Page 4 of Camera Chemistry
“I prefer it that way.”
“Aren’t you lonely?”
“Nope.”
Not really. Not in the way Shawn assumes. I don’t want a relationship. I’m too busy with work and my kid, shuttling her to swim practice and keeping up with her social calendar. Throw in trying to juggle my own sanity, and there’s zero time left for dating. People think my occupation is altruistic at first. They hear the big buzz words: Cancer. Doctor. Kids. There’s this gasp of surprise. Adjectives likeselflessandimportantare lobbed my way as if I can change the world. The positivity is short-lived, lasting only until I keep my phone silent all day, messages going unanswered because I’m busy and don’t have time to talk about my favorite food or ideal date via text. Women lose interest pretty quickly after that, and thus I begin another round of being alone.
Some sort of female presence would be nice, though. I love my kid dearly, more than anything in the world. But another adult in the picture, even if just for a few hours, has been a craving of mine as of late.
A night or two of physical release and intelligent conversation not revolving around pep rallies or homecoming dresses. Hands other than my own sliding under the waistband of my joggers, gripping my dick. My cum landing somewhere other than on my stomach… like down a woman’s throat. Her on top of me, thighs bracketing mine as she rides me to oblivion. Spending all day in bed, sheets rumpled and dirtied as I eat her out under the light of the rising sun.
Fuck.
Too many beers. Not enough action.
“It’s not a date,” Shawn continues. “It’s a few hours of social interaction. Look, Aiden. It would be good for you to do something unconventional for once. I think you will have a good time. You and the woman have a lot in common, so you wouldn’t feel like giving yourself a lobotomy when you talk to her.”
“What?” I snort. “Is she also a doctor who prefers staying home over going out with friends who volunteer her for stuff?” Shawn grins at me again, a silent confirmation, and the air whooshes out of my lungs in a shaky exhale. “Oh, shit.”
“She’s a doctor. Pretty. Wicked smart. Jeremiah thinks you two will get along great.”
I nod at the passing server for another drink.Fuck, this next beer won’t be enough. I need something stronger. Like a cleaver to my skull or a whole handle of vodka. Hearing Shawn call her pretty stirs up something dark inside me, a tornado of acidity. Is it jealousy that he’s seen her first? Disappointment that she’s probably already talked to him and fallen in love like every other woman who comes by?
“This is important to you?” I ask. It must be. He wouldn’t have signed me up for something he knows I’d hate for shits and giggles.
“Yeah. Jeremiah came to me asking for help. You know I’m a big advocate for small businesses. Sure, he’s established in the industry, but this particular project is special to him. He’s been nothing but kind to me in the times we’ve spent together, and I thought I could pay some of that kindness forward.”
“Okay.” The guilt trip works, tugging pathetically at my heartstrings. “I’ll do it. But you owe me big time.”
“Trust me, Aiden.” Shawn’s smile is back in place. He reaches over and clasps me on the shoulder. “I think after all of this is said and done, you’ll be the one thanking me.”
THREE
MAGGIE
“This lo mein is betterthan any orgasm I’ve had.” Lacey, one of my other best friends, groans around the bite she’s inhaling. The outburst is punctuated with a loud slurp. The man two tables over looks up from his menu, intrigued, and she winks at him. “I could bathe in this sauce and die happy.”
Lacey and I met in med school, sitting beside each other in microbiology and dissolving into an unprofessional fit of giggles when the professor saidorgasminstead oforganism. I’m surprised we weren’t thrown out of the class. Often loud, always enthusiastic, she has no quiet mode, exuding an enviable zest for life and sexual escapades.
“What would you like us to do with your drawer of sex toys?” I down a spoonful of hot and sour soup with the question, the liquid burning my tongue.
Lacey, Jeremiah, and I are situated around a high top at our favorite Chinese restaurant in the city. It’s busy for a weeknight, the room bustling with hungry patrons. Casual conversations flow freely over marinated duck and Kung Pao chicken.
We’re three days out from the photo shoot, and I told Jer I’d give him my answer over dinner. Deep in my heart, I knew I’d always say yes to helping him, personal concerns about feeling out-of-place aside. He’d never set me up for failure or embarrassment, and if he can see this vision vividly, I’m going to hold on to the faith that soon I will, too.
“Imagine if you died while using a vibrator,” he says. “How would you explain it to your family and friends? Would you want some fake cause of death listed in your obituary? Or the truth?”
I consider the question over my last bite of food. “The truth, because what a way to go. The headline could read: ‘She died while doing what she loved most… taking care of herself.’”
“‘Woman accomplishes what no man is capable of: a mind-blowing orgasm,’” Lace adds.
“‘She was a vibrant woman.’”
“‘She came, and she went.’”
“If you two keep the innuendos up, that man is going to proposition you both to spend the night with him,” Jeremiah says.
“Wouldn’t be my first time,” Lacey quips. She takes a sip of her wine, an alcohol-induced blush creeping up her neck. “Mags, how are you feeling?”
