DRBen918: I’m nothing, if not honest. And because of that honesty, I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve never been so tempted in my entire life to break a few codes of ethics in my office than when you were spread out on my exam table. You’re an enigma, Marcy. A gorgeous one. I’d love to see what you look like right now, but if I have to use my imagination, I can work with that too. It’s been getting plenty of exercise since you walked into my office.
Despite my awkwardness, I have sexted a time or two and may have even doctored up a few images of me for moments like this. Images that make me feel sexy and attractive instead of insecure and…less than perfect. But instead of searching for the album on my phone where the beautified photos are stored, I chew on my lower lip, raise my phone into the air, and snap a picture of me. Damp hair. No makeup. Baggy T-shirt that swallows me whole. And curvy legs on full display with only my boyshorts to cover my lower half.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press send. And loathe myself as soon as I do.
As the seconds tick by, I finally understand Ben’s insecurities from minutes ago as he not-so-patiently waited for me to text him back after he sent his picture.
Because the waiting? It’s brutal.
Puffing out my cheeks, I groan and head to the bathroom but leave my phone on the bed, hoping to find a little clarity. It doesn’t work. I wash my hands as fast as I can once I finish peeing, then race back to my bed and check my phone.
Still no answer.
Like a sack of potatoes, I collapse onto my bed and throw the covers over my head.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
My phone vibrates.
DRBen918: Sorry. Hospital called. I have a patient who’s dilated to an 8. I have to go, but I want you to know that you’re gorgeous, and we’ll be finishing this later. Goodnight, Marcy123Marcy. Which, by the way, is the lamest tag ever.
I catch myself grinning as I reread his message. The compliment followed by the promise to continue our conversation later. Then the flirtatious cherry on top that makes me want to kiss the annoying smirk that I have no doubt is plastered on his face. The whole thing has me sitting on pins and needles, anxious to keep texting just to see if he’ll reply. I haven’t felt this interested in a guy since middle school when Rudy Matthews asked me to the school dance, and I kind of like it.
Marcy123Marcy: Says the guy who’s totally tooting his own horn with DRBen918? I mean…DR? Come on, Ben. What’s the number for, anyway? Obviously, the 123 in my profile tag is because I’m super duper creative. Anywho, I’ll stop talking. Good luck at work. ;) Have fun!
DRBen918: 918 is my wife’s and my anniversary. September eighteenth. Talk to you later.
A spark of jealousy ignites inside of me, but I push it aside.
September eighteenth. Noted.
Those pins and needles I’d been sitting on start to feel like a damn bear trap on my ass before I remind myself that he already made his intentions clear.
His heart will only belong to one person. And that’s cool. If their love is as deep as I think it is, then he’s right. Nothing will ever change that. Not even booty calls through a dating app.
I guess it’s a good thing I’m not looking for anything serious, though, or that truth might sting.
And it doesn’t.
Plugging in my phone, I roll onto my stomach and close my eyes.
Nope. I’m definitely not jealous.
5
Marcy
With a yawn, I squint open my eyes and check the clock. Day-um. I slept in. I never sleep in. I have brunch with Dylan and need to get ready. Raising my hands above my head, my back arches into a toe-curling stretch before I push myself up and pad over to the bathroom with my phone in my hand.
There’s a message from DRBen918, and I hesitate before opening it, my mind fixating on the numbers 918 before shaking my head and rolling my eyes.
Come on, Marcy. Get your head in the game.
DRBen918: How’s your morning sickness?
Marcy123Marcy: Fine. It’s subsided a lot since you gave me that prescription. So…thanks for that.
DRBen918: Good.
As I read his message, I jerk back a couple of inches then cock my head to the side, as if the different angle will make more sense.
Okay then…is that it?
And who am I talking to here? Dr. Bennett, my OB/GYN? Or DRBen918, the hottie in the swimsuit? My fingers itch to type some kind of witty comment that will continue the conversation, but I have no idea if he actually wants to continue the conversation or if he was just…what? Doing his due diligence as a doctor to check on his patient? Through a dating app? ‘Cause, you know, that’s totally normal. My phone buzzes in my hand, distracting me from my over-analyzation.
DRBen918: It was a healthy baby girl, by the way.
What was a healthy baby girl? Oh!
Marcy123Marcy: Congratulations to the happy couple. Did the delivery go smoothly?
I regret the question as soon as I hit send before following it up with another one.
Marcy123Marcy: Don’t tell me if it didn’t. Delivering a baby scares the crap out of me.
His response is surprisingly quick when I know his office is already open, and he’s likely at work.
Hmmm…maybe he is interested?
DRBen918: Everything went smoothly. No tears. No hemorrhaging. Had to perform a small episiotomy, but it was a solid delivery with a healthy mother and baby at the end of it.
Marcy123Marcy: episiotomy? *ouch*
DRBen918: It happens, but don’t stress. Do you know if you’re going to get an epidural?
Marcy123Marcy: Will you judge me if I say yes?
DRBen918: haha no judgment here. But if you DO get an epidural, then it’ll be a walk in the park. Even if you need an episiotomy or tear, you won’t even feel it. Well…not until the epidural wears off anyway.
I cringe and squeeze my legs together.
Marcy123Marcy: You’re not helping. Lol
The phone starts ringing and lights up with Dylan’s name. Grimacing, I answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey!” Dylan’s chipper voice replies. “I’m on my way. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”
Crap. I am going to be so late.
“Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
Setting my phone down, I get dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue sweater as fast as I can before checking my cell for another message. A small part of me hates how excited I am to see Ben’s name flash across my screen.
DRBen918: Sorry. For freaking you out and for leaving you hanging last night. Did you sleep well?
His thoughtfulness brings a smile to my lips as I run a brush through my messy waves and instantly erases my fears of delivering a baby. Besides, I have like six months before I need to worry about that anyway.