Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 1

            The clock on the nightstand read one forty-three. I stifled a yawn—not that he would notice. He was half asleep his damn self. But still, there's something about yawning during sex that's just plain rude.

            I'm not bored if that's what you're thinking, I'm tired. Bone tired. The previous day had been a tempest of activity that left me on my feet for almost twelve hours straight. All I want right now is to close my eyes and think of REM sleep the way the good Lord intended.

         But Evie Harper, you will say, you brought this on yourself. After all, no one told you to open a small business where the hours seem to never end. And no one told you to start a side business whose hours would compound to a combined fifteen-hour workday in contrast to the standard American eight.

         Well, to that I say...you're right...

         But overall, despite the bitching, I loved my jobs. Even when they left me bone tired and half out of my mind. I was fond of the boyfriend too even though he was a bit of a horndog sometimes. Besides that, he was also funny and kind and handsome and considerate and, and...and my God I'm tired. Maybe if I rest my eyes for a second...

         "...Evie..."

         Is he talking to me? Why?

         When I was a teenage virgin, I thought all sex would be explosive and passionate soul shattering stuff like in the R-rated movies I sneak-watched on HBO or in the Harlequin Historicals I hid under my mattress. But no, Sex and the City and The Marquis of Sin never warned me about the half-assed habitual sex one has with your steady because you're both professionals who work long hours and you have to get it in when you can. And sometimes when you can is at two o'clock in the goddamn morning while you both desperately try to avoid a bombardment of each other's rank pre-morning breath while fighting off the delicious pull of sleep.

         I guess that wouldn't have been as romantic, though.

         "...Evie..."

         But I have to say, kudos to me for making his experience enjoyable enough to be sleep talking my name even though all I did was open my legs when he tapped on my shoulder. I'd pat myself on the back if I wasn't laying on it. Hehe...

         Wait a minute...Did I leave the toaster oven plugged in this morning? I hope that shit doesn't catch on fire...

         My eyelids drooped from exhaustion. Lethargy descended on my mind like the sweetest of drugs. I closed my eyes...

         "...Evie..."

         My eyes fluttered open.

         Damn it. I was almost asleep. Why does he keep calling my name? ...Okay I know why he keeps calling my name, but maybe he's not as asleep as I thought. Maybe I should wake myself up and engage? Maybe talk back a little?

         All my womanly knowledge had not prepared me for the million layers of dirty talk men would subject me to in these most intimate of times. Alice was right, all men are nasty and this one was known to get chatty. I could play this game with him and sped up productivity if I played it right. Blah, blah, blah you're so big and strong, blah blah, best I ever had, blah, blah you make me feel so good, blah blah—end scene.

         Intimacy was important for human bonding after all, and few experiences were so...magnanimous and...whatnot...ugh, pretend I thought something profound—I'm usually smarter, I swear, but my brain is in auto mode right now.