Help, My Gynecologist Is Obsessed With Me

I had to go see a gynecologist. My period was late again.

I booked a specialist whose name sounded very feminine, Jessie Lloyd.

Jessie seemed pretty popular. I was number 35.

On the day of the appointment, I sat in the waiting area, scrolling my phone screen now and then, occasionally glancing up to check the queue.

Then, I noticed something strange.

Why did every woman coming out of the consultation room look so radiant, no matter her age?

Jessie had to be insanely good. That was what I thought.

At 11:00 pm, it was finally my turn. I put my phone into my bag and walked toward Consultation Room 301.

As I pushed the door open, my eyes locked onto Jessie, who was clad in a crisp white coat.

I swallowed hard and instantly wanted to shut the door and say, "Sorry to disturb you."

Holy hell!

He was a man!

Dr. Jessie Lloyd was a man. And not just any man. A ridiculously handsome one.

He wore glasses and was somehow even better looking than my brother, Morgan Austin.

I was done for.

Bare-faced aside, I could literally feel myself dying inside, knowing I had to tell this stunning man that I was 30 years old and still a lifelong single virgin.

I froze at the doorway. My cold hand was still resting on the doorknob. My heart sank.

Seeing that I was not moving, Jessie frowned and broke the silence with that unfairly perfect face. "Ms. Molly Austin?"

"Yes, that's me."

My soul had basically left my body.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"I am."

I wanted to hop on the first train out of town and disappear forever, but I couldn't bear to waste the money I'd paid for the registration fee.

Curse my empty wallet!

With legs that felt like they were filled with cement, I moved under his gaze and slowly sat down.

Maybe I was moving too slowly, because Jessie raised a brow and asked, "Is your leg injured? This is gynecology, though."

I was confused for a second.

This doctor even joked.

I laughed awkwardly, my face burning. "No, Dr. Lloyd. My period is irregular. It's been over ten days late."

Under his stare, my heart nearly exploded.

I knew what he was about to ask, so I rushed to confess. "Uh, Dr. Lloyd, I'm not married. I don't have a boyfriend. I haven't had intimacy recently. And I'm not on birth control."

Jessie looked at me, his eyes deep and unreadable. "You seem quite familiar with the process."

I hoped someone could bury me right then and there.

His hands were beautiful. He adjusted his glasses with one finger.

Without looking up, he continued typing. He didn't notice my starstruck expression. "In that case, let's start with hormone tests and an ultrasound."

Jessie glanced at the screen and saw my age—30.

Just as he was about to print the form, I remembered something. The type of ultrasound depended on that kind of history.

My brain short-circuited. I was cringing so hard I could have crawled into a hole. "D-Dr. Lloyd, I've actually never had any... experience either."

Jessie smiled faintly. He switched the exam from transvaginal to abdominal, then looked up at me. "So, you're a lifelong single?"

Being a virgin meant I was a lifelong single?

I was impressed by his reasoning.

But unfortunately, he was right.