Ignite Me, Ice Captain

A Hard No In Heels

From her office, Avery went upstairs to her apartment to change into something that would scream her rejection to Denzel Rogers using the exact words she wanted to send across:

No, no, no, and no! You and I are from different pods. I have nothing to do with you.

She pulled out a pair of cute hotpants from a crazy shopping spree with her girlfriends—meant strictly for the club. They paired perfectly with a sheer top that subtly hinted at everything beneath. She slipped earrings into her second piercings, gathered her hair into a voluminous fountainous updo, carefully touched up her face and splashed herself with a good amount of perfume.

She’d kept her guest from Medford waiting for about half an hour, and was he pissed about the delay? Damn right. He’d called five times while she took her time. Each time, she’d sweetly told him she wanted to come down looking her best. At first, he’d sounded pleased, but by the fifth call, he’d figured out she was messing with him. The strain in his tone, as he tried to hold onto his polite condescension, nearly cracked her up.

When she was finally ready, she texted him the instructions to meet her at the back gate, knowing full well it would bruise his inflated ego even more.

Dressed as she was, her foremost priority was avoiding people. She doubted her staff and patients would recognize her in this outfit, but the risk of running into anyone was still too high.

She slipped out of her apartment using the exclusive staircase and made a beeline for the back gate. Without a second thought, she jumped into the midnight blue SUV waiting there, not even bothering to check if it was Denzel’s ride. It didn’t matter. She was already committed to this farce.

“Honey, what took you so long to come down when you said you were ready?” His voice was cultured, smooth, playing with seduction, but his thumbs tapping the steering wheel gave his impatience away. He’d even forgotten to deepen his voice in his irritated state.

She took her first good look at him. He was exactly what she imagined: severe and distinguished, a must avoid for the sanity of her eggs. With a receding hairline at the onset of premature baldness, he was climbing higher on her rejectable scale. His face was long and horse-like, with a prominent nose, thin lips, and protruding eyes that looked sharp and intelligent behind round-framed glasses.

“Sorry I’m late. You know this date was just pulled over my head without adequate room to be ready for it. There were a number of things I still had to close before leaving. You know how it is in hospitals—everything carries a life-or-death urgency, and as rotten luck may have it, today turned out to be one of our busiest. ” She offered a smirked smile disguised as an apology.

“Avery, is that your usual attire as you work?” He gasped, having now taken in her appearance.

“Oh this? Come now, I’m a professional at work. I wouldn’t want to give my patients the wrong idea that they’ve walked into a strip club instead of a hospital.” She giggled, high-pitched, the sound geeks hated to hear. Tilting the rearview mirror, she pulled out her lipstick, adding another layer of burnt orange on her lips. Oh, she looked class-out stunning call girl. She gave her lips a little pout and smacked it for added effect before putting the lipstick back into her purse. “Off the clock, away from the hospital — especially on a date — I don’t mind being a bit more me.”

Denzel Rogers was short for words. Quietly, he started the car and moved it forward. She smirked inwardly, hopeful she’d shattered any illusion of him finding his perfect bride in her.

Apparently not. The man was thick-skinned and egotistical enough to believe she was as good as him. In his dictionary, being “his” meant he could tell her what to do, which began with endless complaints about her fashion sense—an issue he said her mum had raised as a negative about her, and he intended to see it was corrected before she was his wife—and a suggestion on how much time he thought was ideal for her hobby—that is, her work. He even suggested, in his tone that bordered on commanding, that she might want to consider doing something more worthwhile with her life, just as her mum had insinuated several times.

“Dr. Rogers...” Avery set down her fork, deciding she’d had enough of both the salad and the conversation, when it shifted to the topic of how many children he expected them to have and when, and what kind of mother and wife he visialised would make an ideal homemaker. “First, let me this get this clarification because it’s been bugging me all night: are you a medical doctor besides holding a PhD? Because that’s the only way to use your title and stating your credentials makes sense without appearing to show useless pride.”

His jaw clenched, the irritation evident in his eyes. “You know I hold both degrees.”

“No, I don’t. I had no clue you existed until you appeared in front of me,” she stated matter-of-factly.

He straightened in his chair, his posture rigid. “I’ve appeared on BMC’s podcast series so many times, you could say I practically host them. As a medical professional, surely, you’ve come across one of my series?”

Her mind clicked into place. So that was why he was expecting to be worshipped like a god, her celebrity idol brought to life.

“I do watch the program...”

No, she didn’t. She preferred do her own research rather than rely on someone else’s interpretation.

“...When I can. I’m sorry, I’m not in the habit of drooling over TV hosts or their invited guests. I barely even notice how they look like. It’s the information I care about, not the faces.”

“Understandable,” he muttered, though his voice carried a hint of disappointment. “I’m sure now you’ll watch the podcast series with a different perspective going forward, especially the ones that features me, knowing the guy on-screen is your man.”

She snorted and quickly passed it off because of the reproachful look he sent her way.

“I also happen to have a PhD in Anatomy. I earned it while specializing to become a neurosurgeon at Oxford, England. I also...”

“Dr. Rogers—”

“Ah yes, let me not bore you with my résumé when it’s all readily available on the internet. You can catch up on all the details later. Let’s focus now on our future, and the sons we hope to have soon, shall we? As I was saying, we’d name them after the great names in our field as a nod to them—Hippocrates, Galen, Avicenna, Pasteur, and Koch.”

“Make that six children, Dr. Rogers,” she replied coolly. “My first is already on the way. Got the confirmation just this morning, and I’m extremely excited. I know this isn’t what you have in mind when you were considering me as a partner, but can you please try and be happy for me? I’m hoping for a girl, so find a nice, feminine name for her.”

The fork slipped out of the poor man’s hand with a loud clatter that turned some heads to them from the surrounding tables. His face turned pale as the blood drained from his face, his eyes wide in shock.

“Did I hear you say you’re pregnant?” He was barely whispering.

She gently rubbed her belly, watching his reaction. “It was an accident, but I’ve come to love it all the same.” She met his gaze, noticing the shock still written on his face. “What? You didn’t think I was a virgin, did you?”

The tight clench of his jaw was all the answer she needed.

“Oh,” she added with a small, almost gleeful smile, “I thought my mum told you everything about me, but she must’ve left out my wild side to save my dignity. Unfortunately, this little one came along. Don’t take it out on my mum for not mentioning it. She doesn’t know about the baby yet. I just got the confirmation today, as I said.”

“I thought your fashion choices today were just a streak of rebellion. Is this really who you are, Avery?” he sneered with disgust.

“I’m unapologetically myself. I’m sorry that bothers you — but I’m not here to camouflage who I am just to fit your fantasy. This is me. I go to nightclubs. And when the mood hits, I’ve been known to bend over a toilet bowl in a club washroom and let a handsome stranger give it to me like I want it. I’m into the big ones — the strong, muscular types — not the pale, lanky, half-alive ones good girls think are romantic. And let’s get this straight: I’m not the homemaker you see in me. My dream about my future doesn’t include putting my career on hold to... how did you express it... Ah yes, to devote myself to making my husband and beautiful sons happy and well-cared for at home. So here I am, one more time. Take me as I am, or don’t take me at all.”

“I can’t believe I nearly got myself into this mess. Your mother needs to hear about this. Excuse me.” He shot to his feet, slapped a few notes from his wallet onto the table, and stormed off.

When your partner leaves in such a theatrical fashion in the middle of a diner, it naturally draws attention. But she determined she didn’t mind. She wasn’t in any rush to leave. In his haste, Rogers had left more than enough cash on the table for their food. She glanced through the menu, selected a grilled flank steak, lean, flavorful, and served with chimichurri sauce, and washed it down with a glass of white wine that went smoothly with it. There was even a generous tip left to take care of the waiter.

She hurled a taxi from the restaurant home when she was done eating.