His head bowed. Charlie watched Bastian stifle a sigh. Unfortunately, he’d gotten these calls before.
“How late are you?”
“Two days.”
“Have you taken a test?”
“No.”
“Sweetie, you have to find out. If you’re already late, then any test over the counter will do. Or you can go to a clinic. It’s free, they won’t tell your parents, and you’ll get some good advice there. Don’t wait on this, Lanie. Time is important. Can you talk to your mom?”
“She’ll kill me.”
“She’s not going kill you. She might yell and get mad, but it’s because she loves you. And if you are pregnant, you’re going to need someone in your corner. Don’t freak out yet, it’s early. Just get tested, find out one way or the other. If you are, talk to your mother or even the people at the clinic. They’re going to have a better chance to help you than I can. If you’re not, get some birth control. Hang in there, Lanie. Let us know what happens.”
A quick wave of his hand begged Charlie to disconnect the line. She filled a minute with idle chatter before going to a commercial break.
“I hate those calls,” Bastian spat.
“Basic information, you covered your ass.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t help Lanie. What time is it?”
Diversionary topics always came after these calls. Charlie slid a friendly hand up his thigh, more to soothe than to entice. Bastian took some calls to heart. He couldn’t solve the world’s problems even if he wanted to. He always wanted to.
“Almost one. Another call or two and some bullshit and you’re out of here. What time’s your shift tomorrow?”
“Seven. I’m going to go crash at your place. Boo has company. No more calls, Charlie. Let’s just end with emails, okay?”
“Sure. You have them pulled up?” At his nod, she keyed the mike and slid into Honeypot mode. She fixed him with a twinkling grin, determined to lighten his mood.
“Welcome back, lovers. Doc’s been playing with cyber porn again so I had to take the computer away.” His chuckle carried across the air, the vocal gauge bouncing. “So I tapped into the email account for some of your letters. Just a reminder, you can drop us a line on WTXT’s website under the message board or send us an email at DocandHoney, one word, at WTXT dot com. But don’t add us to your spam list. If we blackball your IP, you’re S.O.L. for
Let’s Talk about Sex.
So let’s see what the internet has brought us tonight.”
A quarter-inch thick, the stack of papers he handed her was strangely large. Bastian normally only picked out a couple for them to read. Her querying look was met with an eyebrow lift. “Doc, you looking for overtime? This email stack is thicker than some men I could name.”
“And as flat as some women I could name, present company excluded. Pick one.”
“Okay. First one is from Billie725. She—or he, I guess—writes, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, I listen to your show every chance I get. You guys are hysterical and I love your back-and-forth. But I’m curious. Are you two really friends? I mean, do you hang out off the air?’ You want to answer that, Doc or am I flying solo tonight?”
“Hands Solo, Honey. Go for it.” He loved throwing tidbits like that out when she couldn’t respond back. But she had stronger firepower.
“Watch it, Doc, or come WTXT’s Summer Kickoff, you’ll find yourself staring at a fig leaf instead of a loincloth.” His fiery blush was enough to make her smile. The smile carried into her voice. “Yes, Billie, we are friends. In fact, Doc is my best friend, he has been for years. And it’s time for him to pull his share of the work around here. Read the next one, Doc.”
“I just love listening to your voice. Pick one for me.”
Handing him a random paper, she checked the clock, gauging the show’s end. The theme song was cued and her closing prepared but she’d never gone over time before and wouldn’t start now.
“Frazzled writes in, ‘Dear Doc, you flirt with Honey every show and constantly tell her how beautiful she is’—you wrote this one, didn’t you?”
“I’ll never tell. Keep reading.”
“‘—how beautiful she is. Tell me the truth, is she a knockout or is it an act?’ Frazzled, check out the website. Honey just uploaded new pictures and you’ll see in no way am I lying. Honey is not only beautiful, she takes my breath away just by sitting beside me.”
“Doc, how sweet. But if you’re bucking for a raise, I can’t help you. I can help you with a rise in other areas but not in your paycheck.”
“You manage to get enough of a rise just by looking at me, Honey. Read another.”
“SuzieQ4u wants to know, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, when you are off air between callers, what do you do?’”
“Sit and stare at Honey and try to keep the drool off the control panel.”
Charlie laughed and flipped through the emails. “He’s not lying, folks. Mainly, we joke around, occasionally sneaking in a verbal quickie in between calls. Okay, I’m skipping out of turn here but too bad, this one’s too good to pass up. It’s all for you, Doc, so pay attention.
“Beastiegirl writes in saying, ‘Dear Doc, Your voice sends shivers down my spine and one guess where those shivers stop!’” Knowing exactly what the writer meant, Charlie let her lips curve into a teasing grin. “‘So give me a little fuel for my fantasies. Boxers or briefs?’ Now, I know this one but I’m going to make Doc answer. Give Beastiegirl a shiver, Doc, enlighten her as to your clothing preference.”
Lips twitching and cheeks shining, Bastian shook his head. “Hi, Beastiegirl. Mostly plain cotton boxers, hope that helps. What type of underwear do
you
wear, Honey?”
“Who says I wear any? Last email. Your turn.”
Rather than reach for the stack, Bastian pulled a single sheet of paper from beside his laptop. He didn’t look in her direction but she saw the determination in his eyes.
“We’ve gotten this question a time or two, but I think now’s the time to revisit it. Lady Lumps writes, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, my husband and I listen to every show. You two have such chemistry it’s actually caused a bit of an argument between us. I say you two are married, he swears you’re not. So who is right? We have an hour-long massage riding on the answer.’”
Trepidation slithered up Charlie’s spine as Bastian turned his face to hers. His words were directed to the mike but aimed at her soul.
“Sorry, lady, your husband’s right. We’re not married. But not because I don’t want to be. I love Honey. I asked her to marry me and she told me no. So I’m asking the listeners for help. How can an uptight sawbones convince a Honeypot to marry him? Tell me some way to win her heart, to show her sex might make the world go ’round but love is what keeps it centered. She’s the center of my world. Help me make her Mrs. Doc.”
In all the years she’d known him, he’d never played so dirty. Her temples throbbed in a sudden headache, and her vision tapered until he existed only in the narrowest slits of her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t just do that.”
“I did it and I meant it. I want to marry you. And I need all the help I can get.”
Dead air, the bane of disc jockeys everywhere, reigned for several deafening seconds as her brain fried. The phone lines lit, blinking small squares in hazy yellow. In the control room, Justine was frantic, answering calls and tapping computer keys. Bastian didn’t drop his gaze, nor did she. She snapped her body back to the control console.
“Nice little bombshell you dropped, Doc. But you left out half the story. You see, listeners, Doc’s suffering from a severe case of mistaken identity. He thinks he’s a broken ATM machine. He won’t put out.”
A tawny head crashed into his hands, just visible from the corner of her gaze. It didn’t slow her impassioned speech.
“Hard to imagine, but Dr. Hot is running cold in the bedroom. So you tell me, lovers, what’s the best way to get the good doctor to drop his pants and cough it up? Because this Honeypot doesn’t buy a car she hasn’t test-driven.”
“Touché.” Unbridled laughter flavored his tone as his face creased in humor. “So it’s an on-air battle. Who will say yes first?”
“You have a male appendage, Doc. All I have to do is get naked. You’ll be screaming yes before the next show.”
“Don’t count on it, Honey. I made it through Neuroanatomy and Organic Chemistry. I can handle anything you want to dish out.”
A flicker of enjoyment skittered through her stomach, and Charlie fought a smile. Fighting with Bastian was almost as much fun as kissing him. But he wasn’t getting off easy.
“Say hello to your palm then because I’m going be on your butt like those Fruit of the Loom. Okay, then. Everyone has their assignments. Send your emails to DocandHoney, all one word, at WTXT dot com. Pick a side and make sure you put one of our names in the subject line. Send the spicy ideas to me, the sweet ones to Doc. Just remember, you catch more flies with honey, and I’m after one
fly
in particular.”
“News update, Honey. I’m going to catch you in my web and put a ring on your finger.”
The switch keying up the theme song nearly broke in her hand as she whirled to face him. All she saw was his empty chair and the swinging door to the broadcast room. It took her a few seconds to cue up the next commercial segment but she was out the door before he made it down the hall.
“What in the hell was that? What gives you the right to broadcast your personal mission on the air without talking to me? That shit had no business in the show. Don’t walk away from me, Bastian! Get back here.”
The long line of his spine stopped just before the exit door. Broad shoulders straight, he faced her, jagged fortitude carved in his face. Three long strides brought him back to her. Her lips flew open to hurl more insults but were silenced by his kiss. Deep, passionate and full of resolve, he snatched the breath from her lungs. The power took her by surprise. Since last night, he’d kept their flirtation light and sweet.
This was not sweet. This was spicy. This was Doctor Hot.
Twenty-four hours of being free to kiss him had spoiled her hands and they crept along his arms to circle his neck without getting clearance from her brain. Her tongue danced with his, a tango of wet heat and unspoken promise. Tacks and papers slid from the bulletin board as her back met the cork.
Had he tasted this good last night around the campfire? She didn’t recall the savory taste of control he had now. His hands on her waist, her breasts pressed into his chest, their heartbeats mingled in time. When he pulled back, her whimper threatened to follow him.
“I’m going to marry you, Charlie. You love me as much as I love you. I know it like I know your favorite color is royal blue, you despise politics and you like Apple Jacks for a late-night snack. You’ve never lied to me so stop lying to yourself. I’m your best friend and I’m going to be your husband. I will love you until the day I die, but I will not make love to you until the time is right. Get used to it.”
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch.”
“Have to be to handle you.”
Across the hall, the control room door snapped open. Justine blinked, seeing their embrace, then beamed a wide smile at them, her graying brown hair scattered about her head. “Holy shit, you two were serious! About damned time, if you ask me. I have no idea when you two cooked up this little surprise but Nathan’s going to have a heart attack. You’ve got fifty-two emails already. The server is struggling to keep up with all the hits the web page is getting. Now’s the time to ask for a raise, kids. The race for Wed or Bed is gold.”
Bastian dropped a hard kiss on her mouth and stepped away. Determination sparkled in his eyes. “Love you. Now go back to work. And start picking out china patterns because I’m going to win.”
Charlie watched the door swing closed behind him before allowing a hedonistic grin to lift her lip. “Oh yeah? Just wait. I’m about to turn up the heat. Let’s see how much fire Dr. Hot can handle.”
“I’m bored.”
The tapping pen created a rapid staccato against the table but Bastian ignored the sighing man behind him. Every few minutes, the pen stilled before scribbling a note.
“Seriously, my brain is oozing into mush.”
“Rav, go do charts.”
“I did. I’m all caught up. God, don’t people wreck their cars on Tuesday mornings anymore? Is nobody falling down and breaking anything?”
Chuckle hidden, Bastian clicked another icon. “I’m sure they’re doing it just to irritate you. Why don’t you go down to the lab—?”
“Did it.”
“Go flirt with Suzanne then.”
“Did it.” The skinny Pakistani man wheeled his chair to the counter, trying to peer at the laptop over Bastian’s shoulder. “What’re you doing?”
“Trying to read. The show got a bunch of email hits last night, and I want to go through some before Charlie sees them. I, for one, am glad we’re slow. It’ll get busy enough soon.”
Rav’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re getting married again. Hell, Talbot, you and I were the last bachelors left in the ER. You’re leaving me hanging.”
Fingers gliding over the mouse pad, Bastian shook his head with a grin. “You’ll adapt. Besides, in two weeks, I’m out of here anyway.”
“And that, too. You’re abandoning me here. Mark my words, you’ll get bored in a month.”
Bastian’s scoff was loud. The urgent care facility, a combination of doctors’ offices and emergency care, was his idea of perfect. Not the steady doldrums of nine to five but without all the hassles of emergency medicine. Major trauma would always go to the ER. But the UC would be the stop for those who needed help after business hours, but not life-threatening aid. High fevers, stitches in busted lips, a housewife’s accidental run-in with a paring knife. Diverse enough to engage his mind, calm enough to breathe. The thought of having people look to him as their doctor for more than a few hours appealed. He wanted to get to know his patients more, identify them by more than their injury. The UC offered him a chance to be a regular doctor without wasting his training.
“No way. No more twelve-hour shifts that bleed into fifteen. No overnights. No schedules from hell. No more getting slammed on Friday nights when the bars close. No more fighting for lab reports or Radiology slots. Only on call one weekend a month, home every night by midnight, and I get to have regular practice hours twice a week. Real patients, Rav, the ones you see more than once.”