DR. PERFECT'S SECRET

11:47 PM New message from J J: Send me another pic. Ash: Another? You got one yesterday. J: Yeah, and I jerked off to it three times. Your torso is incredible. Ash: Three times? J: Don't act surprised. You know what you're doing when you flex like that. Ash: Maybe I do. J: So? Send another. Ash: What's the magic word? J: Please, f**k me. Asher snorted, nearly dropping his phone. He looked around his empty penthouse apartment, as if someone might catch him smiling at his screen like an i***t. Ash: That's few words. J: Fine. Please. Ash: Better. He switched to his camera, angling it to capture his chest and abs, the light highlighting the definition he'd earned through years of disciplined gym sessions. Not his face. Never his face. He took the shot and sent it. The response was immediate. J: Jesus Christ. J: I'm hard already. Ash: Show me. A photo came through. Asher's breath caught. He'd seen J's body before, lean, younger, smooth skin stretched over compact muscle, but it never got old. J: Your fault. Ash: Poor baby. What are you going to do about it? J: Same thing I did last time unless you have a better idea. Asher stared at the message. He'd been using this app for two years. Anonymous hookups, faceless encounters, always on his terms. Never at his place. Never anyone who knew his real name. But something about J made him reckless. Ash: You don't need to masturbate this time. J: ? Ash: Come see it in person. There was a pause. Asher watched the typing indicator appear and disappear three times. J: Are you serious? Ash: Do I sound like I'm joking? J: You never want to meet. Ash: I'm making an exception. Tonight. My place. J: Send the address. Asher's finger hovered over the keyboard. This was stupid. Dangerous. Everything he'd avoided for years. But his carefully controlled life felt like it was suffocating him lately, and J's messages were the only time he could breathe. He sent the address. J: Holy s**t, that's a nice building. J: You rich or something? Ash: Does it matter? J: Not even a little bit. What time? Ash: 10 PM tomorrow. Don't be late. J: I'm already counting down the hours. J: Fair warning though, I'm going to ruin you. Ash: We'll see who ruins who. He locked his phone and set it on the nightstand, his heart racing in a way it hadn't in months. Tomorrow. He'd finally meet J tomorrow. Then reality crashed back. He had morning rounds at six, a department meeting at eight, and intern orientation at ten. His father's latest email sat unanswered in his inbox: "The board wants an update on the cardiology expansion project. Anna submitted her proposal early. Don't fall behind." Always competing. Always performing. Always perfect. Asher closed his eyes and imagined J's hands on him instead. Just one night. One reckless, anonymous night. Then back to his perfect mask. 6:53 AM The orientation room was already set up when Asher arrived, pushing a cart loaded with anatomical models and surgical instruments. Seventeen interns sat in neat rows, most looking terrified. Good. They should be. His eyes swept across them automatically, noting faces, body language, and attention levels. Most sat up straight, notebooks open, pens ready. Classic overachievers fresh out of med school, desperate to impress. Then his gaze snagged on one intern in the third row. The guy slouched in his chair, phone in his lap, thumbs moving rapidly across the screen. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, not the nervous, eager-to-please expression everyone else wore, but something almost smug. Asher's jaw tightened. "Phones off," he said, his voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. Everyone immediately complied, shoving devices into pockets and bags. Everyone except the one in the third row. The intern's smile widened. His thumbs kept moving. "Phones. Off." This time, several people glanced nervously at the offender. A girl next to him, Zoey something, Asher remembered from the roster, elbowed him hard. The intern finally looked up. And smiled directly at Asher. "Sorry, Dr. Wiseman." He tucked the phone into his jacket pocket with exaggerated slowness. "Important message." The audacity of it hit Asher like a slap. In four years of teaching, no intern had ever "Name," Asher said, his voice dropping to the tone that made residents flee. "Jack Harper." Of course. The one with the mediocre recommendations and the note from his previous supervisor about "attitude problems." Asher had nearly cut him from the program. "Mr. Harper, when you're in my orientation, your phone doesn't exist. Your friends don't exist. Your important messages don't exist. The only thing that exists is medicine. If you can't handle that focus, you don't belong here. Clear?" Most interns would have crumbled, apologized, or looked at their shoes. Jack Harper leaned back in his chair and met Asher's eyes with something that looked dangerously close to amusement. "Crystal clear, Dr. Wiseman. I promise I'm fully focused now." His gaze dropped briefly to Asher's chest, then back up. "Completely focused." Was this kid seriously "Good," Asher bit out. "Then you won't mind demonstrating proper intubation technique for the class." "Love to." Jack stood and walked to the front of the room with a loose, confident stride that made Asher's teeth grind. No nervousness. No deference. Just that same cocky half-smile. Fine. Asher would wipe that smile off his face. He spent the next twenty minutes grilling Jack on every detail of the procedure, asking progressively harder questions, searching for any gaps in his knowledge. Except Jack knew the answers. All of them. "Contraindications for rapid sequence intubation?" "Anticipated difficult airway, severe facial trauma, suspected cervical spine injury, should I keep going?" "Cricoid pressure, effective or outdated?" "Controversial. Studies show it doesn't prevent aspiration and might actually make intubation harder. I wouldn't use it." "Why?" "Because evidence-based medicine matters more than tradition." Damn it. The worst part was how Jack delivered each answer, not nervous or trying too hard, but casual, like he was discussing the weather. And that smile never quite disappeared. Asher moved on to the hands-on demonstration, watching Jack's technique closely. Proper positioning, correct blade insertion, smooth tube placement. Flawless. "Adequate," Asher said flatly. "Return to your seat." "Just adequate?" Jack's eyes glinted with challenge. "I thought that was pretty good." "Good would be doing it right while also respecting your instructor. Sit down, Mr. Harper." "Yes, sir." Jack drew out the 'sir' just enough to sound mocking. The rest of the orientation crawled by. Asher taught, demonstrated, corrected errors, but his attention kept snagging on Jack Harper. The intern had put his phone away but still looked amused by everything, occasionally whispering to Zoey, who kept giving him warning looks. When Asher finally dismissed them, everyone filed out quickly, except Jack, who took his time gathering his things. "Mr. Harper," Asher said. "A word." Zoey grabbed Jack's arm. "Don't," she whispered. "Just apologize and let's go." "It's fine, Zo." Jack gently pulled free. "Go ahead. I'll catch up." She left reluctantly, glancing back twice. Asher waited until the door closed. "I don't know what game you think you're playing" "No game, Dr. Wiseman." Jack moved closer, hands in his pockets, completely relaxed. "I was genuinely sorry about the phone. Won't happen again." "See that it doesn't. You might be smart, but intelligence without discipline is worthless. If you want to survive this internship, lose the attitude." "Noted." Jack studied him with unsettling directness. "Anything else?" Yes. Get out of my sight. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me want to.... "We're done. Dismissed." Jack nodded and headed for the door. Just before leaving, he paused and looked back. "By the way, Dr. Wiseman? I think this is going to be an interesting few months." Then he was gone. Asher stood alone in the empty room, his phone buzzing in his pocket. New message from J J: Can't wait for tonight. I'm already thinking about what I'm going to do to you. Asher typed back quickly. Ash: Focus on your day. Tonight will come soon enough. J: Hard to focus when I keep picturing you. Ash: Try. J: You're not helping. Send another pic. Ash: Later. I'm working. J: Fine. But I'm holding you to that. Asher pocketed his phone and started gathering his files, trying to ignore the strange restlessness under his skin. One intern with an attitude problem. One anonymous hookup tonight. Two completely separate parts of his carefully compartmentalized life. Nothing to worry about.