Filthy Doctor(305)

“It’s been dark for a while,” I said. “We’re still a couple of hours out. There was a wreck on I-9 coming out of Houston, so we’re running behind.”

“Okay,” he said with a long sigh. He glanced around the cab of the truck. “Do you have anything to drink? My mouth is dry as a Texas mudhole.”

There was half a bottle of water in the cup holder. I took it out and handed it to him. “It’s probably not cold,” I said. I narrowed my eyes at the road ahead. Other than occasional car lights coming from the other direction, the road was dark as pitch as it wound through the Texas countryside.

“I think there’s a little truck stop a couple of miles down,” he said.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

He sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Darlin’, I’ve traveled this old road so many times I can tell you how many mailboxes there are between here and Calloway County.”

“How many?” I asked, grinning without looking at him.

“Three hundred and twenty-two,” he said. “Not counting the trailer park in Lynnville, which changes every time a twister comes through.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

He chuckled and put a hand to his side.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Only when I laugh,” he said. He twisted the cap off the water bottle and chugged it down. Wiping his lips on the back of his hand, he nodded at the neon truck stop sign that appeared ahead.

“There it is,” he said. “How about you buy me a burger for old time’s sake.”

I started to tell him to buy his own damn burger, but I made the mistake of glancing over while he was looking my way. Our eyes locked for a moment and it was almost like we were back at the lake in the cab of his old truck.

I felt an old familiar twitch between my legs.

My nipples plumped inside my bra.

I had to resist the urge to pull off on the side of the road and attack him.

I cleared my throat and turned on the blinker.

“All right,” I said. “One burger for old time’s sake.”



Luke

I’d traveled this stretch of I-9 so many times I could do it with my eyes closed.

When you ride the rodeo circuit, you spend about eight seconds a week on the back of a bull if you’re lucky, and the rest of the time getting to the next ride.

I usually came out in the top two or three at most events, which meant a trophy I didn’t give a shit about and a few hundred dollars in prize money.

Take the top spot and they tossed in a silver belt buckle with a cowboy riding a bull or a bronco on it. I had a fucking glove box full of the damn things. Try paying your rent with a silver belt buckle.

The only one I gave two shits about was the one I was wearing when I was gored. I had earned it two years ago from the National Rodeo Association for being the top bull rider on the Texas circuit.

It wasn’t worth much monetarily, but it had sentimental value to me. I took great pride in being the top bull rider that year; and not because it got me laid a lot by the cowgirls who kept up with such things.

It was proof that I hadn’t wasted my time. And even though I barely earned enough to keep gas in the tank and food in my belly, I wouldn’t trade my time on the circuit for anything.

When I started riding professionally six years ago, I had dreams of becoming the next Ty Murray, really the only guy ever to make a decent living as a rodeo rider. I quickly learned that I was no Ty Murray, but it was too late to turn back by then. I was addicted. I had bull riding shooting through my veins like a drug addict had heroin. I lived for those eight seconds of hanging on for dear life.

Now, with this gash in my side, I wondered if I’d ever climb back on a bull again. Over the years, I had suffered more concussions that most NFL players and had broken more bones than Evel Knievel. But I’d never given a moment’s thought to quitting. At least not before now. My brain was telling me it was time to hang up my spurs, but my heart was screaming bullshit. I reckoned all I could do was just wait and see which part of me won out.

“This looks like a great place to get food poisoning,” Shelby said as she pulled into the lot, gravel crunching under the big tires. Mel’s One Stop was a combination convenience store, greasy spoon diner, and ten-room motel.

The place looked like it had been there since Davy Crockett’s time, but I knew from experience that Mel’s had the best greasy hamburger in this part of Texas. I used to bang a waitress who worked there, a skinny gal with little tits and a tight box named Janine something or other. She’d give me free food and I’d give it to her hard and fast in the men’s room. We both considered it a fair trade.

“It’s a great place to get lots of things,” I said as she parked us among the few pickups already in the gravel lot. I unbuckled the seat belt and held onto the door to slide out of the truck. I held on to the door for a moment till I got my sea legs.

I was a little wobbly at first, but I felt better than I had felt in a long time. Just getting out of that hospital seemed to do me a world of good. By the time Shelby came around the truck to see if I needed help, I had slammed the door and was managing to walk pretty well on my own.

“Hang on and let me help you,” she said, clutching my arm. The moment her fingers touched my skin I felt little sparks shoot through my body like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket. I started to pull away and tell her I could do it myself, but I liked the way her hands felt on my arm.

“I’m just a little wobbly,” I said, lying now so she wouldn’t let go of me. I sniffed the air between us. She smelled of shampoo and soap, with just a hint of sweat. I used to spend hours licking the sweat off her naked body, like a kid licking an ice cream cone. The thought made my cock twitch a little. I quickly pushed the thought out of my mind. I wasn’t wearing underwear and the last thing I needed was to walk into a truck stop with my big old pecker sticking out.

She opened the door and led me inside. We were greeted by stale air and the smell of grease. There were three cowboys at the counter, being served by an older waitress who told us to sit anywhere. Shelby led me to the farthest booth from the door and helped me get situated. She slid into the booth across from me and picked up the menu, which was just a half sheet of laminated paper with the choices written out in red magic marker.

“Well, apparently, they only serve burgers and fries,” she said, a little condescendingly, like she expected the place to have fucking lobster and caviar on the menu. She held out the menu so I could see it. “What’ll it be? A single, double, or a Mel’s Special?”

“What’s a Mel’s Special?” I asked.

She read from the menu. “Three hamburger patties, three slices of American cheese, one fried egg, three strips of bacon, jalapeno peppers, lettuce, tomato, pickle… and a complimentary call to 911 after your heart seizes up.”

The goofy look on her pretty face made me smile. I said, “I’ll just have a single with fries and a Coke.”

The waitress came over to take our order, then returned a minute later with two Cokes. She gave me a funny look, probably wondering where I had stolen the hospital scrubs from. Clearly, I was not a medical professional.

“So, how have you been?” I asked after taking a long sip of the Coke. It felt good going down my throat, which was still scratchy and sore from the breathing tube they’d shoved down it a week before. I let my eyes drift around her face. She was even prettier now than she was the last time I’d seen her.

“Better than you,” she said, giving me the look. You know, the look: the look a woman gives a man when she’s pissed about something, and then gets even more pissed that the man has no idea what she was pissed about in the first place.

She said, “You look like shit.”

“Well, darlin’, I happen to feel a little like shit at the moment,” I said. I held my side and leaned over the table. “You wanna tell me what you’re so mad about? I mean, Jesus, I haven’t seen you in six years and rather than being glad to see me, you’re acting like you’re ready to bite my head off.”

She folded her arms over her big boobs and glared at me. “You know very well why I’m mad at you.”

I shook my head. “No, ma’am, I very well do not. Last time I saw you, things were fine between us. I haven’t talked to you in six years. What the hell did I do to piss you off?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Maybe that’s why I’m pissed.”

I fell back in the seat and blew out a long sigh. Goddammit, trying to understand a woman was like trying to play piano with your toes: it was possible, but only a few people could do it and I wasn’t one of them.

“Shelby, please, before I die, tell me what that means.”

She huffed at me. She looked like she was ready to jerk me across the table and mop up the floor with me. In my weakened condition, there would not have been much I could have done to stop her.

The waitress brought our burgers over and set them in front of us. After a week of shitty hospital food, I thought the burgers smelled and looked delicious, but Shelby looked at hers like it was a trough of pig slop. I picked up the ketchup and squirted it all over my fries.

“When did you get so fuckin’ snotty?” I asked, picking up three fries and swirling them through the ketchup before shoving them into my mouth.