dr. robby’s girl ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

still, every time you wake up flushed. all dizzy and damp between your thighs, and the guilt only lasts for a few seconds before something else settles in its place.

longing.

because the dreams feel more intimate than anything you’ve shared with liam in months.

the realization hits especially hard one morning when you wake tangled in your sheets, chest still heaving slightly from the remnants of another dream only to find the other side of the bed cold and empty.

again.

your phone lights up beside you.

“Left early for the course. Don’t wait up tonight.”

no heart. no i love you. nothing.

you stare at it for a long moment while your skin still buzzes from the ghostly touch of someone who you believe doesn’t even exist.

so instead of choosing to rot in shame and remorse, you close your eyes and try to remember the sound of that voice. the feeling of being split open and kissed with a sick amount of obsession. 

your fingers slip between your thighs. anything to keep the remnants of this dream going. 

—

you first met titus danforth three months ago at his father’s golf club.

liam practically worships the place. talks about it like it’s heaven on earth every time his corporate buddies drag him away from you, keeping him there for weekends on end. 

meanwhile, you mostly spend your time wandering the massive halls of the accompanying hotel alone, while the men disappear for six-hour golf games pretending business deals can still happen on turfgrass.

that’s where you saw titus. standing near the entrance of the clubhouse in all black despite the summer heat. both hands tucked into his pockets while people subtly avoided looking directly at him, his stare piercing enough. 

you remember thinking he looked intriguing. too handsome in a way that immediately put you on edge. 

liam had waved vaguely in his direction another time. “that’s chester danforth’s son, weird fuckin’ guy.”

weird didn’t begin to cover it, because when titus looked at you—really looked at you—something cold slid down your spine.

and what’s worse? the fact that you looked back. which, apparently, is the worst thing you can do with men like titus danforth.

because looking at him feels a little like staring directly at medusa. everybody else knows better. everybody else drops their eyes immediately, keeps walking, pretends he isn’t there at all.

but you held his gaze, and the corners of his mouth had twitched so subtly, like he found something amusing about your curiosity. like your attention alone was enough to entertain him for a while.

that was the thing about titus, it's the unsettling sense that once he becomes interested in something, he doesn't really know how to let it go.

and somehow, after that weekend, he lingered in your brain longer than he should’ve.

long enough that sometimes, half asleep, you’d feel those same dark eyes watching you before those dreams of yours ever started.

long enough that, somewhere in the back of your mind, you started wondering if the man in your dreams had been him all along.

—

a couple months later, you join liam back at the club again. another golf weekend. another dinner alone while he goes off to drink overpriced whiskey with his coworkers, all of them laughing too loudly while complaining about their girlfriends or wives. 

you’re making your way towards the massive hotel pool when the ballroom doors suddenly swing open nearby. a crowd spills out onto the hallway almost immediately. women in glittering dresses, men in suits laughing over each other, workers slipping out on their way to the break room. 

someone bumps your shoulder hard enough to knock you slightly off balance. a large hand catches your waist instantly. firm and warm.

“excuse me, beautiful.”

the voice brushes low against your ear and something inside you nearly stops. your entire body locks up instantly because—you know that voice. somewhere deep in your bones, you know it.

heat flashes through you so suddenly your head almost hurts.

the dreams.

your pulse thunders violently now as your mind immediately throws you back into your dark room. heavy breathing and hands gripping your hips as a mouth devoured between your thighs. that same voice murmuring a string of praises against your pulsing clit.

your head whips around too fast, breath catching sharply in your lungs, but the hallway behind you is already empty now. the crowd disappearing into the rest of the corridors, distant music and muffled voices echoing faintly in the distance.

yet the scent of expensive cologne still lingers faintly in the air beside you and you can practically feel his mouth at your throat. taste those lips again. that same gravelly voice spilling nonsense into your skin while you writhe beneath him in aching pleasure.

what the fuck.

“titus?”

the name leaves your mouth instantly. thoughtless. automatic. like for some reason your body already knows the answer before your brain can even catch up. because of course it would be him. of course he would be here to tease you. 

you think back to the way he looked at you that night, like him infiltrating your mind was just something inevitable.

silence only answers your call. 

but somewhere above you, in a hidden corner behind the second-floor balcony overlooking the hall, titus smiles to himself. slowly, because there you are, finally catching up. 

it’s cute, really. the way your mind keeps trying to soften titus into something safer. turning the weight of his body into dreams. his hands into phantom touches. those intruding late-night visits into blurry fantasies you can wake up from flushed and confused instead of terrified.

your poor little brain trying so desperately to protect you from the truth.

you never hear the creak of the floorboards. never wake frighteningly when the mattress dips slightly beneath his weight. never see the way he stands over your bed sometimes just watching you breathe.

and god, the things he’s learned about you this way. which position makes you fall asleep the fastest. the soft whines you make when he sucks on your breasts. how easily your body opens for him from just one experienced touch. 

too asleep to catch him prying through your drawers and jewelry boxes. too distracted to notice him six steps behind you on your way to the grocery store. too busy clinging to a man who barely looks at you anymore to see the one who already treats you like something precious.

the thought of liam alone ruins titus’ mood every time he sees him. all that meek build hidden under a facade of corporate bro confidence. all those weekends spent ignoring someone men should kill for. well, someone titus would certainly murder him for. 

if liam had any idea what was happening inside his own bed at night, he’d probably lose his fucking mind. but that’s the best part. you think these little ‘dreams’ are your secret. you think you’re the only one waking up breathless from them, that your mind is making it all up. 

meanwhile titus knows every single sound you make when you come apart on his cock. the way your walls clench around him with such frantic need. leaving you more pleased than that kid could ever fathom. 

and if titus is lucky, he sticks around for the encore—finds a place to stand and watch the way you whimper into your pillow still chasing the high only he, so proudly, can give you. 

his forearms rest against the balcony railing as his gaze follows you below, amused by your confused little glances and shallow breathing while you still try to piece things together.

he’s obsessed already. there’s no denying it now.

he imagines silk dresses bought specifically for your body, hanging in closets bigger than liam’s entire apartment. your laugh echoing through the gilded age hallways while diamonds catch the light every time your hand reaches for his. your body tucked into expensive sheets while the danforth house echoes your angelic cries.

like you were always meant to belong there, with him, and underneath all that ugly yearning sits the simplest thought of all: how easy it would be to get rid of the boyfriend entirely.

another one of your cats is curled against your stomach, his purrs vibrating against you as you're sunk into a lawn chair.

you sit crisscrossed in robby’s jacket—the one he peeled off hours ago when he got too warm peeking into the hood of your car. the sleeves swallowing your hands entirely while you lazily lick on a rocket popsicle.

your dad’s voice from two days ago still rings in your ears.

“do you mind checking in on her while i’m gone? she’s got finals and she’ll forget to eat if nobody reminds her.”

robby had barely glanced your way. “yeah, man. of course, no problem.”

no problem, meanwhile he’d kissed you stupid and bent you over the kitchen island not even an hour after your dad left for the airport.

something the two of you seem to eagerly fall into whenever you get the chance lately.

your dad and robby have known each other for years now, paths crossing through hospitals and conferences with robby in emergency medicine and your dad settled comfortably in family practice.

you mostly grew up in seattle with your mom after the divorce. but after getting accepted into the university of pittsburgh, you figured you’d give the city a shot. besides, your mother had started driving you a little insane and pittsburgh was considered a “new ivy” anyway, as your dad put it.

might as well make something of yourself.

so suddenly robby was around more often. coming over to watch hockey or football games with your dad, invited to barbecues, showing up with jake sometimes because he figured you probably got bored sitting around listening to middle-aged men talk about medicine and taxes all night.

and somewhere between sarcastic banter over dinner and robby driving you home from parties you definitely didn’t tell your father about, something shifted.

the lingering. the staring. the way his hand would settle a little too low against your back. the way you started finding excuses to be alone with him.

and now?

now you try not to think too hard about what any of this means, and you know this should probably feel more complicated than it does.

but lately, it’s been easier to stop worrying about the future and just enjoy whatever this is while you still can.

another metal clang sounds from under the car and it takes you out of your head.

“got it” robby grunts.

a second later he rolls out from beneath the frame, hair messy, face streaked with grease, green t-shirt clinging damply to his chest with sweat.

you try not to ogle, try so very hard to ‘catholic guilt’ yourself into not thinking those thoughts.

but then—because of course—robby stretches slightly and the shirt rides up just enough to reveal the trail of hair over his belly. your eyes tracing how it disappears beneath the waistband of his cargo pants, and suddenly passing this last exam for your degree feels significantly less important.

one brow lifts, “what?” he asks.

you smile innocently, taking another nibble of your popsicle. “nothing.”

robby snickers quietly, rolling the mechanic board he was laying on closer to you. “uh huh.”

your cat immediately abandons your lap the second robby gets too close, hopping down with an offended little meow.

“traitor!” you mutter after it. robby just smirks.

you hold the popsicle out toward him. “want some?”

he looks at you, then at the melting popsicle, and back towards you. there’s that look. that dangerous, amused little glint in his eye that always makes your stomach do stupid flips.

instead of taking the popsicle, robby reaches for your wrist. his fingers wrap around it, dirty and warm. before you can even ask what he’s doing, his tongue swipes over the sticky and sugary drips running down your hand.

your breath catches sharply. the feeling makes your whole body tense, while he leans back against the board with a lazy smirk.

“it’s melting.”

you stare at him, mouth absolutely useless as it gapes open a bit. heat rushing straight to your face.

he’s trying not to laugh now, lip tucked between his teeth like he’s way too pleased with himself.

but then you start giggling. real giggling, the kind that makes your shoulders shake. robby’s expression changes almost instantly—or rather softens is the word—like that sound does something to him every single time.

“c’mere,” he stands, arms sliding around your waist and lifting you clean out of the chair like you weigh nothing.

you yelp, dropping the remaining piece of the popsicle onto the tarmac below. “robby!”

“shh,” he mutters, already glancing toward the neighboring houses, scanning the street carefully. “don’t think you wanna explain to mrs. wilkinson why i’ve been stayin’ over more than your dad asked me to.”

you bury your face in his shoulder, body still high on giggles. “she already thinks you’re hot,” you mumble. “i think she’d understand where i’m coming from.”

robby just shakes his head at your comment, though you catch the smile tugging at his mouth as he carries you toward the house anyway. one arm hooked beneath your legs, muttering under his breath while you cling to him.

he pauses long enough to hold the door open with his foot, both cats immediately trotting past him into the house like they own the place.

the front door then shuts behind you with a soft click. quiet settles around the house. just the hum of the air conditioner and the distant tick of the kitchen clock.

robby keeps carrying you up the staircase. “where are we going?” you ask, arms looped lazily around his neck.

another creeping smile appears on his face. “much needed shower,” he murmurs.

you grin immediately, already knowing exactly what he means. “for you?”

robby’s laugh is low and warm, vibrating beneath your cheek. “i’d like for you to join me.”

a kiss over your chest. lips tracing the curves of your breasts before catching on your perked buds.

another handful over the swell of your stomach.

mouth soft over the stretch marks that curve along your hips, the skin you once used to instinctively cover without thinking.

jack never skips them, god forbid ever rushing past them. he kisses them like they belong there.

like they were never something to apologize for in the first place.

further down, he presses wet little pecks over your thighs. instinctively, jack parts them, giving a gracious lick through your folds and eliciting a sigh from you.

his mouth continues to move down your legs, running over the faint hairs that have started growing back. you haven’t shaved in a few days and, for once, you don’t care enough to apologize for it.

at first, months ago, you used to tense when jack did this. used to squirm and laugh it off, try to pull him away, cheeks burning. now, all this love and attention makes you bite your lip, fingers slipping into his curly salt-and-pepper hair while he kisses over every part of you like he’s committing them to memory. like he loves doing this, without you even asking.

his lips pause over the wide birthmark on your calf, pressing a slow kiss right in the center of it. something in your chest twists.

you look down at him through the haze of heat and sunlight. he glances up, mouth still resting against your leg, eyes soft. and suddenly, the question slips out before you can stop it.

“do you believe that thing people say about birthmarks?”

jack smiles a little against your skin. “depends. what thing?”

you feel stupid the second you ask it, like maybe this is too embarrassing for a lazy summer afternoon. but the thought has been stuck in your head for weeks now, ever since you heard someone say it offhand once, like it was folklore.

“that birthmarks,” you say quietly, looking at the ceiling instead of him, “are where your lover used to kiss you in a past life.”

the room stills in silence.

oh no.

you laugh awkwardly before he can answer. “i know, it’s stupid, never mind.”

“no,” jack says softly. his thumb brushes over your calf, right beneath the mark. “i don’t think that’s stupid.”

it makes your chest ache in that terrible, butterfly way he always seems to manage. because the truth is you don’t even know if you believe in past lives. don’t know if souls really find each other again. but ever since jack, you’ve started wondering…

because no one should feel this familiar. no one should fit this easily into the quiet corners of your life. the way he moves with you, laughs with you, reaches for you in his sleep like his body already knows your his. bring out feelings you didn’t know existed before this summer dream.

sometimes, when he looks at you too softly, you can’t help but think that maybe it just took you longer to find him this time around.

jack studies you for a second, thumb tracing absent circles against both your calves. then he smiles. that little smile that always looks like he’s trying not to fall harder than he already has.

“i dunno,” he says quietly, eyes flicking back down to your leg. his mouth brushes over the mark again, slower this time. thoughtful. “maybe.”

you blink down at him and jack glances up at you through his lashes, lips quirking again. “i mean…” he begins, fingers move back up and digging lightly into your hips, making you squirm beneath him. “thats why kissing you feels like second nature.”

a laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. jack grins wider now, lip caught between his teeth, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes him look unfairly handsome. like some old man hopelessly in love and entirely unbothered by it.

he kisses the birthmark again. then your ankle. before bending your leg up against your chest, dragging himself back up. you feel his softening bulge against the plush of your thighs and you bite up a small moan.

“so,” he murmurs against your lips, voice muffled by a smile, “if that saying’s true…” your mouth welcomes in his tongue eagerly, before he continues. “…you’re gonna come back next time covered in birthmarks at my rate.”

you giggle again as your arms wrap around the man’s neck, fingers tugging on his curls. “jack!”

“what?” he says, already laughing too, fingers tightening around your hips. “i’m just saying,”

he presses himself against you again, lips caressing your cheek, nibbling on your jawbone. “future me has excellent taste.”

“oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your free hand, chest still vibrating with a chuckle. jack just hums into your skin, all warm and pleased with himself. his forearms bracket your head as his cheeks pinken from heat and affection and being so embarrassingly sincere without even trying.

“it really does feel easy, huh” you murmur into his hair. eyes fluttering shut as jack etches another mark into your pulse point.

because that’s the scary part, isn’t it?

how easy it was. how somewhere between the sunburnt afternoons and tangled sheets and homecooked meals and laughter echoing out the windows, you stopped thinking of jack as something temporary.

stopped bracing for the end. stopped calling this a summer fling in your head because somewhere along the line, it became something greater than that.

something steadier. the kind of love that settles, until one day you look up and realize it’s everywhere.

you guys made sure your exit wasn’t suspicious or obvious. at least…not to people who didn’t quite know the two of you all that much. but the knowing looks dana keeps giving the both of you lately are starting to feel a little more dangerous than the two of you might like.

the second you guys arrive at the parking lot, frank reaches over and snatches your car keys from your hand.

“hey—”

“you’re not driving,” he denotes casually.

you scoff immediately. “why? afraid i’ll kill us?”

“no,” frank says as he unlocks your car with ease, “i’m afraid we’ll get there sometime next thursday at your speed.”

“it’s a little something called safe driving.”

“your speed is painfully safe, baby.”

you slide into the passenger seat with an offended gasp. “okay well excuse me for not wanting my obituary to read: young and beautiful ER resident launched into lake erie by divorced man having a midlife crisis.”

frank barks out a laugh instantly. a real one, head tipping back against the seat for a second while he shakes his head at you. “okay thirty-three is not a midlife crisis.”

“mhm, sure. but that’s what the beach trip at nine p.m. on a wednesday is giving though”

“and you coming along is…?”

“me, supporting your healing journey.”

“so i should say thank you then?”

“exactly!” you state, with a smile from ear to ear.

that gets another giggle out of him as he starts the car, still grinning to himself like an idiot.

and god, you love that sound. that easy, boyish laugh had gotten rarer after rehab. after the divorce papers. after the worst winter of his life carved exhaustion into every corner of his being. but lately? well, lately you’ve been dragging it out of him again, little by little.

maybe that’s how this whole stupid summer pact happened in the first place. one drunken night after shift change. both of you exhausted and buzzed and sitting on the hood of his car on a hill overlooking the city, complaining about how miserable adulthood turned out to be.

frank finalizing divorce papers. you ranting about another terrible date.

“i swear to god,” you’d groaned dramatically, “i just wanna skip all the introductory bullshit and already know someone. take some weight off my shoulders, y’know?”

frank had glanced over at you then, beer balanced against his knee. “yeah,” he’d said after a second, quieter this time. “think i’m a little tired of starting over too.”

that was what did it. somewhere between the cheap beer, the city nightlife shining below you, and both of you feeling a little too lonely.

perhaps it’s a poorly constructed agreement, but enough to agree to stop acting miserable for at least one season.

no isolating after shifts.

no rotting in your apartments.

no pretending life ended just because residency sucks and your youth didn’t turn out the way you thought they would.

instead, they’d be replaced by late-night drives and stupid adventures. beaches at midnight, gas station junk food, bad decisions but good stories.

and maybe—though neither of you said this part out loud—using each other as a distraction from everything else hurting in your lives.

because it started innocently enough. a couple drunk kisses after work. frank’s hand resting on your thigh a little longer than it should during drives home.

one night…turning into two. then suddenly you were wearing the bikini he hand-picked for you last week. waking up in each other’s beds, tangled under the sheets and driving in to work together. not to mention the hoodies he’s purposefully left at your apartment—is it in hopes this arrangement can quietly become something bigger beneath all the teasing? well, we’ll never truly know.

because for now, it's not dating, and it's definitely not serious.

just two people who already knew each other all too well, trying to feel alive again for the summer.

—

frank looks down at the pile in his arms—cheap gummies that are far too sweet, neon sports drinks, some questionably cooked gas station hot dogs—before shrugging. “i have two kids and unresolved emotional issues. why is my survival diet any news to you?”

you snort, grabbing a bag of trail mix off the shelf. “please. your kids probably have a more refined palate than you. don't drag them into this.”

“you’re losing your whimsy, you know. tough loss for the club, we were really rooting for ya”

a sudden laugh escapes you, rattling the silence of the store enough that an older woman near the coffee station glances over disapprovingly.

frank grins immediately. “see? that laugh right there? worth public humiliation.” he whispers near you.

“oh my god, shut up.” you reply, ushering him further away from the lady.

“no seriously, keep laughin’ like that and people are gonna think i’m funny.”

“you are funny.” you say so matter-of-factly, like it was already known information.

that gets him. it’s subtle, but his entire expression softens around the edges. caught somewhere between pleased and almost shy, like the compliment lands deeper than it should.

because frank’s used to people rolling their eyes at him. used to being too loud, too sarcastic, too much. but you laugh at every stupid joke with such genuinity and for some reason you look at him like he’s worth listening to.

it gives him the dumbest fucking heart-eyes imaginable.

“okay, screw the slushie” you mention, staring at the machine, not seeing the blue raspberry flavor and immediately feeling disappointed. “we can get soft serve on the way”

“with fries to dip?” frank mentions, pulling out his card at the till.

“finally something we agree on!” it earns you another earnest smile from the man.

by the time you finally reach presque isle state park, it’s almost midnight. the two of you walk through the bike trails until you begin to hear the waves hitting the shore.

your feet dig into the sand below as you both settle your things on a picnic bench. the space is empty, except for the two of you, just old footprints as evidence of the life the beach encountered earlier that day.

“alright,” you say, already tugging your shirt over your head. “turn around.”

frank lifts both hands in surrender immediately, pivoting toward the water. “yes, ma’am.”

“no peeking.”

“your standards of me are so low”

that earns a quiet laugh from you, legs shimmying out of your shorts as you tug your bikini into place as quickly as possible. your fingers fumbling a little in the dark, “okay, done.”

frank glances over his shoulder just in time to catch you sprinting toward the shoreline. bare legs kicking up sand behind you, giggling as you feel the cool night breeze against your face.

and well, frank knew he was an ass man, but good god. he shakes his head to himself, smiling despite it, shedding his own shirt as he follows after you.

the water is freezing. absolutely fucking freezing, but oh it feels so good.

“holy shit,” you breathe out, feeling a shiver run up your body. “are we gonna get hypothermia?” you ask, slowly walking further in, feeling the waves hit your calves.

“guess we’ll wait and see,” frank replies, before grabbing your wrist and bolting deeper into the water.

“frank—”

the man yanks you down with him in one violent splash. you scrunch your eyes shut as the water crashes over your face, your whole body shaking from shrieking laughter.

“LANGDON!” you shout, sputtering out the water from your mouth. even so, you wrap your arms around his neck as he sits on the pebbled floor of the water, all smug and proud.

“you are such an ass” you retaliate, matching the grin on his face.

“you’ll warm up, don’t worry,” he replies, that boyish crooked smile making your heart flutter.

you brush the wet hair out of his face. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t.” another wave crashes into both of you, swaying the two of you deeper into the water.

the cold surrounds you even more and you can’t help but gasp. instinctively, you press closer against langdon, clinging to his shoulders while the cold tears another small shriek out of you.

frank just laughs, hands steady at your waist now to keep you upright. “c’mon,” he says, quieter this time. “get used to it.”

you glare at him through chattering teeth. “i’m gonna drown you.”

“i knew you’d be the death of me” he murmurs, placing a quick peck on your collarbone. “i’m just glad it's you.”

the words hit you strangely hard. dangerous territory, especially for two people pretending this is all temporary.

his hands squeeze your hips, his body warm even in the conditions you’ve both put yourselves in. the waves keep lapping around the two of you. midnight air pressing cool against your wet skin. you stare at the man in front of you, so close up you can see the droplets caught in his eyelashes.

he looks at you like he’s waiting for something, or maybe just making sure this is all okay. so you don’t think about it too hard, you just grab the back of his neck and kiss him.

it starts a little clumsy because you’re both still half-giggling, mouths a little cold and slippery from the lake.

frank soon makes this small sound against your lips before kissing you back with more determination. one of his hands slides up from your waist to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek while another wave crashes him further against you. his lips slip away from you as they fall to your shoulder.

“ow” he whines quietly as you laugh into his hair.

“real smooth,” you mumble, pulling his head back in front of you.

“shut up,” he murmurs back, smiling into the next kiss.

and this one, it lingers. not rushed, just frank kissing you in possible hypothermic temperatures at midnight like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

suddenly you understand why people fall in love during summers like this. because nights like this trick you into remembering that life is more than the things that exhaust you.

more than the hospital lights and divorce papers and bad dates and rent payments and alarms set too early and not enough coffee in you while you’re getting ripped a new one by your attending.

sometimes it’s this. freezing lake water and gas station hot dogs and laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

it’s frank langdon kissing you like the world isn’t so heavy for once.