Playing Doctor

Chapter Eight

Dress for success. What you wear to work is crucial. But in this case, less is more.

-Strip Style: A Guide for Aspiring Exotic Dancers

The other night at the billiards hall left me strangely agitated. I told myself it was because I hadn't been able to fully maximize the experience by meeting any men and, therefore, hadn't made headway on finding a new beau. After my encounter with Gray I'd been oddly distracted.

"I will not think about that-that-that pain in the posterior," I muttered as I dragged my shopping bags up the stairs to Mena's living room. Truthfully, just thinking about the doctor and the kisses he'd planted on me made my entire body ache, not just my backside.

Sometimes truth was overrated.

This morning during my jog I decided I needed to step up the action. And the first phase was taking care of the past, so I put in another call to my colleague, who hadn't gotten back to me yet.

The second was getting some new, sexy clothes.

So I went shopping for the first time in I didn't know how long. When I was in med school and residency, I just wore scrubs. Later at Stanford, I never had time to shop so I paid one of our interns to do my shopping.

I set my new wardrobe on the kitchen table and made myself a cup of Taster's Choice. In deference to Mena, who was utterly repulsed by my instant coffee habit, I'd bought a container of the gourmet to try this time. I didn't understood why she was so against instant coffee; it was practical and efficient.

Plopping down at the kitchen table with my mug, I stared at the bags and shuddered. I knew the average woman loved to shop-I'd overhead umpteen excited conversations in the women's bathroom at work-but it was enough to drive me back to my former life. I hated shopping.

But it was over. I'd done it, and now I had a new wardrobe to launch my life with. Hopefully I wouldn't have to do it again any time soon.

The lock downstairs clicked. "Daph! You home?"

Mena. I heard her bounding up the stairs two at a time and took a fortifying sip of coffee.

"Hey, you went shopping?" She walked into the kitchen. Making a face at my cup, she headed straight for the bags. As she rifled through, her expression reversed into a frown. "What the hell is this?"

I looked up. "The new pants I bought."

"This is a pair of pants?" She waved them in the air. "I've never seen fabric like this. What kind of print is it anyway?"

I grabbed them from her. "I got them on sale."

"No kidding. It looks like a sick leopard."

Frowning at the pants, I decided she had to be exaggerating. Though the spots did bear a slight resemblance to melanoma.

"Well, I'm sure they look good on." She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk.

I twirled a lock of hair that had come loose from my bun. "Maybe."

She paused as she reached for a glass and frowned over her shoulder. "You haven't tried it on?"

"It seemed more expedient to buy the clothes and try them on at home."

Mena stared at me for a long moment and then said, "Um, Daph, it's not like you have a pressing schedule or anything."

"Don't call me Daph," I said, mostly to ignore the rest of her point, which disturbed me far more. I didn't need to be reminded that I hadn't progressed at all on my new course.