Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
GoodWithHisHands: You obviously like to take the lead, and while that’s hot, there’s only one problem. I like to do the same. We’d spend the whole time fighting over control.
TheDoctorIsIn: Could be fun… I’m vers, though I mostly top and have a habit of topping from the bottom too.
GoodWithHisHands: I think you’re me.
TheDoctorIsIn: LOL. I want you… I like you, even though I don’t know you.
GoodWithHisHands: I want you too…and like you as well.
But as much as I did, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet him. This…whatever this conversation between us was, I enjoyed it more than I should. What if I met him and hated him? What if the connection didn’t translate? What if the doctor was a disappointment in the real world?
TheDoctorIsIn: Can I admit something? I’m not sure if we should meet.
GoodWithHisHands: I was just thinking I feel the same.
TheDoctorIsIn: The chats are too much fun. There has to be something wrong with you, and if we meet, I’ll discover what it is, and it will ruin everything.
GoodWithHisHands: I think you mean there must be something wrong with you. Maybe we’ve already passed each other in the hallways…or been in an elevator together.
But we were on opposite sides of the building.
TheDoctorIsIn: If that were the case, you’d probably have jumped me on sight. I’m basically irresistible.
I couldn’t help laughing again. While he was cocky, somehow it didn’t feel completely authentic, like he was playing a role he thought he should.
GoodWithHisHands: I would have tried to refrain, but it would’ve been a two-way street. I have a great ass. It would’ve been your downfall.
Was he smiling? Laughing? What did he look like? Why in the fuck did it matter? He had me acting all kinds of crazy.
TheDoctorIsIn: I have no doubt it would have.
We dropped that subject after that, only talking for a few more minutes about dinner plans and things like that before signing off.
I spent the rest of the night wondering what my mystery doctor was doing and if he was thinking of me.
3
Hutch
“You look exhausted, dear. Are you sure you’re okay?” Mom reached over and touched Maddy’s cheek, then her forehead, before my sister jerked back.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You have circles under your eyes. Are you doing eye treatments? I don’t think that’s what it is. You just look tired. You’re not trying to do too much, are you?”
“Maddy’s an adult. She can take care of herself. If she says she’s fine, she’s fine,” I said, caught between wanting to stick up for her and knowing that in some ways, I was doing what I got frustrated with my parents about. Madison was an adult, which meant she could also defend herself. I knew how hard it was with my parents, though. Hell, I came to her defense but rarely put up one for myself.
“I know that, Grant. I’m just worried about her. Am I not supposed to worry about my daughter? You don’t know what it’s like to be a parent. All we do is fret over our kids.” They fretted over her, not me. I understood why, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Still, she was right in that I didn’t know what it was like to see my own child suffer.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Mom. It’s okay to worry, but Maddy is doing great.” I walked over to their home bar and poured myself a bourbon. Nothing drove me to drink quite like being around my family.
Despite living in the same city, we didn’t get together often. We used to do it more, and they met up with Maddy more than with me, but I just…made excuses, told myself I was too busy, tried to prove myself to them with what I accomplished at the hospital.
When sounds came from the front door, I tensed slightly. I didn’t know why I had that kind of reaction to my own dad. It wasn’t as if he’d ever done anything to me, but I always felt smaller in his presence, something that, at my age, I should be over.
He came into the living room, his suit perfect as always. I’d always been told I looked exactly like my dad—same height, same brown hair and eyes, only his were darker.
He passed by the piano I used to take lessons on as a child and walked straight to where Mom sat on the couch, bent, and kissed her cheek. “Hey, beautiful.” If there was one thing I’d always respected about my dad, it was how good he was to Mom—well, how good they both were to each other. I had no doubt they were just as in love now as when they’d married. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. He was the kind of man who would bring her flowers for no reason or would be the one to go to the store if we needed something and it was late at night.