was a small comfort as I hoisted myself onto the crinkling paper of the examination table. Her gaze flickered between Ennio and me, a hint of assumption knitting her brows together. “You can sit there,” she told Ennio, who nodded and sat in a chair next to the exam table.

“I’m going to take some vitals and draw some blood, and then Dr. Stein will be in to do the examination, okay?”

She was efficient as she took my blood pressure and pulse, putting all the data in my digital file. Drawing blood was always easy with me, my veins presenting themselves with clarity under my skin, and she took six vials without an issue. “Okay, perfect. Please undress completely and put on this gown. Dr. Stein will be with you shortly.”

It took a few minutes, which Ennio and I passed in a heavy silence once I’d changed. He seemed to sense I couldn’t handle conversation now. Part of me wanted the distraction, but my brain refused to focus on anything else.

Then Stein entered, and after a greeting, he sat behind a laptop, his eyes scanning the information before he looked up at me. “So, Marnin, I see your primary physician referred you to me after a positive PSA test. What led you to ask for a test?”

I took a deep breath. “I’ve been having erectile issues recently and wanted to have them checked out.”

“I see. How frequently has this happened?”

I clenched my jaw, willing the heat not to crawl up my neck. Discussing my sex life—or the recent lack thereof—wasn’t high on my list of enjoyable pastimes. But the clinical detachment in the doctor’s tone helped me find my own objective stance. “At least five times now, and it’s not a problem I’ve had before.”

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