"Dr. Feingold, thanks for coming so late on a Saturday. Is he really ok?"I asked. She looked at me strangely for a moment before grasping mymeaning."Y...s, Joan, is it? As I said, I've reviewed all of Sam's records and"he" seems to be doing fine. And, by that I mean the babies are doingfine as well." I could tell she felt uncomfortable referring to thefetuses as babies, but it set my mind at ease. "Sam, before you eventhink about playing baseball again, you're going to have to be checked byme.. He watched her closely, and she watched him. Even when the bartender put her drink in front of her on her coaster Amy didn't break eye contact. She didn't want to be the first one to. She wanted to be the one in control; the one with the power. Eventually the man turned away to order his drink. "Vodka. No ice." His voice wasn't deep, like Amy expected it to be. It wasn't rough and husky, matching his animalistic gaze and broad physique. It was soft. It was effortless to listen to. She wanted to. More

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