“Unfortunately,” Dr. Stern says, “you can contract chlamydia through oral sex as well.”
I stare at her.
Dr. Stern’s tone is sympathetic. “It’s in your throat, Jax. Which would make sense, if you picked this up via oral sex. The soreness you’re feeling is a symptom. Luckily, we’ve discovered it early on.”
Oral? I went down on a bird, and she gave me an STD? My stomach rolls. “Throat? I can get an STD in my fucking throat?”
“It’s less common, but yes.”
Where the fuck was I during that lesson? Probably ditching class. Talk about misspent youth. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to calm down.
Dr. Stern is still talking. “Do you experience any burning sensation during urination? Pain or tenderness in your testicles?”
“What? No.” I sit straighter. “No, nothing. My dick is fine.”
She gives me a patient smile that annoys the hell out of me. “Even so, it would be best if I did a full examination.”
“Full examination?” Alarm spikes up my back.
She doesn’t even blink. “Of your penis and anus to—”
“Oh, hell.” I run a cold hand through my hair. This cannot be happening.
Dr. Stern puts a hand on my shoulder. “The good thing is that this is easily treated. Antibiotics should clear it up quickly.”
Which is great, but she’s about to fondle my dick and put a light on my asshole. I cringe again and rub my face with a shaking hand. “Bloody hell.” Another thought goes through me, and I nearly hurl. “Oh, fuck, I’m going to have to contact my partners, aren’t I?”
A black hole of humiliation opens before me as she nods. “It would be the responsible thing to do, Jax.”
And a PR nightmare from hell. I’ve been under the public microscope for two years—the guy who tried. Will he again? What is he thinking now? Always with the questions. Always watching my every move. Now I’ll be the butt of sex jokes as well. Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. I really don’t care. Because I know I’ll have to tell Scottie and Brenna.
“Bugger, bugger, bugger.”
“It’s going to be all right, Jax.”
Oh, the irony. Every time someone tells me that, something else comes along to slap me back down.
She has that look on her face, you know, the one doctors give you to make you feel like shit about your life choices. “When is the last time you had sexual contact with someone?”
“About a month ago.” Honestly, it hadn’t been that good for either me or my partner, and I’d finally woken up to the fact that maybe I should put the brakes on what had become mindless hookups.
“Mmm … Well, the incubation period ranges anywhere from a few days to a few months. However, symptoms usually show in about one to three weeks. I’d say you start with your last partner and work from there.”
I’m not going to bother telling her the number of partners I had that last week. I run a hand over my face, then pause. A bolt of horror goes through me.
“Doc, the other day some girl kissed me in a grocery store.” Ah, good times. The cute little mint thief’s saucy walk flashes through my mind before I blink it away.
She visibly fights a smile. “Why am I not surprised?”
Oddly, I still am. I get hit on all the time. But those propositions are a little more straightforward. Would I like to fuck? Yes, please, sure, great. The mint thief kissed me as a diversionary tactic. I still admire her for that.
“Thing is, I don’t know who she was. What if …” Oh hell, I cannot face Mint Thief and tell her to get an STD check. “Could I have given her …”
“No, Jax,” Dr. Stern cuts in. “You cannot spread chlamydia through kissing or even sharing drinks. Only sexual activities such as penetration or oral.”
My shoulders slump in relief. “Well, that’s good.”
Dr. Stern gives me another gentle pat. “I’ll give you a moment to change into a gown, and we’ll get started.”
Right, the exam. Awesome. Just fucking awesome.
Stella
* * *
Normally, when my phone rings and I’m sleeping, I don’t answer it. However, since my phone happens to be pressed under my cheek, and its shrill ring just scared the ever-loving stuffin’ out of me, I’m a bit more willing.
Scrambling to make the damn thing shut up, I end up hitting myself in the face before finding the answer button.
“Fuc—Hello?”
There’s a protracted silence, the kind that makes it clear someone is on the line but is deliberating whether they should speak.
Sighing, I roll over onto my back. “You heard me say fuck, didn’t you?”
Not good since this is my client line and some potentials are nervous enough as it is.
A throat clears and then a man with a voice like crisp sheets finally speaks. “Am I speaking with Ms. Grey?”