My Bad Boy Doctor

7

Something presses into my chest when I wake up, confused and struggling to breathe deeply. I lift my head and realize my silly cat is curled into a ball, using me as her pillow. Between her and dreaming of all the ways today could go wrong, I didn't sleep well.

I carefully shift the fuzzball out of the way, and she immediately headbutts me for attention as I sit up. Pulling her back into my lap, I scratch her neck, making her arch her back so I can reach that area too. She purrs so loud, she sounds like a little lawn mower, stretching and extending her claws in satisfaction.

I still need to name her, but nothing comes to mind. Until I get to know her personality better, I decide to hold off. Besides, my head is pulsing with hundreds of tiny hammers, limiting my creativity to Shithead, and she's too sweet for that.

Yawning, I reach for my phone to check my notifications, and there's a text from Blake. 'Good morning sunshine. Sleep well?'

I check the time and realize he sent it three hours ago. What kind of person wakes up at the buttcrack of dawn on a Saturday? This day is sacred; there are rules about sleeping in long after breakfast ends, and Blake went and broke them—probably to go to the gym and do butt clenches, or whatever it is buff men do.

'Sure,' I type, hovering my phone over the send button before deleting it. If a person asks how you are, you always say you're fine, even if the world just ended. It's something people say to be polite—they don't really want to hear how dear Aunt Sally died or how your dog was run over. With a sigh, I say, 'Well enough. How about you?'

When he doesn't respond right away, I put my phone back on my nightstand, suddenly imagining weird butt-clenching poses, and I can't decide if I should laugh or bury my face in my hands with a groan.

This is also conveniently the time Dad knocks on my partially open door. He's already dressed for the day in jeans, tan hiking boots, and an old faded shirt with that ugly wide brimmed adventure hat of his. His mouth curves into a smile beneath his gray beard. "Hey, Kelly. I'm doing my exploring hobby today, but wanted to see you before I left. Do you need anything when I get back?"

I shake my head, grateful all the same. "I'm fine. Have a good time and bring water."

He turns with a wave, calling over his shoulder on his way through the hallway. "I always do. Text me if you need me."

I won't, but it's nice that he thinks of me. When Carmen died, Dad was so lost—there was a time he kind of wasted away as he secluded himself from the world. My stepmom kept him firmly on the straight and narrow, didn't put up with his crap, and was probably the first woman he'd ever been faithful to. He'd grown up a lot with her, and I worried for awhile he'd regress or worse—I'd lose him too.

This hobby is good for him, and it keeps him busy. He has friends, a strong YouTube following, and endless deserts and mountains to explore. He doesn't need to worry about me holding him back.

The ignition turns outside with a loud rumble, and soon, it echoes down the street. I finish dressing and sit down at my desk as my phone buzzes again.

'I slept well, thank you. Did you have anywhere in particular you want to go for lunch?'

I think about it. There really isn't much I can eat, but he's going through the trouble, so I rack my brain for something suitable, but simple. Vegan options are ridiculously expensive thanks to trendy hipsters, and I don't want Blake spending a lot of money on me. Unfortunately, nothing comes to mind, and I sigh.

'I should probably tell you now that I have a dozen different food allergies. It might be safer to have coffee.'

Dots flash across the bottom of the screen. I wonder if he believes me or if he thinks I'm blowing him off with an excuse.