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    Personals, Internet Love?
    Personals, Internet Love?
    Personals, Internet Love?
    Ebook221 pages3 hours

    Personals, Internet Love?

    By B.L Wilson

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    About this ebook

    Can a seriously wounded, stubborn police sergeant accept her one-night stand lover as her doctor? Sergeant Lucinda Parker, shot in the line of duty, is seriously wounded. Isabelle Parker, an accomplished surgeon who has treated Lucinda on a prior occasion, and subsequently had an affair with her, is assigned as one of her doctors.
    Will Lucinda listen to the doctor’s orders and follow them? Can she forget the sexual relationship they had earlier to become the compliant, obedient patient? Can Isabelle put her feelings aside to treat the patient who was her glorious short-term affair? How will the sergeant feel when she learns the truth about the doctor’s background?
    Will the two women overcome the huge obstacles placed in their paths together or will they continue to hide their feelings from each other?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherB.L Wilson
    Release dateJun 2, 2017
    ISBN9781370196166
    Personals, Internet Love?
    Author

    B.L Wilson

    B.L. has always been in love with books and the words in them. She never thought she could create something with the words she knew. When she read ‘To Kill A Mocking Bird,’ she realized everyday experiences could be written about in a powerful, memorable way. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge so she kept on reading.Walter Mosley’s short stories about Easy Rawlins and his friends encouraged BL to start writing in earnest. She felt she had a story to tell...maybe several of them. She’d always kept a diary of some sort, scraps of paper, pocketsize, notepads, blank backs of agency forms, or in the margins of books. It was her habit to make these little notes to herself. She thought someday she’d make them into a book.She wrote a workplace memoir based on the people she met during her 20 years as a property manager of city-owned buildings. Writing the memoir, led her to consider writing books that were not job-related. Once again, she did...producing romance novels with African American lesbians as main characters. She wrote the novels because she couldn’t find stories that matched who she wanted to read about ...over forty, African American and female.

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    • 5/5
      I loved the story. Couldn’t put it down….would definitely love a sequel.

    Book preview

    Personals, Internet Love? - B.L Wilson

    CHAPTER ONE: Satchel does his cat thing

    User name: Bettina

    Password: 40LULU

    Headline: Lost in the city. Come and be my guide.

    Profile: I’m a creator of romance who’s lost her way. I’m a lover looking for something else. I’m a dreamer trapped in a world of bottom lines. Help me escape that heartless, ugly world so we can build a new world together.

    I love reading books. My favorites are romance novels with African-American lesbians as main characters. I’ve been known to read how-to textbooks from time to time. I’m a trivia buff and a movie freak too. I love my cable TV—especially old-time comedies such as I Love Lucy or The Honeymooners and sit-coms like: All in the Family, The Jeffersons, Maude, The Golden Girls, Living Single, and Diff’rent Strokes. I’d die if I couldn’t watch my ESPN. I’m a Mets fan in the summer, a Jets fan in the winter, and Knicks in the spring, but Liberty is really my thing.

    I drive a Mini-Cooper. I’m not a smoker and I hope you aren’t either. But the smell of a good cigar is heavenly to me. I’m a social drinker and I hope you are too. A little wine with a great meal is a nice way to celebrate the holidays.

    I don’t believe in sex on the first date, but I do believe in long walks, slow kisses, and gentle, sensuous caresses. Kids and cats seem to like me, so if you have either one, that’s cool. I’m not sure what sets me apart from the crowd—maybe nothing or maybe everything. I believe we can have a great deal of fun finding out when I meet you, special lady.

    Lucinda Parker, known as Lou to friends, stared at her computer screen for twenty minutes, studying what she’d written, until a mottled black and gray something streaked by her chair, drawing her attention. She scratched the back of her cropped afro with a large milk-chocolate hand and frowned. The streaker turned around suddenly, pranced back to Lucinda’s chair to tilt its furry face at her, meowed once, then leaped onto her lap.

    Hey, you big rascal, was I ignoring you too long? she remarked, stroking the soft fur until the cat purred loudly, then nuzzled into her belly. Hey, hey, Satchel. Stop it! That tickles. Get down so I can finish this dating stuff.

    She sighed when the big cat meowed, but he stayed where he was, lounging on her lap. Yeah, I know, but I’m tired of coming home alone. Present company exempted, but I need a human being to talk with, Satch. She held the big cat up to her face with large hands under his belly, then wiggled his body. I mean, you’re cool and everything, but I have to do all the talking in this relationship.

    Satchel meowed loudly, then did something unusual for him. He swatted at her with a large paw, raking a claw across her cheek twice, trying to balance his unstable body.

    Oh, shit! Lucinda cried out. She quickly dumped the cat on the floor to grab her throbbing cheek. Damn it, boy, I wasn’t gonna drop you and you know it.

    Satchel scurried under the kitchen table, then peeked out at her.

    Lucinda marched over to the kitchen sink to run some cold water on her face. She patted her cheek with the towel gingerly, noticing the blood on it for the first time when she rinsed it. You got me good, Satch.

    She pressed the towel into her cheek hard, but the towel came back bloody again. Still holding the towel pressed against her cheek, she strode down the short hallway to the combination dining room and living room to study her reflection in the mirror. When she stepped closer to view the damage, she discovered two bloody, jagged cuts running along her cheekbone, each about three inches long. She wiped at the blood, but it kept coming, soaking the white towel and coloring it pink.

    Christ, my face looks like crap. I can’t go to work looking like this. Thanks a lot for helping me miss two hours of night work, Satch. I’d better find an ER to stitch me up.

    Lucinda sighed at her reflection, then pressed the reddening towel against her cheek again as she walked back to the door. She spotted her keys in the bowl on the end table, grabbed them, stepped outside to lock the door, and walked down the corridor to the elevator, then decided to take the stairs instead.

    Less chance I’ll run into the two biggest gossips in the building—Mrs. Otis and Mrs. Johnson—if I take the stairs, Lucinda muttered, hustling down the six flights of stairs into the fall night.

    She looked up at the bright moon and shook her head, remembering how she and Patricia Henson—Trisha—used to take walks on nights like this. She grinned. Trisha had Robinson, better known as Robbie, the short stubby bulldog, and she had Satchel. Normally, she wasn’t attracted to dog people, but something about Trisha and her cute dog made her curious. She’d made a vow that the next time she spotted the brown-skinned woman with the short dreads and the even shorter dog, she’d figure out something to say.

    Throbbing pain in her cheek brought her mind back to where it should be. She found her car right where she’d parked two blocks away, across the street from her apartment building. She slid into the driver’s seat of the Mini-Cooper and couldn’t help smiling again. She was a tall, solid woman—broad in the shoulders and hips but narrower in the waist. With her plus size, she’d never be Naomi Campbell or Tyra Banks, but she fit into the little car with room to spare. The roominess of the small car always amazed her when she slid into it.

    Living on 147th Street near the Hudson River meant she had a choice of several emergency rooms tonight. If she went to MLK Hospital, she might bump into some of the officers from her precinct bringing a suspect there. That might not be a good choice. The less explaining she had to do about the injury to her face, the better she liked it. Presbyterian was on 168th Street; nice hospital. She’d been there to visit a couple of officers when she worked at the Three-O precinct. The hospital she drove her mother to for a second opinion about the lump in her breast was the Allen Pavilion at 220th Street.

    Decisions, decisions, she muttered, automatically heading to MLK Hospital. She was so used to going to work at this time of night that she didn’t give her choice another thought. She just drove.

    CHAPTER TWO: Little duckies and fainting needles

    Lucinda watched the triage nurse call several patients who came in after her. She glanced at her watch again and sighed as she looked around. There was a room full of patients all waiting to see some doctor. She hoped he wasn’t the same person she had to see. She’d called the shift commander and told him she was running two hours late. He’d told her to take the night when he heard hospital noises in the background, but she’d refused, assuring him she’d be in the house in two hours with a couple of patches on her face if it killed her. They argued, and he finally convinced her to take the night off. She picked up a paper from the seat in front of her and started to read it until she fell asleep, shifting her body to find a comfortable spot on the too small and too hard plastic seat.

    Hey, Miss … uh… The nurse looked down at her clipboard, then fingered down a list of names. She stood over Lucinda as she slept and kept tapping her shoulder until she opened her eyes. Since you’re the only woman left in the room, you must be Lucinda Parker. I called your name five times, Ms. Parker. I was about to check the area outside to see if you were smoking before I gave up. The plastic surgeon is waiting to see you. Follow that yellow line through those doors. It’s the third room, er, cubicle on your left. The nurse frowned when Lucinda didn’t move fast enough to suit her. Better get a move on, Ms. Parker. The doctor doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

    Lucinda glared at the nurse silently and then rose, quickly towering over her. It’s all right if patients like me wait for him until doomsday, but he’s too important to wait for me, right?

    The nurse cleared her throat. The surgeon is a busy doctor, Ms. Parker. If I was you, I’d hustle back there before the doctor gets called away on another emergency.

    Lucinda frowned at the nurse and covered a yawn. But you’re not me, Nurse. I don’t see why you or the first doctor I saw couldn’t just put a couple of Band-Aids on my face and let me go home.

    The gray-haired nurse sighed loudly. If I could do that, you would have been out of here several hours ago. The resident on call wanted our plastic surgeon to see you first before we did that. He’s afraid of scarring, so he asked for a consult. The nurse smiled at Lucinda, then winked. Come on, Ms. Parker, go see the doctor. You’re here anyway, so-o-o…

    Somebody in a lab coat interrupted the nurse’s last statement to tap her on the shoulder. Where the devil is my patient? I’ve been waiting for the last fifteen minutes. Did they leave or what, Gladys?

    Lucinda’s eyes narrowed and then she crossed her arms over a stubborn chest as she eyed the female doctor coldly. No, lady, I didn’t go anywhere. I’m right here standing in front of you. You kept me waiting for over two hours. The way I figure it, fifteen minutes is nothing.

    The doctor’s hazel eyes slid up Lucinda’s tall frame and settled on hard dark eyes before she turned to stride back where she came from. It’d been a long night. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with a new patient. Follow me, Miss Whatever-your-name-is, she muttered over a shoulder.

    In six long strides, Lucinda marched through the double doors and caught up with the shorter woman. Parker. The name is L. Parker. If you’d looked at your charts, you’d know that, Lady!

    The doctor spun around before she reached the third cubicle. Angry hazel eyes confronted Lucinda. My name is ‘Doctor’ so stop calling me ‘Lady,’ okay?

    Lucinda sighed. She didn’t want an argument with a doctor who’d be treating her tonight. She deliberately relaxed her body. Hey? This is the first time I ever met a doctor named Doctor. It’s probably good you’re named after your profession. I bet a name like that would be problematic if you decided to be a teacher or something else.

    The doctor studied Lucinda’s face before sighing loudly. I hope you’re not making fun of me, Ms. L. Parker.

    Why is that?

    I’m tired. I had a long day. A patient who will remain nameless kept me waiting when I could have been reviewing patient charts.

    Lucinda frowned. Humph, I didn’t keep you waiting as long as you kept me waiting, Dr. Doctor.

    The doctor threw her hands up in frustration, then parted the curtains and held them open for her new patient. Could you please just get in here? Sit down on the table so I can look at your cheek.

    Lucinda grinned, then winked. Sure, Dr. Doctor, I don’t see why not.

    Christ! My name isn’t Dr. Doctor. It’s Parker, the same as yours.

    Lucinda’s eyes widened and then she chuckled. That can’t be. Either you’re lying or you’ve got a terrible sense of humor.

    I never lie. And laughter is the last thing I need tonight, Dr. Isabelle Parker remarked sharply as she snapped on latex gloves and came over to the table. Okay, let’s see the damage. She tugged gently on the gauze and tape covering the two long gashes. She moved closer until she nearly leaned into Lucinda’s chest to examine the cuts. This may sting a bit, but I imagine a strong woman like you can take it without complaining. She frowned at the damage to her patient’s cheek. Hmm, you’ll some need stitches to close this.

    She probed the area around the jagged cuts, pressing the edges together and then cleaning away the blood to see them better. Hmm, ragged edges, uneven; they’ll be hard to close neatly. Probably leave scars unless we do a little surgery on you. What were you doing to get these? Somebody had sharp nails.

    Tears of pain dripped from Lucinda’s eyes and joined the blood droplets down the front of her shirt. She caught the doctor’s eye, then wiggled an eyebrow as she wiped her face, smearing blood across her healthy cheek. Nothing happened to me tonight, if that’s what you’re implying, Doc. The cuts are from my cat.

    Hey, hey, keep your hands away from those cuts, please. They may not be clean. Isabelle grabbed several tissues and dabbed at Lucinda tears. She threw the tissues away and opened some sterile wipes. This is going to hurt, Ms. Parker. But I need to clean these cuts before I replace the bandages. Do you form keloids?

    I don’t know. What are they?

    When you get cut, how do you heal? Do you form adhesions?

    I’ve never been cut. I’ve been shot a few times but not cut.

    Isabelle frowned as she wiped away the drizzle of blood on Lucinda’s cheek. What do you do for a living, Ms. Parker?

    Lucinda exhaled. I’m a cop, a sergeant at the Three-Two.

    Isabelle nodded as she taped a replacement bandage across Lucinda’s cheek. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see where you’ve been shot.

    Why?

    It will tell me how your skin heals.

    I have a scar on my left shoulder and one along my right thigh. Which one do you want to see?

    I’d like to see both places, if you don’t mind.

    Normally, I’d ask a woman’s first name before I disrobed in front of her, Doc. But tonight, for you, I’ll make an exception. Lucinda pretended a casualness she didn’t feel as she opened her blouse with nervous fingers, then allowed the doctor to probe and press the scar on her right shoulder.

    Aw, gee thanks, Sarge. I feel so honored. Any tenderness when I touch it? Dr. Isabelle Parker remarked, a touch sharper than she meant.

    No. I’m officially healed. I have been for years. You ought to feel honored. I don’t strip for just any woman, Doc, Lucinda remarked as she re-buttoned her shirt, then slid off the table to unbuckle her belt. She turned away from the doctor to unzip her pants, praying she’d worn boxers that would provide her some sense of dignity. Oh, no, she groaned suddenly. She just remembered slipping into those damned cotton briefs—the high-cut white ones with the little yellow ducks on them—this morning. She turned her head slightly to see the doctor’s reaction and saw the tiniest hint of a smile ready to break out on her face. I know. Ducks are for kids, but I didn’t think I’d be showing my ass to anybody tonight.

    Isabelle couldn’t resist a small grin as she stared the cute yellow ducks that appeared to be moving across her new patient’s rear end. The smile turned into a chuckle and finally full-fledged, gut-hugging laughter. Her hands itched to trace a path across the woman’s firm backside, but instead, she knelt down to examine Lucinda’s right thigh, noting no raised areas in the scar tissue. She probed the old scar. Do you feel any soreness when I touch it?

    Lucinda decided to focus on something else to ignore the doctor’s gentle touch. She pretended to pout. No, nothing hurts. Quit laughing, Doc. My ducks aren’t that funny.

    If you’d had the day I did, you’d need a little comic relief too, Ms. Parker. What does the L stand for? Isabelle asked as she straightened up and slipped a hand in the pocket of her white coat, searching for a pen.

    Lucinda studied the doctor for a moment. Tell me your first name and I’ll tell you mine.

    Isabelle wrote something down on the clipboard she carried and then peered over it to catch Lucinda’s eye. Humph, you’re my patient. You don’t need to know what my first name is, Sergeant. I, on the other hand, need to know everything I can about a new patient.

    Aw, come on, Doc. I made you laugh tonight. Isn’t that worth a first name?

    I’ve finished the examination. You can pull up your pants, Ms. Parker.

    Lucinda bent

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