I wait for it to download then create a profile while a small part of me dies inside. Stupid dating apps. I spent years on these things. Countless dates. Countless let downs. Countless reminders that the guy for me just…isn’t out there, and that I’m too average for anything more than a quick, anticlimactic screw. At least they allow you to hide your photos on your profile if you want, adding a sense of mystery and intrigue to the whole thing.
With a sigh, I start scrolling.
And start feeling a lot better.
Rolling onto my back, I keep perusing my options when my jaw drops.
“Are you freaking kidding me?”
I click on the profile.
Benjamin Bennett. Doctor. Not looking for anything serious.
Of course, you’re not, you cheating asshole. I roll my eyes before clicking the icon to view more images.
He’s more good looking than I remember. And while the light blue scrubs were able to leave a pretty memorable impression, the picture of him in a pair of black board shorts as the sun shines down on him is enough to leave me drooling.
And wet.
Again.
He’s married, I remind myself as I clench my legs together. He’s a cheating bastard who’s using a dating site to get off with someone who isn’t his wife.
I steal another peek at his washboard abs. They have a soft dappling of hair that leads to his––
Throwing my phone a few feet away from me, it lands with a soft thump on my gray comforter.
What an ass.
Six Weeks Later
The next month goes by in a blur of puking my guts out, FaceTiming a very apologetic Sway for said puking, and editing a few photo sessions I’d slipped in between puking and FaceTiming.
Now, I’m driving to my doctor’s appointment while trying to keep my frustration in check because, let’s be honest, his married life has nothing to do with me. And despite said frustration, he is a good doctor. He was also really understanding of my situation with Anthony and Sway, which is why I park my car in front of his office and march through the heavy swinging doors before checking in at the front desk.
Tracey brings me back in no time. Weighs me. Takes my blood pressure. And makes me feel like I’m reliving my first appointment.
Does she ever get sick of the monotony?
“Take a seat. Dr. Bennett will be here in just a minute.” She closes the door behind her, leaving me in silence. And with more anxiety than I’ve felt in a long time. Or at least, ya know, since my last appointment.
Surprisingly, a set of knuckles tap against the door less than thirty seconds later before the infamous Benjamin Bennett pops his head through.
“Hello again,” he greets me with that same sure smile.
“Hi,” I return coolly.
His brows crinkle in confusion, but he doesn’t comment on it. Looking at my current stats on the computer, I’m given a minute to scrutinize him without any witnesses. His soft brown hair is a little wavy and looks like his fingers have been running through it all morning. And he’s in a pair of dark gray scrubs today, which somehow makes his muscles pop even more than the original light blue ones. Or maybe it’s because I know what he looks like underneath them.
I push away the image of him in a swimsuit before getting caught on one tiny detail. My gaze narrows on his left hand.
“Where’s the ring?” My accusation is louder than a foghorn.
His head snaps up. “Pardon?”
“I thought you were married?”
Jaw tightening, he looks down at his left hand, then squeezes it into a tight fist and turns around to type something into the computer.
“I am,” he murmurs with his back to me. His spine straightens as he stands a little taller then turns around to face me. “And I’m not.”
I cock my head to the side. “I’m sorry, how exactly does that work?”
Those same flinty brown eyes I’ve slowly grown accustomed to cloud over with a haze of regret.
“My wife died two years ago.” For the first time since I’ve known him, his voice isn’t warm and welcoming. It’s cold. And detached. And so freaking heartbreaking.
A soft gasp escapes me as my jaw drops open.
Shit.
“Oh.”
He laughs dryly. “Yeah. Oh.”
“I’m sorry––”
A bit of his warmth begins to resurface and puts me at ease. “Don’t be. It was an accident. I was driving. She was in the passenger seat, and we were T-boned.” I cringe. “It’s in the past, but some days, it still feels a little weird for me to leave my house without my ring. That’s why you probably noticed it during your last appointment.”
“You noticed that I noticed?” I inquire with a grimace.
Another dry laugh. “I mean, you did blurt out, ‘You’re married,’” he mimics my panicked voice from a month before. “I guess I kind of pieced it together.”
“Oh,” I repeat.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
“Look.” He hesitates and scratches the stubble across his strong jaw as if weighing the pros and cons of actually saying whatever he’s thinking about. After a few seconds, he gives in and apologizes, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable at your last appointment.”
“You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable,” I argue.
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah. If anything, I made me feel uncomfortable.” I try to cover my embarrassment with a chuckle, but it doesn’t work. “And then, when I saw your profile on The Birds and Bees app, I guess I––”
“You found my profile on The B&B app?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek before giving him a one-shouldered shrug.
With a smirk that I’m convinced is his signature expression, he clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest while keeping me pinned in place with his intensity. “Can I ask you a completely inappropriate question?”
“Since this conversation hasn’t been completely inappropriate already,” I quip. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Good point,” he concedes, still amused. “What are you doing on a dating site?”
“Umm…I was just messing around on it. What are you doing on the dating app?”
His gaze connects with mine for a split second before it drops down to my mouth as I point out, “Your profile said that you weren’t looking for anything serious.”
“I’m not,” he confirms, squeezing the back of his neck. It must be a nervous tick or something because it definitely isn’t the first time I’ve seen him do this. “My wife’s sister insists I get back on the horse again.”
“But you’re not ready for anything serious. What are you on there for?”
That same dark gaze drops down to my mouth again before his tongue darts between his lips for a split second. So fast, I’m sure I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him so closely, but it turns my insides to goo.
“So, how are you feeling?”
Apparently, we’re done talking about relationships.
I release a sigh and answer, “I’m good. Morning sickness sucks, but other than that, I can’t complain.”
“I’ll give you a prescription. It should help with your morning sickness. Make sure to pick it up before you leave. Any other issues?”