This is such a bad romantic comedy move.
Ace sat in his truck in a nondescript little strip mall, waiting for a reasonable time to arrive for his fake appointment with a real chiropractor. He had been in the parking lot for nearly an hour, having grown too antsy to stay home any longer.
The weekend had been agonizing, three days of limbo knowing that Paul was just a couple miles away — close enough to potentially see and touch, but so far away in every other respect.
Now Ace was even closer to his goal, and he still had no idea what he was going to say once he saw Paul again. That was assuming, of course, that Paul would listen to him.
He braced himself for the possibility that Paul might not, in fact, want anything to do with him anymore. And even though Ace knew it was all based on a stupid misunderstanding, if Paul wasn’t willing to listen to him when he was standing right in front of him, he was probably going to give up. Masochism was never his thing. But pride certainly was.
Could it really all end this way, after all it took to get here? Derailed because of that damn Tanner?
Not just Tanner, you dumbass. Ace could have dealt with him earlier. Could have pushed him back that night in his foyer. Could have done something except just stand there with his fly down.
Ace squared his shoulders at the office door, ready to do what it took. Before he opened the outer door, he remembered to plaster on a grimace of pain to support his claims of back pain.
The chirpy woman who answered the phone in the morning gave him the day’s last appointment after he had filled his voice with imaginary and debilitating pain.
She was on the phone when he entered the empty waiting area.
“Uh huh. Uh huh.” She rolled her eyes at Ace and made jabbery motions with her hands. “Hon, let me put you on hold a sec, ‘kay?”
“Sorry about that,” she said. “You’re Mr. Gillen, right?”
“Yep, Lucas Gillen,” he said, giving his brother-in-law’s name.
“Well, you’re nice and early!” she smiled. “Plenty of time to fill out our form for first-timers.” She handed him a clipboard and a pen. “And I can take your insurance card now to get that out of the way!”
“Uh, I don’t actually have insurance,” he lied, taking the clipboard from her. “But I can pay for this without insurance, right?”
“Sure thing. Less work for me, actually!”
This woman seemed to speak in constant exclamation marks. It was going to give Ace a headache. He retreated to a lime green office chair to invent some fiction about Lucas Gillen for the forms.
The secretary, meanwhile, had resumed her phone conversation. Ace busied himself with a month-old Newsweek magazine.
“Yeah, Dr. Z has been kind of a bear this last week, but I think it’s a good sign, actually,” she said.
That caught Ace’s attention. He didn’t really mean to eavesdrop, but in a tiny waiting room like that, with a receptionist who lacked volume control, it was hard not to.
“Well, you know how I get when I break up with somebody. I think Dr. Z has called it quits with his mystery woman.”
Ace fought the dual pain of that statement. Obviously, Paul hadn’t told his receptionist the big truth yet.
“Oh, I totally know he’s been seeing someone. He’s been this sickening fool for weeks. Sooo frustrating.”
That helped ease the pain a little. Nice to know Paul was feeling it, too.
“Yeah, I think I’ll just have to offer the good doctor some of my special comfort. Every man can use a little pick-me-up after a breakup.” The receptionist looked over to Ace, who couldn’t hide that he had been listening. “Am I right?” she asked him. “Every man could use a good rebound girl, right? Like that Beach Boys song, what’s it called,” she trailed off.
“Rhonda,” Ace croaked. “Help Me Rhonda.”
“Yeah!” she smiled, then spoke into the phone again. “Like ‘Help Me Rhonda’ or something. I’ll totally be Rhonda for Dr. Z. Mmmmm.”
Jealousy attacked Ace’s better sense and filled his ears with screaming insecurities. Every fear he’d ever had about closeted gay men — every convoluted scenario he had been torturing himself with for the last week — everything came rushing back at him.
What if Paul decided that ultimately it wasn’t worth it to be out of the closet? What if he’s decided to dig way the hell back into that closet? Hell, he might even start fucking women just so he could find some release! And God knows they’d be lining up for him, starting with that vapid blonde at the front desk. Who cares that Paul would be fantasizing about dick when his eyes were closed?
His grand scheme — his dramatic gesture — was instantly abandoned in the face of these horrifying possibilities. Ace had to get out of there.
“Listen, uh, miss?” he said, approaching the front desk, ready to bolt. “I need to reschedule, I think. I need to, uh, be somewhere. I totally forgot about it.” He put his hand on the door handle and kept inching his way out.
“Well, but I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pay a cancellation fee or something,” the woman said. “It’s policy for any missed appointments.”
“No problem, whatever you need to bill me is fine,” he said in a rush. “I just need to –”
His words stopped at the back of his throat the moment Paul’s office door opened. The chiropractor was leading an older gentleman to the waiting area.
“Nicole, will you get Mr. Reynolds set up for his next appointment,” Paul said to his secretary. “Thank y-”
Both men locked eyes and froze. Ace caught a flash of something in Paul’s eyes — joy, maybe, or hope? — before it disappeared and anger took its place.
He wondered what Paul saw in his own face. Probably shock, fear, guilt. Would Paul see this flare of desire that shot through him? Would he pick up on a quickening heartbeat, shallow breath, dilated pupils? He’s a doctor, it wouldn’t be unheard of. Ace could feel every emotion being tattooed on his face, and he couldn’t find the will to move or hide.
If he ran out the door right now, would Paul follow? Would they have it out in the parking lot, or would Paul just let him go?
It was too late to make a graceful exit, too late to escape. It was time to stay put and make himself heard.
Paul recovered first and said goodbye to his other patient. Ace was finally startled out of his deer-in-the-headlights stance when Mr. Reynolds needed to exit through the door he was blocking.
“Mr. Gillen, so, did you want a new appointment or something? Or do you have time to stay?” The receptionist looked like she wanted him gone, probably so she could give Paul a help-me-Rhonda blowjob. Ace clenched his jaw and stepped closer to Paul.
“No, I probably have time after all, thanks.”
“Okay then,” she said. “Dr. McDonnell, this is Lucas Gillen, your 4:15 appointment.”
“Mr. Gillen,” Paul said blandly. “Follow me, please.”
The receptionist stood and leaned over her high desk. “He’s your last patient for the day, Dr. Z,” she said sweetly. “I’ll stick around afterward just in case you need me or something.”
Paul smiled back at her. “Thanks, Nicole.”
Ace’s atoms and molecules were screaming at him to flee, to sprint away like a spooked bunny, but he girded himself and followed after Paul.
This was a bad idea. Never take dating advice from Matthew McConaughey, you moron!
He knew better than this. Once in the closet, always in the closet. Or at least, never farther than a few steps away from the closet.