Page 40 of Dirty Dix

“Women are trouble, and I plan on living like Hugh Hefner.”

“Old, lonely, and addicted to Viagra?” I ask with a smirk.

Hunter throws a bread roll at me, and I dodge its flight path. “No. Rich, surrounded by Playmates, and happy.”

Finch and I look at Hunter and chuckle. I suppose one can dream.

“Just call me Hunter Hefner,” he jokes, eyeing a blonde server and making bunny ears at her.

“How about I call you Hunter Half-Wit instead?” I suggest, still chuckling.

Hunter crosses his arms across his broad chest as he leans back in his chair. “Okay, Dixon Mathews, Cock on Call. Oh, sorry.” He coughs, fist in front of his mouth. “I meant, Doc on Call.”

I can’t stop the cackle that bubbles from my throat, and as Finch and Hunter join in with the laughter, I can’t believe we’re talking about this over brunch.

After brunch, I come home and decide to catch up on some paperwork. But I’m soon distracted because I can’t stop thinking about what Finch said.DoI have feelings for Madison? Surely, that’s not possible. If it were, why did I choose Juliet over her? I know it’s not that clean-cut and simple, but I could have said no to Juliet the day I was meant to see Madison.

Before this morning, I enjoyed sleeping with Juliet, but now, the thought isn’t as appealing as it once was.

I decide to bury my head in the sand and focus on my new research paper.

As I’m drowning in innate behavioral patterns, my phone dings. I reach for it and see it’s a text from Juliet.

I’m deliciously sore from this morning. Thank you x

I would usually reply with a dirty comment and not-so-hidden innuendo of making her even more sore, but I don’t. I don’t even reply.

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday night, and I’m home. I’m also alone.

I can’t remember the last time this happened because before Juliet, I was chasing tail and about ready to seal the deal. But she’s been taking up a big chunk of my Saturday nights, and up until now, I hadn’t realized how much so.

I check my cell, and she hasn’t texted, but I didn’t reply to hers earlier, so the radio silence makes sense.

Goddamn—when did this become so relationship-like?

Sighing, I focus on the idiot box, hoping some mindless TV will occupy me.

TwoJawsmovies and twelve beers later, I’m craving scotch and porn.

I guess I could jerk off, but the thought has me wondering whose body and face I would use as inspiration.

That’s definitely a mood killer, so I reach for my phone and decide to check my emails. However, for some unexplained reason, I go to my contact list instead and stop on the letter M. I really shouldn’t be contemplating what I currently am, as it’s quite late on a Saturday night/Sunday morning. I’m also semi-drunk and extremely horny. In no way should I text Madison…says no one ever.

I’m typing out a short message and hitting send before I can talk reason to my impulsive brain. The text is harmless, and I keep it clean as itisroughly one o’clock in the morning, and I don’t want Madison to think I’m drunk-dialing her for sex.

I stare at my screen for endless minutes, but nothing. Just as I start to curse my reckless move, my screen lights up with a reply from Madison.

What?she asks, in reply to my joke of, “A man walks into a psychiatrist’s office wearing nothing but underwear made of Saran Wrap. What does the psychiatrist say?”

I know it’s lame, but it’s better than the alternative of “What are you wearing?”

I can clearly see your nuts.

I cringe at how stupid I sound, but it’s an icebreaker. I admit it’s a juvenile one, but at least I got her attention with my idiocy. The wait is giving me heartburn, and I toss my phone onto the sofa. But the moment it chimes a second later, I dive for it, eagerly awaiting her reply.

LOL. My turn…What do you call a nurse who is waiting for someone to call?

I read the message twice to ensure I haven’t misread it, and even though it seems we’re no longer joking, I decide to humor her anyway.