Chapter Three #2
Looking away from her officious glare, I contemplate my answer.
Am I going to continue to follow patients?
I have no doubt. The rush that comes with watching them is unmatched.
I have been living too carefully, too rigidly for too long, and this is the only thing that brings some semblance of excitement to my life.
I can’t give it up now just because I’ve taken a few hits to the nose.
The ringing of my phone interrupts us.
Lottie calling.
“I need to take this.”
Does that count as a lie?
“We’re not done here, Dr. Adams,” Mia huffs, her lips pouting. Even when she’s irritated, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I swipe to answer my phone, stepping out of Mia’s orbit.
“Lottie, everything okay?”
We’ve been friends for a long time, but we don’t often call each other.
She’s the calmest of our group of friends, undoubtedly the most accomplished and that’s on her own merit, despite the value her family name brings to the table.
She could have had a life of leisure if she chose to, her family status and funds would have allowed it.
Instead, she earned her PhD in psychology alongside me and our friends.
The group of friends we made in our first year of university have a standing dinner reservation at Lottie’s house once a month.
Although we call it Dinner Club, it mostly involves us drinking far too much, Lottie passing out, Caleb winding everyone up until Katie and Jonesy, who basically hate each other, end up in a near fist-fight.
It’s my favorite part of the month, at least before I started my extracurricular activities.
“Alfie, I saw the news. Are you okay?” Her voice is high-pitched with worry.
“The news? What do you mean?” I glance at Mia, who is frowning but pulls out her phone.
“You got beat up by some man in an alleyway, and your girlfriend had to save you. We didn’t even know you had a girlfriend.”
“Are you calling because you’re more concerned about me getting punched or are you annoyed that I didn’t tell you I was seeing someone?”
She pauses for a moment before muttering, “It is kind of big news for you to have a girlfriend.”
“But not for me to get punched?” I spar back, knowing I’m only delaying the inevitable bullshit story I’m going to have to say. I don’t like liars, I remind myself.
“Alfie, please. Is your face okay? Is your girlfriend taking good care of you and playing nurse?” Christ, not an image that I need of Mia.
I already have trouble focusing when she wears those shoes she loves and the pencil skirts and silky blouses, but a sexy nurse uniform whilst she leans over to take my temperature? I’d be a dead man.
I shake the image as Mia holds out her phone for me to observe multiple headlines that come up on her quick search.
Dr. Angel Saves Woman From Flasher.
Dr. Angel and Secret Girlfriend Fight Crime.
Dr. Angel has a Secret Lover Who Tackles Criminals.
Technically, I’m the one who tackled him.
Thankfully, there is no mention of the wedgie incident or the fact that Mia works for me—oh, no, wait, here it is.
Fuck my life. Everyone is going to know.
Everyone is going to think that I manipulated her into bed and took advantage of her.
She’s a goddamn grad student, and I couldn’t just correct the police officer by saying, no officer, she’s not my girlfriend; she’s my employee.
But of course, the most primal part of me had to stake my claim because I didn’t want him to keep looking at her like he would happily let her wedgie him if she requested it.
No, I had to let him assume we were together to prevent him awkwardly asking her out after she had just experienced something traumatic.
She was shaken up. She was crying. Although it turned out that was just pretend.
I glance back to Mia, whose bottom lip is caught between her teeth. She’s concerned with how I’m going to react because I’m a grumpy, self-serving asshole that has been unbelievably mean, and I deserve to stub my toe every day for the rest of my life.
“Lottie, please keep this to yourself. Miss Sinclair and I are not dating. The police officer made an assumption, and I didn’t correct him.”
“An assumption, eh?” She laughs smugly.
“Yes, an assumption. Please keep that information to yourself until I speak with her. We need to formulate a plan to maneuver this. There are multiple things at play.”
“Dinner Club next Saturday. Be there or I will drag your ass out.”
“Understood. Bye, Lottie.”
I pocket my phone and turn back to Mia, whose eyes are glassy. All playfulness gone.
“Are you going to fire me?”
“What?”
Her lower lip wobbles. “Are you going to fire me? Because I did call you an asshole and a dickhead, and that you wouldn’t know what to do if the stick got removed from your ass—”
“You have literally never said any of those things to me.”
“And I called you Daddy. I mean, you are really authoritative, caring, considerate, all the things a dad should be, but I mean, look at you.” She points, her eyes widening like it should be obvious.
“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.
Even with your glasses, which I honestly don’t find attractive on a lot of people, but you have this professor vibe going, which really works for you, by the way.
You’re strong and capable and, despite working a desk job, look like you could throw lumber with the rest of the jacks and you just have things handled and I’m just an idiot who won’t shut up and honestly, you are a daddy.
I’m not taking it back. I bet you would seriously take care of anyone you end up with, which is great, and oh my God, please can you just stop me right now? ”
“Miss Sinclair.”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to acknowledge, however briefly, just how much I like those words coming out of her mouth. The way her eyes dip low when they’re usually so full of fight. Her still body barely moves from breathing; she's trying so hard to be good.
“One, I am only…six or seven years older than you. Not Daddy territory.” A blush of pink skates across her skin as she peeks up at me.
She parts her lips, no doubt to quote Pedro Pascal for the second time, but I place my hands on her shoulders, stopping her.
“Nope, no talking. It’s my turn to talk.
” She thankfully closes her mouth, and my brain starts to recenter itself.
“Two, you’re not fired. Your work is impeccable, and as you pointed out, you did save me from Vincent, so I do owe you.”
Her shoulders sag in relief, and she lets out an unsteady breath.
“Three…we need to talk about these articles.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about that. If we’re asked, we can just say it was a misunderstanding.”
A niggle in my chest warns me that it won't be as simple as that, but instead of arguing, I give her a stiff nod. I’ve taken up too much of her time, and as she pointed out earlier, it is the weekend.
“Oh, I’ll need you to stay late on Monday to go over some things for the week. I had to squeeze in an extra appointment for Helen.”
“Oh…I actually have plans on Monday night. I need to get home and get ready.”
“Plans?”
She blushes and bows her head until she’s looking at her toes.
“I have a date.”
A date?
Of course she does. The fact that you’ve been quietly observing her for the last three years means nothing. She’s young, she’s beautiful. Of course she’s going out on dates.
“I can cancel…”
“Do you want to cancel?” I ask.
A glaze of confusion mars her face as her brows scrunch.
I’ve intentionally left my question vague but I wonder what she’s inferring the meaning behind it is.
I don’t want her to go on a date. But I’m certainly not going to take her out on one.
Mia is the kind of woman who deserves the world.
She’s hard-working, genuine, passionate about her job and her studies.
She deserves someone to give their all and take care of her in the way she takes care of everyone else.
I’m not the man for that. Despite what she says about Daddy vibes, I have nothing else to give.
Everything I have, I give to my patients, except for the one night a month I relax with my friends.
I won’t give someone the life that my mother had, miserable and alone.
“I…no. I’ve wanted to go to this restaurant for ages.”
I hum an approval, my thumbs rubbing over her shoulders that I’ve yet to remove my hands from. “Good, you should do the things you want, Miss Sinclair.” My voice sounds hoarse and gravelly as I watch the slow bob of her throat, the tip of her tongue running along her lower lip.
“I’ll see you on Monday then?” she whispers, tilting her chin up.
I let go of her shoulders, step back and give her a small nod. Lana, the pink-haired friend, leans in the doorway to her bedroom and raises an eyebrow at my proximity to Mia.
“Enjoy your weekend, Miss Sinclair.”
“You too, Dr. Adams.”
I step outside the door, ignoring the prying eye of Mia’s roommate, and pull out my phone.
Lottie answers on the first ring. “Lottie, what are you doing Monday night?”