Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
My mind flashed back to him in the hospital scrubs, and my breath quickened.
Cassidy: Are you wearing a white doctor’s coat?
Greg: Yes. Why?
I mustered up the courage to type what I wanted.
Cassidy: I just wanted to picture my fantasy right, Dr. Lowe.
Dots blinked across the screen, then disappeared. It twisted my nerves into a tight coil. Was he trying to find the right way to tell me my fantasy of him as my naughty doctor was wrong?
Greg: Come to the hospital.
“What?” I shrieked, alone in my room where thankfully no one could hear.
Greg: Park in the lot. We’ll go back to my place and you can see the doctor coat in action.
The wave of lust was so strong, it nearly knocked me down. I latched a hand onto the counter to steady myself. As it slowly subsided, I considered the rest of his statement. If I left my car in the hospital parking lot, nosy Judy wouldn’t be able to see that Greg had invited me over.
Cassidy: I’ll be there in 20.
TWENTY-TWO
I RODE THE ENORMOUS HOSPITAL ELEVATOR to the fourth floor and crossed my arms over my chest as I stepped into the chilly hallway. It was hot and humid outside, but in the hospital, it was arctic.
The hallway was lined with windows, and the sun was sinking in the sky, glaring off windshields of cars in the parking lot below. Had Greg even seen the sun today? He’d been on call since four a.m.
It was quiet as I walked along the empty hallway. There was a space to my left with a few rows of chairs, but no one was seated there waiting. I pulled out my phone and stared at the text I’d received from him a few minutes ago.
Greg: Go to the desk and tell the receptionist you’re here to see me.
My heart tripped along at double-speed. The idea of role-playing as a patient of his? God, it turned me on. I was filled with anticipation for later tonight, excited to do this. But I also had anxiety about pretending now with strangers. Not just strangers, but his co-workers. It was dangerous, and maybe a little exciting too.
The desk was basically a wall with a sliding glass window, which was open, and when I approached, the woman seated behind it barely looked up.
“Hi. I’m here for Dr. Lowe,” I said. Could she hear how unsteady my voice was?
If she did, she didn’t seem to think anything of it. “Your name?”
“Cassidy Shepard.”
She plucked a Post-It note off her desk with my name scribbled on it and nodded toward the waiting room chairs. “Have a seat. He’ll be with you shortly.”
I was tight and edgy as I slipped into one of the chairs and ran my sweaty palms along the side seams of my jeans. There was a clock on the far wall, and every loud tick from its second hand reverberated through my body. The wait was both uncomfortable and . . . pleasurable. My mind ran through different fantasies. How far would he let me go in the role play? Could I be the bold, naughty patient I wanted to be for him?
I practically yelped and leapt from the chair when the door swung open and Greg leaned out. “Cassidy? Come on back.”
I didn’t get a full look at him because he stood behind the door, holding it open for me. I shuffled along the carpet, and as soon as I stepped through the door into a new hallway, I was ushered to a room on my left.
There was a nice couch on one side, a coffee table with magazines, and two oversized chairs on the other. It was a nicer waiting room than where I’d just been, but much smaller. Only enough room for six people or so.
This had to be the place where doctors delivered their post-op summary to families. I turned to face him, and all the air whooshed from my lungs.
Greg was essentially wearing a suit. He wore black dress pants, a white collared shirt and a cobalt-colored tie. His suitcoat was fitted and white, and he completed the look with a turquoise stethoscope slung around his neck. My gaze traced the blue lettering over his right breast.
Gregory Lowe, MD
Trauma Surgery
It didn’t matter that he had faint lines around his eyes hinting at his fatigue, or that his normally perfect hair looked disheveled, as if he’d run a hand through it one too many times. It didn’t matter because he looked fucking perfect. My dirty doctor fantasy come to life.
And he gazed back at me like he wanted to eat me whole, which was more than fine with me. He sauntered over, and his confidence seemed to build with each step, widening his wicked smile.
His voice was deep and sinful. “What seems to be the problem?”