Page 3 of Love Bank
Or in my case, think inside the specimen cup.
So here I was the proud owner of the finest, most upscale fertility clinic this side of the Sierra Nevadas. We’d been open six months and already made our way to the breakeven point, meaning we could afford to start being more selective with our deposits. The higher the pedigree of the sperm, the higher the price when we went to sell it to a female looking to birth the next Michael Phelps. Forget the black market, I was selling the goods on the sperm market.
I swung my tiny metal door open and bellowed an enthusiastic “heave ho” to get myself up and out of the little car barely scraping above sea level without flashing the entire town of Auburn Hill in my knee-length wool skirt. The car was impractical, I’ll give you that, but I loved the old gal. With age came refinement and I was clinging to that adage like a fly on horse shit in August. At thirty-six years of age, I felt my grip slipping on my youth, which was why the fertility clinic before me held my own eggs, cryogenically frozen for the day I finally kissed my chances of a real live man in my life goodbye and took to science to create the offspring I’d always wanted.
My heels clacked over the pavement, already pinching my toes like they hated me personally for bringing them into this world. Flats just seemed so pedestrian, especially for such an upscale environment like the one we created at Coastal Fertility. We tried hard not to make patients feel like they were at a hospital. Sterile was not the impression you wanted to leave men with when they were pumping the family jewels for heirs.
The bell rang out as I pulled the door open and breathed in the essential oil blend I made especially for arousal—not to be confused with the oil blend best for animal arousal—that we kept running twenty-four seven. My clinic wasn’t a place for porn and dirty magazines. High-end sperm required calm, relaxation, and classy imagination.
“Good morning, Ms. Eureka!” Keva grinned from ear to ear, hopping up out of her chair like I deserved a standing ovation simply for showing up to work late.
I slipped behind the desk and kicked off my heels with a full-body shiver of delight, meeting her grin with my own.
“It’s Lucille, and please, have a seat.” I’d told her at least twenty times in the last three weeks to call me by my first name, but it hadn’t taken yet. I’d heard it took thirty days to cement a habit, so I was holding out for next week being the day we turned the corner to a less formal relationship.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I do apologize for being late.” I grabbed a hair pin out of our emergency stash in the top drawer of the desk and swooped back a piece that had gotten away from my bun on the ride over. “Nearly got run over by a bus pulling into the lot.”
“Oh, I heard the new prison would be opening any day now. Are you okay?”
Keva finally sat in a dramatic plop, those ruby red lips of hers now in an overexaggerated oval. She had a way with makeup, making herself look at least five years older. Made me ponder at what point you quit trying to appear older and used those same cosmetics to look younger.
“I’m fine, though it sped my heart rate to that of a myocardial infarction patient.” I smoothed my blouse down and sucked in a deep breath. Being rushed and stressed was not the proper way to start a Monday. “I just can’t believe the mayor approved a private prison right next door. Of all the asinine businesses to put next to a fertility clinic.”
“Oh yes, I much prefer the National Cat Protection Society.” Keva’s head bobbed up and down, reminding me of the bobblehead Hawaiian doll my mother had on the dash of her old boat of a Lincoln. I used to love to see that grass skirt swaying while the sun shined down. As a little girl with an active mind, I could practically feel the tropical breeze as I imagined that doll was a real live hula girl.
“Hmm.” The jury was still out on Yedda’s cat house on the other side of my building. While I respected her dream of giving cats a place to retire when their owners may have given up on them with their high medical expenses, I didn’t particularly care for cats as I was allergic. “All we need is a blow-up doll factory to come to town and we’d be the laughing stock of the nation.”
“Oh!” Keva’s mouth dropped open again, this time shocked delight widening her eyes.
My own eyes popped open, realizing I’d said that last bit out loud. The poor girl was only eighteen. I probably shouldn’t be speaking of blow-up dolls like the wizened hussy I wasn’t. Though she did work at a spank bank, so her sensitivities must not be too great.
She giggled and I chastised myself silently. I needed to rein in my wayward mouth. Ever since that damn goat had rubbed its filthy head against my hip the other day, I’d lost my filter. Which was even more odd because I thought that filter had been built into my face with reinforced metal plates worthy of a NASA inspection and therefore impossible to take off.
“I’m not normally a negative Nancy, but mark my words, Keva. Nothing good will come from having a prison right here on Brinestone Way. This road was built for local businesses, not a pathway for criminals to enter our quaint town. Mayor Bennett must have lost his damn mind when he approved that hunk of concrete and metal.”
I shook my head, then just as quickly clapped my hands to shake myself out of my temper. I needed to change the mood—fast—or I’d be sadder than George, the poor senior citizen sitting outside Coffee every morning like he did when his wife was still alive. He never hesitated to tell a story about her as if the telling of it would keep her alive. I guess it must have worked because he never failed to be there, rain or shine.
“Let’s get today going and forget all about criminals and wayward cats, shall we? What’s on the schedule?”
Keva grabbed the paper calendar book with all our appointments written in multicolored pen off the desk and scanned the day’s events. Technology was a fine thing, but not when it came to seeing what you had planned for the day. On her first day Keva had asked me if I planned to upgrade to a Google calendar we could share. I set her straight right then and there, telling her about the time I accidentally shared my calendar with the Poker Club of Auburn Hill instead of my mother, Polly Eureka. Those old men didn’t need to know about my gynecological appointment that Tuesday or the exact time I was to get my lip waxed, yet there it was in all its electronic glory for them to pick through at their leisure. I’d stick to pen and paper, thank you very much.
“Well, we have our first—”
Keva’s sweet voice was cut off by the bell above the door jingling and our resident mail carrier poking her lavender-dyed head inside. Normally I’d sit and chat with the woman, letting her gossip wash over me, oohing and aahing at the appropriate moments, but my patience was running thin. Blame it on the honking bus or the magic goat, either way, I was on a mission that morning to set my life back on its proper course. A gossip session would have to wait.
“Good morning, Poppy.” I moved around the desk and took the mail from her outstretched hand. “Come have a seat with Keva. I have a quick phone call to make.”
Poppy nodded enthusiastically, seeing the bright smile on poor Keva’s face. Poppy could spot a listening ear a mile away. As for me, I’d just told a bald-faced lie. Quite unlike me, especially since I actually liked Poppy, despite my mom’s poor opinion of her. Usually I only lied to spare someone’s feelings, not to get out of conversing with a neighbor. Being neighborly was what Hell was all about.
I shuffled down the hall, realizing belatedly I’d forgotten to collect my heels from under Keva’s desk. Lord knew I’d enjoy a morning without heels, but hopefully I wouldn’t tear a hole in my stockings just for a little blister relief. I’d gone down the back hallway where the treatment rooms were located, knowing the oil diffuser blend was almost out in the back room. It wouldn’t do to have the special libido diffuser stop right in the middle of whacking the wand. Total mood buster.
The door opened smoothly thanks to the WD-40 I sprayed on the hinges on a regular basis to keep them moving. We were all about the lubrication here. I smirked at my own humor—if you didn’t laugh at your own jokes, who would—and moved quickly into the room.
My body reacted before my brain could catch up, coming to an abrupt stop and nearly wiping out on the slick floor with only my thin stockings to offer any traction. There in front of me, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, was a patient on the leather couch I’d personally picked out for comfortability.
But not just any patient. He had to have been the most gorgeous male specimen I’d ever laid eyes on. Now my whole body wanted to lie on him, like a cat in heat. My eyes traveled down his body, taking in every detail like I had all the time in the world. Thick dark hair I could practically see myself grabbing hold of by the handful, corded muscles bunching and flexing down his long arm. Legs spread wide and stretched out as if even the ample couch was child size in comparison. A jaw clenched tight, a vein in his neck bulging alarmingly. And there, enclosed in his fist, the longest, thickest, most lick-worthy—
I slammed my eyes shut and nearly gasped out loud. What was I doing spying on a patient in the middle of depositing a specimen? My mouth watered at the imprint on the back of my eyelids even as the rest of me went up in flames. Dear Lord, who was that and how could I back out of the room without him noticing me?
