Page 11 of How to Break My Heart
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Weston. It’s been busy at the café today. You know, Valentine’s Day and all.” I release a breath, wondering if I should just back out now. What’s the point of staying on birth control if my sex life is nonexistent? It’s not like I’m onany dating apps, and quite frankly, the men in this town are… blah. Manhattan is only two hours away, but city men are often so arrogant. Like Aston.
My lips purse at the thought of him.God, I really need to get over this.
“Take a seat, my dear. Dr. Wilde is with another patient, but he won’t be long.”
I sit on the plastic chair and reach for an old magazine. As I flick through it aimlessly, I begin praying this routine checkup turns out okay so I can continue taking the pill for future me, who is supposedly going to haveall the sex.
Then, I tilt my head with confusion and glance at Mrs. Weston. “Dr. Wilde?” I ask from across the room. “Is he new? Where is Dr. Green?”
The door to the office opens, prompting me to turn around. And when I do, the sexiest of grins is all I can focus on. God, his lips look soft and inviting—full and the perfect shade of pink. I just know he would be a great kisser.
I’m unable to speak, but I force myself to lift my gaze to meet his chestnut-brown eyes, desperately trying to swallow my urge to say something foolish likeHellooo, Dr. Hottie.
He glances down at the chart. “Miss Woods?”
“Um…” I croak, much to Mrs. Weston’s amusement. “Yes, that’s, um, me.”
“Come into my office,” he offers politely, standing by the door as he waits for me to enter.
As I walk past him, the scent of his cologne consumes me.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Turns out my libido is alive and functioning perfectly.
Just breathe.
Be yourself.
Act cool.
He closes the door, taking his seat behind the wooden desk. I wonder what it would be like to have sex right here. Would wepush all the papers off the desk like you see in movies? It’d create a mess, though, and who’s cleaning that up?
God, I’ve lost the plot.
“I’d like to introduce myself…I’m Dr. Wilde. I’ll be Dr. Green’s replacement while he’s recovering from surgery.”
I smile awkwardly, silenced by my dirty inner monologue, which has now thought about how sexy his lips would be buried between my legs.
Once again, he glances at the chart. “So, you’re here to stay on birth control, is that correct?”
And as if the universe—Cupid, perhaps—decided to give me a break,I smile in return and straighten my posture. “Yes, Dr. Wilde, I plan on being sexually active.”
“Let’s take a look at your medical records, shall we?”
Dr. Wilde sits across from me, reading a folder filled with notes about my medical history. I sit in the awkward silence, wondering what he’s thinking. My overstimulated brain is conjuring up a million different scenarios.
And why is this room so damn hot? It’s still winter. Despite the snow stopping earlier in the week, it’s lingered on the lampposts and around the town square where the gazebo sits. The trees, while bare, have snow still covering their branches. If you drive farther into the mountains, there’s plenty of snow for sledding.
I spot the thermostat on the wall. It’s not even that hot, but beneath my ivory wool coat, sweat begins to form, and I’m pretty sure my cheeks are flushed.
The problem is not the room. It’s the hot young doctor sitting in front of you.
I’m drawn to the way he concentrates while reading, brows narrowing to focus. His hair is a lighter shade of brown, almost a dark blond, which is parted to the side. My eyes then gravitate toward his sharp jawline, which is freshly shaven. The more I observe him and his desire for my medical history, the more panic begins to creep in.
I’m far from being a hypochondriac, but then I remember the time Dr. Green had to do an emergency tampon removal in my senior year of high school. I called on Maddy, as my best friend, to help me first, but she started freaking out. Her freak-out made me freak out even more, which I believe to this day lodged the tampon even farther up my vaginal canal. Mom also tried, but by then, there was no choice but to seek intervention.
Even though Dr. Green assured me it’s quite common, I was completely mortified. It was a month after I’d lost my virginity to Henry Painter, this guy from my English class, so I assumed it was the perfect time to start using tampons. Boy, was I wrong.
