Page 3 of Dr. Intern

Her eyes dance with amusement. “I don’t hate that actually,” she says, reaching across the table for my water.

My eyes drop to her chest, the metal zipper on her sweatshirt clanking against the wood as she takes a long sip from my glass. At first glance, it doesn’t look like she has a bra on, but then I see a peep of black lace, and all of the blood in my head rushes to my cock.

Not what I was expecting.

“Claire,” she introduces herself confidently, returning her body to the seat across from me. “And you are?”

“Thirsty,” I grumble, narrowing my eyes on her.

Her naturally pale cheeks flush as she realizes her faux pas. “Well, Thirsty, it’s great to meet you. I have to say, that’s such an unusual name. Do you have a sibling named Hungry?”

I chuckle at her playful response, relaxing in the booth and crossing my arms. “No, but I do have a cousin somewhere in Georgia named Ravenous.”

Speaking of ravenous, I’m starting to feel that way for her.

Claire grins, her expression brightening as she tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “I’d say you got the better end of that deal.”

As the waitress comes to get our order, I can’t take my eyes off her lips. They’re rosy and soft, without even trying to be. No lipstick. No chapstick even. Just bare lips that are clouding every thought in my head.

“You’re distracted,” she states, snapping me back to reality. Her eyes are glued to me, watching me with a curious expression.

Get your head in the game, man, you’re practically drooling over her.

“Sorry,” I reply, offering her a small smile. “Just had a long day, and I wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight.”

“Oh? What changed your mind?”

“That’s one secret I’ll never tell.” I wink at her, and her eyes light up with delight.

“Oh my god, Gossip Girl?” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “I feel like I was just transported back to high school. That was, like, my favorite show.”

I laugh, completely drawn in by her bounding enthusiasm and the unexpected ease of our conversation. It feels like I’ve known her for my whole life.

“Yeah, my mom was a huge fan,” I admit. “She worked a lot, so watching her trash TV was our way to bond.”

“Ugh, that’s sweet. My brother won’t even let me change the channel when he’s in the room.”

“Well if your taste in television is anything like Gossip Girl, I’m not sure I can blame him.”

“Hey!” she protests, dramatically thumping her fist on the table. “I’ll have you know that The Real Housewives of New York just had a reboot and the ratings are insane.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure they are.”

We continue bantering back and forth, the conversation flowing effortlessly between us as we eat. The only thing she doesn’t ask about is work, which I appreciate because it’s genuinely the last thing I want to discuss. I can tell family is the same way for her, because when I broach it, she skillfully redirects us into a light-hearted debate about what truly constitutes a sandwich.

I’m not sure how she did it, but I’m completely captivated. I find myself hanging on every word that comes from those sweet lips. Obviously, I want to fuck her silly, but it feels like something more is sparking between us—like somehow, her enthusiasm has brought me back to life after months of lying in a grave of exhaustion.

When the waitress brings the bill, I toss some cash down and suggest that we head out together. A bit presumptuous, but hey, you gotta shoot your shot sometimes.

By the time we get through the door of my parent’s house, I’m about ready to bust out of my pants. My cock is aching from having to control itself for the past few hours, and while I want nothing more than to pin her against the wall and taste every inch of her soft skin, something is holding me back.

She’s so unlike any woman I’ve taken home before—naturally sexy and confident in a way that unnerves me. But she also seems so innocent too, like she hasn’t been properly touched by a man.

I join Claire further inside, watching her run her bony fingers over the bookshelves that line the entryway.

“These are your books?” she asks as I walk up behind her. She’s tall for a woman, probably only half a foot shorter than my six-foot-four frame.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I lightly press my body against hers and inhale. She smells fruity and warm, like oranges and vanilla combined. It’s the kind of scent that matches her personality perfectly—cozy, yet full of zest.

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