The Trouble With Tony (8 page)

He thought Loretta might knock or crack the door to check, but she didn’t bother. He heard the sound of footsteps and then silence. When he looked out, the clinic was dark and empty.

Tony slipped out and went into the office. He took a slim flashlight from his pocket and looked over the large filing cabinet against the wall. He found the “W” drawer and tugged it—locked. He was prepared to pick it with his tools, but he looked around first. Sure enough, the keys were in the top drawer of Loretta’s desk in a little cup with paperclips.

He’d have to talk to Halloran about security one of these days. Fuck, his own file was in this cabinet somewhere.

He opened the “W” drawer and found Marilyn’s file.

Jack’s notes were typed up on several sheets attached to Marilyn’s medical form and lab results. Tony read them with a growing frown.

Marilyn White had come to the clinic distraught and afraid. Her husband had told her she was frigid, a lousy lay, and that he was tired of putting up with it. Marilyn had been a virgin when she’d married Brent, and she was sure he must be right. She wanted Dr. Halloran to “cure her frigidity” so that she didn’t lose her husband.

Tony wanted to kill Brent White.

Halloran hadn’t been very pleased with him either. He’d given Marilyn a list of books and videos to teach her techniques for pleasing her husband in the bedroom. And he’d advised her to experiment with self-pleasuring as well, to energize her libido. But his notes indicated he thought the problem was likely as much the husband’s fault as Marilyn’s. From Marilyn’s descriptions, Brent was the kind of man who chased his own climax and expected the woman to get off on his mere presence.

Tony flipped through the pages, trying to find out if Marilyn had seen a surrogate. He found the answer in Halloran’s notations on their third session.

Marilyn had turned down surrogacy flat, saying her husband was crazy jealous and he would “kill her” if she let anyone touch her.

Tony closed his eyes and cursed. There was no surrogate. He felt anger at Brent boil through him, making his vision turn red. He’d made his wife feel like such a failure in bed that she’d come to the sex clinic to try to improve herself. She’d watched videos on how to please him, and when her sexual MO had changed, he’d suspected infidelity and….

He killed her. Maybe. It was looking more likely all the time. But how could Tony prove it?

He forced his attention back to the file, seeing if there was anything else that could shed some light. Under a section called “medications,” Halloran noted that Marilyn had been on an antidepressant called Amoxapine for about a year. He’d recommended that she stop taking it since it had a depressive effect on the libido. She’d agreed.

If the notes were right, Marilyn wasn’t even taking her antidepressants at the time of her supposed accidental overdose.

Tony took a few photos of the file and put it back. He decided not to look at his own file—preferring blissful ignorance over potential embarrassment—and returned Loretta’s keys to her paperclip cup. He was tempted for a brief moment to go
smell
Halloran’s chair or something. But he knew what that would lead to, and Tony refused to be that pathetic and stalkerish. He pushed aside all thoughts of the doctor and headed for the door.

He let himself out, turned to walk away—and ran into a wall of flesh.

~12~

J
ACK
had sat for an hour out in his car, slumped low, waiting for shadow man to reappear. His M9 Beretta handgun was under his seat, within reach. He’d felt that sense of being watched several more times in this parking lot at night. And he was going to find out who the bastard was and what he wanted.

A disgruntled patient perhaps? Some kind of religious nut that had a beef against sex therapy? Sex, or the lack therefore, could make people do incredibly stupid things, of that Jack was certain.

Whoever the person was, if they thought Jack Halloran was a mild-mannered therapist, waiting to be attacked, they had another think coming.

But no shadow was forthcoming this night. Jack decided to go pick up some food and drive home. But he’d planned to take home a few patient files, and in his distraction over the stakeout, he’d forgotten to grab them. Christ, he was getting as absent-minded as Loretta. He headed back to the clinic’s front door.

And walked right into Tony DeMarco, who was exiting the dark clinic.

Jack blinked at him, stymied. “Tony! What… what are you doing here?”

“Uh… hi, Doc,” Tony looked shocked himself, and very guilty. The look lasted only seconds before Tony schooled his features into a picture of smiling innocence.

Jack’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“The door was open,” Tony said.

“It was?” Damn Loretta. Jack was going to have to speak to Trudy about her first thing in the morning.

“Yeah, so I just popped my head in to see if you were around.”

“But why are you here so late? We didn’t have an appointment.”

Tony was blushing and extremely uncomfortable. He clutched at the front of his coat. “Um….”

Suddenly, Jack got it. He relaxed and smiled. “Ah. It’s okay, Tony. Come on in.”

Jack went into the clinic and turned on the lights. Tony followed with all the enthusiasm of a dog being sent to its emasculation. He stood in the waiting room awkwardly, not looking at Jack.

Jack stuck his keys in his pocket and folded his arms. “Talk to me,” he said in his calm, doctor’s voice. “What’s going on tonight? Are you feeling sexually aroused?”

Tony got a surprised look on his face. “Er….”

Jack had treated a good number of men who struggled with erectile dysfunction. One thing they all had in common was that when the urge did strike, they wanted to do something about it
right goddamn now
, because they didn’t know how long the urge might last or when it might reappear. It was like a starving man trying to snatch the last cookie off the conveyor belt. One patient had called it “hallelujah time.” You did not fuck with hallelujah time. The surrogates knew that when they were working with an ED patient, they were on call twenty-four-seven.

“It’s all right. I understand. But why did you come here? There’s no one you can—?”

“No. I, uh, thought the clinic might be open late. It was stupid. I’ll go.” Tony looked like he wanted to dig a hole, hide in it, and then cover it with a cement foundation.

“Hang on.” Jack unzipped his coat. “It’s all right. I don’t have any place I have to be. Tell me what you’re feeling. Are you erect right now?”

Tony froze.

Jack smiled. “Am I going to have to use euphemisms?”

“That would help, yeah,” Tony said in a strangled voice.

“Right. Are you at half-mast, full-mast, or is the sail still on the deck?”

“Um… half-mast?”

“And you feel like you could get to full-mast?”

Tony looked at Jack with an expression of amused disbelief. “Yeah, pretty sure I could.”

Jack considered it. He hadn’t laid out Tony’s surrogacy plan yet, hadn’t even fully decided there would be one. Okay, he’d been avoiding it like it was the six-month-old tub of yogurt at the back of the fridge. Anyway, Michael had mentioned in their last staff meeting that he was going to the islands this weekend. So even if he were willing to jump in on such short notice, he wasn’t around.

Jack knew he didn’t have to do this. In fact, he probably shouldn’t. No, he definitely shouldn’t, given the fact that he found Tony attractive. But he did want to help him, and it was an unusual case. He was curious to see how Tony physically responded to touch therapy. And he’d done touch therapy with patients before Michael was hired. So it wasn’t that unusual, as long as he kept it at that.

Right, Jack. Any more justifications you want to trot out? Come on, you must have some more.

Jack told his higher self to shut up. This was for Tony, not him. After all, Tony had come here tonight desperate for something. He really didn’t want to turn him away.

“Would you like to try some touch therapy—a light massage? No pressure, just see what happens,” Jack offered, keeping his face and voice determinedly neutral.

“With
you
?”

“Yes.”

Tony glanced to the door, seemingly torn.

“If you’re not comfortable with that, it’s fine. Just let me grab some files, and I’ll walk you out.”

Tony took a deep breath and seemed to make up his mind. His eyes met Jack’s and he licked his lips. “Okay, Doc. Let’s see whatcha got.”

~13~

H
ALLORAN
led Tony into a room in the back that was obviously used for massage. There was a padded massage table and dimmers on the lights, cabinets, and a sink. Tony couldn’t believe he was doing this. This was twenty different flavors of stupid. He was still on the case, for God’s sake. Even if he was pretty sure Brent White had done it, until he figured out how that was even possible, there was still a good chance he was wrong. But Halloran was standing
right there
in a fitted white shirt and tie, his sandy hair a little tousled from being outside. He was so goddamn tough and cute; he made Tony’s heart go pitter-pat. And the thought of Halloran’s hands on him?
Christ
. Game over, pass the tissues.

Half-mast? Tony’s dick was a fucking armada. In attack mode.

Keep it in check, buddy,
he told himself.
This is sex therapy, remember? You have to at least pretend there is some difficulty in rousing the beast.

Halloran opened a cupboard and pulled out a large, thick towel. “Remove your clothes and get on the table on your stomach. You can cover up with this. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He must have seen the anxiety on Tony’s face because he paused and placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Relax. We’re just going to do a light massage and explore how you’re feeling, okay? Whatever happens, it’s fine.”

He left. Tony sighed. Whatever happens. Right. Somehow he didn’t think shoving his doctor up against the table and taking him hard up the ass would be “fine.”

At least he could start out on his stomach. He started removing his clothes.

I
N
HIS
office, Jack loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He put on his white coat. Massage oil was hellacious to get out of khaki pants. Besides, the coat was one more layer between him and his patient.

He grounded himself with a deep breath and took stock. He wasn’t aroused, but the potential was there, a vague tickling sensation in his gut. It was hardly surprising. Jack hadn’t had a sexual partner since his injury, and Tony DeMarco was a beautiful man. Jack might not be the carefree flirt he’d been before the explosion had ripped out a piece of his soul, but he was alive. And his “plumbing,” as Tony put it, was perfectly functional.

And getting aroused was fine. In his sex therapy training, they’d had a class on surrogacy. It was a therapist’s job to understand what surrogates could do for their patients and how. Working hands-on sexually with a patient was challenging. You might get aroused when it wasn’t helpful and not get aroused when you should. The key was to stay focused on the patient and the therapeutic goal of the session, to remain a healer first.

Right now the only goal Jack had in mind for the touch therapy session was to help Tony explore the possibility of getting an erection, and perhaps even climaxing, with another person. He seemed to have given up trying out of fear of failure, and that was something Jack wanted to turn around if he could.

He knocked on the door of the massage room and heard a muttered, “Come in.”

Tony was lying on his stomach with the white towel arranged neatly from his waist to upper thigh. He was sumptuous laid out like that, and the low hum in Jack’s gut kicked up a notch. Tony had broad shoulders, very broad, and well-defined arms. His back was strong, golden-skinned, and perfectly smooth. His waist was trim, and there was the shape of a fine ass under the towel. The picture was completed with solid thighs and calves. Yes, Tony DeMarco was a man in his prime. He deserved to be as sexually active as he wanted to be.

Then again
, thought Jack,
don’t we all
?

He noticed that there was a light red flush on Tony’s back, across the shoulders. He must still be nervous and embarrassed. Jack thought the tell was rather adorable. His awkwardness was endearing.

Jack stepped over to him and placed a hand in the center of Tony’s back. “There’s nothing to be worried about. You’ve had a massage before, yeah?”

Tony nodded without looking up.

“Well, this is just like that. Except if you’re able to get aroused, that’s fine. Let yourself go. And if you don’t, that’s fine, too.”

Tony turned his face into the table with a muttered, “Oh God.”

Jack hesitated. Tony was a lot shyer than he’d expected. “Do you want to continue? We can scrap this if you’re not comfortable.”

“Not stopping,” Tony said in a small voice.

“All right.” Jack rubbed his hand soothingly over Tony’s back for a moment and then went to wash his hands and get some massage oil from the cabinet. No latex gloves for this. Skin on skin fostered trust and intimacy.

“Do I need a safe word?” Tony mumbled, obviously joking.

Jack laughed. “For touch therapy? ‘Stop’ will be fine.”

“What about ‘don’t stop’?” Tony said softly and not, apparently, joking.

Jack felt a little heat at the base of his spine. “You can say that, too. I might even listen, depending.” Jack walked to the table and squirted a line of massage oil up Tony’s back and then put some on his hands, rubbing them together to warm them up.

“Depending on what?”

Jack didn’t answer. He froze as he saw the scar tissue on the back of Tony’s left thigh. It was a bullet exit wound, large and raw-looking, covering an area about four inches long and two inches wide. Tentatively, Jack touched it, feeling an emotion he had no idea how to define.

“You were shot,” Jack said quietly.

Tony stiffened. “Yeah.”