Free Indecent Encounters by Delilah Hunt, Erin O'Riordan, Pepper Anthony, Ashlynn Monroe, Melissa Hosack, Angelina Rain Page A

it was Max, out for a cigarette break, too.
    “I know,” I said. “It’s a bad habit. But you know, I don’t think I would have made it out of medical school without these things.” I frowned at the half-smoked cigarette between my fingers, dropped it, and crushed it underneath my high-heeled shoe.
    “I quit a couple of years ago, technically,” Max said. “But I go back to it when I’m nervous.” He added, “Joey’s still knocked out. I can’t wait for him to wake up.”
    I put my hand on his bare arm gently. Touching him set off something inside me, but I forced it from my conscience. “It can be hard watching someone you love feel pain,” I said. “But Joey should be fine in a couple of weeks.”
    “How long will they keep him here?” he asked.
    “Two days, usually,” I said. “They’ll just want to make sure he doesn’t try to do too much too soon.”
    Max looked down at the sidewalk, and I knew what was on his mind. He was thinking about the home he shared with Joey, and how empty his bed was going to feel without him.
    “He hurt his back playing basketball,” Max said. “Joey’s got a long jumper that’s just impossible to block.”
    “I’ll bet,” I said, thinking of Joey’s long arms and legs. A body like that was designed for shooting a long jumper. And for other things. Images of Max and Joey together crossed my mind. I wondered if Max could see it in my eyes.
    “He should be playing basketball again in a couple of months,” I said. “He’ll just have to be careful.”
    “Doctor?”
    “Yes, Mr.—?” Damn. I didn’t know Max’s last name. All of a sudden I wanted to know Max’s last name.
    “It’s Lowell,” he said, “but you can just call me Max.”
    “Max,” I said. What a name. What a man’s name. And Max was definitely a guy’s guy. He and Joey might be lovers, but I’d bet they’d never once in their lives been called all those names that boys love to throw at each other. Queer. Fairy. None of them applied; Max and Joey were men, pure and simple.
    “Joey’s roommate told me what Joey said to you before the surgery,” Max said. “I’m real sorry.”
    “I’m used to it,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve heard from my pre-op patients.”
    Max nodded and lit up another cigarette.
     
    * * * *
     
    I’ve performed thousands of surgeries in my career. Most of my patients are over sixty. The younger ones are almost always trauma victims. A few, like Joseph Zorich, are just unfortunate enough to injure themselves seriously enough to need surgery. I’ve seen a Joseph Zorich or two in my career. But I’ve never, ever in my eight years as a surgeon, responded to a patient sexually before.
    When I was in the operating room I was all business. Joey and Max didn’t cross my mind once as I performed my usual array of spinal surgeries. It was in my off time, when I was alone, that they kept creeping into my mind. As I sat in the cafeteria eating my salad and drinking my cappuccino, my eyes would suddenly close, and I’d be watching my own private erotic slideshow.
    Joey and Max in the shower.
    Joey and Max on the living room sofa.
    Joey and Max in the hospital’s elevator. Joey and Max and me in the hospital’s elevator, going down…
    I don’t usually fantasize about being with two men. I’ve always been a good girl. I’ve never cheated on a boyfriend, never experimented with another woman. I have no problem with people being gay or bisexual, but it’s not something that I usually think about. Still, I had to face it: Max was hot, Joey was hot, and the two of them together made my knees weak.
    A week went by, and more and more the fantasies involved Joey and Max—and me. I told myself this was normal. Probably just a sign that it had been too long since my last date, but otherwise normal. The ability to engage in sexual fantasies is a sign of a healthy mind, I reminded myself, quoting one of my psych professors. And that’s