The fluorescent lights of the clinic waiting room buzz with the same nervous energy that's been crackling between Summer and me all morning. My leg won't stop bouncing, a steady rhythm against the cheap linoleum floor that matches my racing heartbeat.
Summer, on the other hand, is the picture of serenity. She sits beside me, flipping through a tattered copy of People magazine like we're waiting for a routine checkup instead of STI test results that will determine if I can bring myself to touch my estranged wife again.
"Relax," she whispers, not looking up from an article about some celebrity's beach vacation. Her knee nudges mine playfully. "You're making everyone nervous."
I glance around the half-empty waiting room. An elderly couple sits huddled together near the window. A young mom bounces a fussy baby on her lap. No one is paying us any attention, but I still feel exposed, like everyone knows exactly why we're here.
The past twenty-four hours replay in my mind like a fever dream, Summer appearing at my door, broken and desperate, now transformed into this confident woman beside me who insisted on peeing into a cup while I watched. "So you know it's really mine," she'd said with a wink that made the nurse raise her eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
I'd stood there, awkwardly averting my eyes while still technically watching, wondering what my life had become. The memory makes heat creep up my neck.
"Adams?" A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand.
Summer springs up like she's been waiting for this moment her entire life, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me toward the consultation room. Her palm is cool against mine, her grip firm and unyielding.
The doctor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, looks up from her computer as we enter. "Mrs. Adams," she says with a professional smile. "We have your results."
Summer squeezes my hand so hard I wince. Despite her outward confidence, I can feel the tension radiating through her body, a live wire ready to spark.
The doctor hands Summer a sealed envelope. "Everything's in there. Would you like me to go through it with you?"
"No need," Summer answers quickly, already tearing into the envelope with the ferocity of a child on Christmas morning.
I watch her face as she scans the papers, her expression shifting from concentration to triumph in the span of heartbeats. The smile that spreads across her face is nothing short of victorious.
"Read 'em and weep, sucker!" She slams the papers down on the doctor's desk with such force that a framed medical degree rattles against the wall.
I take the papers with steady hands, surprising myself with my own composure. The doctor looks uncomfortable, glancing between us like she's watching a particularly awkward tennis match. My eyes scan each line methodically, checking every result twice, then a third time to be absolutely certain.
Negative. Negative. Negative. All down the line.
My shoulders relax slightly as I process what I'm seeing. After everything she's been through, at least she didn't contract anything. It's a small mercy in this whole mess.
"See?" Summer's voice cuts through my concentration, loud and triumphant. "I told you I was clean! So now we can fuck, right?"
The doctor's pen clatters to the floor. I feel heat rush to my face again as Summer's words echo in the small office, probably carrying straight through the thin walls into the waiting room. The elderly couple, the young mother with her baby, everyone probably heard her crystal clear announcement.
"Jesus, Summer," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Could you maybe keep it down?"
She leans forward, eyes gleaming with something between desperation and desire. "Why? Are you embarrassed by me, Scotty?" Her voice hasn't dropped a decibel. "Don't you want everyone to know you're taking your wife home to bed?"
The doctor clears her throat loudly. "I should give you two some privacy," she says, already halfway out of her chair.
"No, that's okay," I say quickly, folding the papers and tucking them into my jacket pocket. "We're leaving. Thank you for your time."
I grab Summer's hand and practically drag her from the office, muttering apologies to the staff as we pass. She follows willingly, skipping every few steps like a child who's just been promised ice cream.
"You're mad," she says once we reach the parking lot, but she doesn't sound particularly concerned about it. There's almost a playfulness to her observation.
"I'm not mad." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. "I just wish you'd consider how things sound before you blurt them out."
Summer presses herself against me, right there in the middle of the clinic parking lot, her body flush against mine in a way that makes my pulse jump despite everything. "But you will take me to bed now, won't you?" she whispers, her breath warm against my ear. "I proved I'm clean. I kept my part of the deal."
I gently disentangle myself from her embrace, creating a small space between us. "Let's just go home, okay? We can talk about it there."
Her face falls for a split second before that manic smile returns. "Sure," she agrees too easily. "Home first. Then fucking."
We're barely out of the clinic parking lot when Summer's hand slides onto my thigh. I try to ignore it, focusing on the red light ahead, but then her fingers travel higher, brushing against my zipper with unmistakable intent.
"Jesus, Summer," I hiss, knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as her hand cups me through my jeans. "What are you doing?"
"Celebrating," she purrs, her voice low and husky. The light turns green, and I accelerate perhaps a bit too quickly. "I told you I was clean, and now I'm proving how good I can be for you."
Her fingers work at my zipper, and despite my better judgment, my body responds. A year without sex hasn't exactly left me immune to touch.
"I can take care of this right now if you want," she whispers, leaning closer. Her breath tickles my ear as her hand slips beneath my waistband. "I've learned some new tricks that would blow your mind."
"Stop," I say firmly, grabbing her wrist before she can go further. "I need to focus on driving safely right now, alright?"
For a moment, her eyes flash with something dangerous before she withdraws her hand, settling back into her seat with a theatrical sigh.
"Fine," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "But you're missing out."
I exhale slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. The tension between us fills the car like smoke, making it hard to breathe. I roll down my window a crack, letting in the cool autumn air.
The silence between us is suffocating as I pull into our apartment complex parking lot. Summer's eyes follow my every movement as I shift into park and kill the engine.
"Look," I sigh, turning to face her directly. "I don't want to have sex today. I thought I made that clear earlier."
Her face falls, that manic smile dissolving into something raw and vulnerable. For a moment, she just stares at me, processing my rejection. Then her eyes narrow slightly, her head tilting as if examining me from a new angle.
"Scott," she says, her voice suddenly soft, almost wounded. "While I was gone... did you sleep with anyone else?"
The question blindsides me. Of all the things I expected her to say, this wasn't one of them. I feel my jaw tighten, a defensive anger rising in my chest.
"No," I answer coldly, the single syllable hanging between us like ice.
Summer's expression softens, her hand reaching out to rest on my forearm. Her touch is light, tentative, as if she's afraid I might shatter under her fingers.
"That was over a year ago, Scott," she whispers, her thumb tracing small circles against my skin. "Don't you think you deserve to be taken care of? To feel good again?"
There's something in her eyes I can't quite read, desperation, yes, but something else too. Like she needs this as much as she thinks I do, maybe more.
"I don't think that's the issue," I say, running my hand through my hair. "It's not about 'deserving' anything."
She leans closer, her perfume, something new, something I don't recognize, filling the space between us. "Then what is it about?"
The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Right now, you and I are strangers."
Summer recoils like I've slapped her, her eyes widening in shock. For a second, I think she might scream or lash out, but instead, her face crumples, vulnerability replacing the calculated seduction.
"But that's exactly why we need this," she whispers, tears welling in her eyes. "Physical connection will bring us back together. It always did before."
A tear slides down her cheek, leaving a glistening trail I have to fight the urge to wipe away. There's something so painfully earnest in her expression that I almost cave.
"Sex won't fix what's broken between us," I say, my voice gentler than I intended. "It would just complicate things."
I've barely finished my sentence when I find myself reaching for the door handle. Something about the raw desperation in her eyes makes me want to get out of this claustrophobic car, to breathe air that isn't thick with her perfume and expectation.
The cool autumn breeze hits my face as I step outside, grounding me momentarily. I hear Summer's door open and close behind me as I head toward our apartment building. Her footsteps follow, quick and determined, but I don't slow down or look back.
My key slides into the lock with familiar ease. I push the door open, stepping into the apartment that feels both like home and a stranger's space all at once.