Page 19 of Dr. Fellow

Pretty common name. You need to be more specific.

My eyes remain glued to my phone, wondering what she’s going to reply as three dots appear. I kind of hope she doesn’t back down—I like her fight.

You’re a dick.

My smile widens as I type out a response, vividly recalling the words she said to me at the hospital the first time I saw her after New Year’s Eve.

What was it that you said?

You can take it.

She presses the thumbs down button on my message which actually makes me laugh. Then she adds:

Just because I can doesn’t mean that I will.

My fingers fly over the keyboard faster than the logical part of my brain can keep up.

We’ll see about that.

Instantly she shoots back an eye roll emoji.

Can I please come use your shower?

My pipes are frozen and Cass said you live nearby.

I don’t want to be a dick, but it just comes naturally with her, like it’s part of our little game.

I love it when you beg.

She dislikes my message again but doesn’t say anything else. When a minute passes without a response, I start to feel guilty and send her my address as a white flag.

I kept the pipes dripping all day, so I have no problem with her coming over to use my shower. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’d prefer it to her ending up at the house of one of those pump-and-dump guys. Even though we haven’t seen each other in weeks, that comment about other men has been stuck in my head on a loop. Well, that comment, and a lot of other ones . . .

Twenty minutes later there’s a loud pounding at my front door, followed by a few curse words, and another round of pounding.

“Who is it?” I yell as I pad across the living room to the entryway.

“Open the door you imbecile,” Morgan calls between knocks. “It’s fucking cold.”

I crack the door, peering down at her. “What’s the magic word?”

“Motherfucker,” she mutters under her breath as she meets my gaze. She’s still in her light blue scrubs, covered by a thin sweatshirt that can’t be very warm, and her eyes are the same color as the sky when a tornado is coming in—bright green and filled with tiny specks of chaos.

I start to close the door even though I don’t intend to let her stay outside in the cold. I’m not a monster—I just have this insatiable need to see her give in a little bit.

“Wait—” she blurts, eyes flashing like lightning as she stretches her arm out to keep the door open.

“Yes?” I force my face into a mask of indifference with the hope that my body will direct my mind because I’m suddenly having the urge to pull her into my arms.

I’ve always been able to easily control my emotions, but Morgan has awakened this gentle beast inside me that feels like it’s constantly at war with itself. She makes me want to care for her but challenge her, to soothe her but rattle her, to draw her close but push her away. And I can’t seem to figure out which part of me is going to win out, or why these feelings even exist in the first place.

“Please let me in.”Morgan winces as she says the words, like they were physically painful to speak.

I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress my smirk as I pretend to consider her request. After a moment, designed more for effect than actual deliberation, I swing the door open.

“Was that so hard?” I ask, stepping aside to let her in.

She sticks out her tongue before brushing past me, a visible shiver running through her as she enters the warmth of my home. She rubs her hands together and looks around the tiny living room opposite the dining room like she’s suddenly unsure of herself.

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