Chapter 6 – Triple Shot Confusion

Beth

The studio smelled like coffee, nerves, and victory.

By the time I glanced at the clock, we were already behind—but barely. Which, for a Friday, counted as a miracle.

Shooting started just after eleven, giving us enough time to wrangle lighting, prep the models, and let Rachel work her lens magic. She was already halfway to iconic mode, barking out commands between sips of iced espresso and scaring the interns into excellence. I loved her for it.

Not to mention the fact that I’d somehow pulled this shoot together in 48 hours—venue booked, product shipped, hair and makeup confirmed—because my best friend happened to be a genius with a camera and a goddess with a clipboard.

I was running on fumes but the set was humming. And we were pulling it off.

“Okay, now tilt the bottle a little—yes! Light from the left,” Rachel called, crouched low behind the camera. “I want that sparkle to scream artisanal hygiene.”

I adjusted a reflector, then gave her a thumbs up. She winked and clicked the shutter.

The models posed. The toothpaste gleamed. The whole campaign—the one I’d nearly lost sleep (and a pair of pantyhose) over—was finally coming together.

And then my phone buzzed on the lighting kit table.

No Caller ID.

I froze for half a second before answering. “Hello?”

“Miss Monroe?” the voice asked, smooth and low.

I pivoted away from the set, heart lurching. “Yes. This is Beth.”

“It’s Dr. Cole. I wanted to call personally to let you know your test results came back completely normal. No abnormal cells this time, and your STD panel was clear across the board.”

I let out a slow breath. “That’s great. Thank you.”

A beat passed.

“And,” he continued, tone softening, “I want to encourage you to come see me—um, to keep up with regular testing. Especially if you’re seeing someone new, even with protection.”

My mouth quirked. “Good advice.”

There was a pause, and then…

“Men find it sexier when—uh—I mean, it’s responsible. Proactive. Just something to keep in mind.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Appreciate the call, Dr. Cole.”

“Anytime, Miss Monroe. Take care.”

Call ended.

I stared at my phone, then exhaled through a grin I couldn’t quite stop. There was no reason a routine health call should make my stomach flutter—but apparently my hormones hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Ten-minute break!” Rachel shouted. “Models, hydrate. Lighting, reset.”

I walked back over, still smiling.

“You’re not going to believe who just called,” I murmured, handing her a bottle of water.

Rachel raised a brow. “If you say Tommy, I’m walking into traffic.”

“Worse. Or better. Dr. Silver Fox. Again. Personally.”

Rachel took a sip of water. “No nurse? No receptionist?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Just him. Saying my results were fine, but then tripped over his own words trying not to say it’s sexy when women are proactive about sexual health.”

Her mouth fell open. “Oh my god. You are slowly turning this man into a puddle.”

“Pretty sure it’s mutual.”

She wagged her water bottle. “Keep it up and he’s going to ask you out in a lab coat.”

“Stop,” I said, laughing.

Before we could spiral further, the last model returned from wardrobe, and the shoot kicked back into gear.

Flash. Shutter. Pose. Adjust.

By the time we wrapped, it felt like we’d conquered a small nation, and in record time.

“That’s a wrap!” Rachel shouted. “Now someone get me a protein bar before I eat a tripod.”

We collapsed into my office, scrolling through raw shots on my laptop. Just as I flagged a contender, a knock interrupted us.

The door opened—and in walked Tommy.

Looking unfairly good in a navy blazer, holding a carrier of coffees like some kind of saint.

“Didn’t know how you took it,” he said, handing me the tray. “So I brought options.”

He kissed my forehead, smiled, and added, “I won’t stay. Just wanted to see your face before I head to the airport.”

Then he was gone.

Rachel stared after him, dazed.

“Okay… but why am I in love with this guy?”

I just laughed.

I didn’t have answers.

Only butterflies.

Rachel shut the door behind Tommy like she was afraid his absence might break the spell.

She turned slowly, holding her coffee like it was a sacred relic.

“So… you were saying something about being torn between a Greek god in scrubs and a man who just brought you four different coffees like you’re his emotional support barista?”

I smiled into my cup. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Rachel dropped onto the couch with a huff. “I still haven’t recovered from his voice the last time he called. That man could probably read me the dictionary and I’d let him rearrange my insides. Which—reminds me—you never told me what happened at your second appointment.”

I blinked. “What?”

She leaned forward, pointing her straw at me like an accusation. “The pap smear redo. Don’t play dumb. You said he called and squeezed you in during his lunch break, and then you never followed up. I’ve been patient. But now that caffeine and photo approval are flowing, I need the rest of the story.”

I opened my mouth, but before I could answer, there was a knock on the door.

An intern peeked in, holding a large brown paper bag like it contained nuclear codes.

“Delivery,” she said, clearly terrified. “Artisan sandwiches. Beth’s order?”

“Perfect timing,” I said, standing to grab the bag. “Thanks, Maddie.”

She handed it off and fled like she thought we were going to ask her to model toothpaste.

Rachel was already pulling drinks and paper-wrapped sandwiches from the bag. “Oh my God, this focaccia smells like it was kneaded by Italian nuns.”

“I told you—only the best for a post-shoot breakdown,” I said, unwrapping mine and taking a grateful bite.

“Okay,” Rachel said, her mouth full. “Spill. From the moment you walked into Mount Silver Fox to the moment you walked out. Every detail.”

I wiped my fingers and sighed. “It was… intense.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up. “Like sexually intense or medically intense?”

“Both,” I muttered.

She clapped. “YES. Continue.”

“So I get there, right? No receptionist. Empty lobby. He’s literally waiting for me. Walks me straight back like this is a goddamn concierge suite.”

Rachel whistles low. “VIP pussy access. I respect it.”

I give her a glare, but I’m smiling. “Anyway, it’s quick. He says he has to swab more thoroughly this time, warns me about potential cramping, and then—this is the part I can’t stop thinking about—he finishes the pap smear and then, I swear to God, he dabs the excess lubricant off me.”

Rachel blinks. “Wait, wait. You mean like… like cleaned you up?”

I hold my sandwich mid-air. “Rachel. He cleaned me like I was the goddamn Mona Lisa and he was preserving art.”

Rachel throws her head back and cackles. “I’m so mad I wasn’t there to witness this.”

“I was already spiraling, trying to stay professional,” I groan, “but then—then—he says he’s gonna do the STD swab, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And he swabs my butt.”

Rachel nearly falls out of her chair. “WHAT?”

“I tensed! Obviously. I wasn’t expecting it! And he said it all calm like, ‘Just relax’—as if that’s a normal Tuesday.”

Rachel is wheezing.

“And then I left like I had my shit together. Thanked him. Walked out. Came back here ready to deep dive into ad strategy.”

Rachel goes to say something but I stop her before words come out, holding up a finger. “But wait, there’s more.”

“Oh my god you’re killing me smalls! What else could there be?”

“After a couple hours of diving head first in preparing the logistics of today’s shoot and having felt oddly comfortable all that time,” I pause for dramatic effect then continue. “I realized I left my pantyhose on the exam table.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Rachel dropped her sandwich and shrieked. “You WHAT?!”

“I forgot! I was flustered, I got dressed in a rush, I thanked him all polite and breezy—and I walked out of there like I hadn’t just left a pair of black pantyhose in his exam room like some kind of hosiery-donating nymph.”

Rachel was crying-laughing now. “Oh my GOD. Did he say anything?”

“No! But all I could think about was my sheer control-top betrayal sitting on that paper-covered exam table.”

Rachel wiped tears from her eyes. “That is the most chaotic, goddess energy thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s mortifying.”

“It’s iconic.”

“It’s going to haunt me until I die.”

Rachel leaned back, sighing dreamily. “That man has now seen your insides and your forgotten underwear. Honestly, if he doesn’t propose by next Thursday, he’s a coward.”

I groaned into my sandwich. “Please never say that sentence out loud again.”

She just smirked. “Dry clean only?”

I threw a pickle at her.