Page 7 of Dr. Fellow

My bestie doesn’t share a ton about her sexcapades, but I know for a fact that they do some kinky shit, and I can only imagine the makeup bang-session that occurred after a week of the silent treatment.

“Only slightly sore,” she giggles, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “No, we just laid everything on the table and had a long talk about communication. He apologized for walking away without letting me say my piece, and for making me feel like I couldn’t tell him about Wes. I apologized for betraying his trust, and for going behind his back. It felt good, and we both acknowledged that we probably should have had that conversation sooner.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I reply, offering her a smile in return. “I’m glad you worked through it, though.”

“Me too. I promise everything is going to be okay, Morg, and if it’s not, I know who to call.”

“Damn right you do,” I snort, grateful that she’s not pissed at me for how candid I was. “So, what’s going on with Wes? Is he back in town for good?”

Cass told me a few months ago that Weston was in Atlanta working on some personal stuff, but she was under the impression that it was temporary. So when I ran into him the other day in the ER, I had to do a double take because he was rounding like he was back for good. And while I can’t say that I care for some of the bullshit that the entitled prick has done, we’ve always gotten along well—he’s more likable than Parker at least.

“I honestly don’t know what’s going on. He told me that he left the fellowship back in November, but I had no clue he would come back to Midtown Memorial.”

“Hmmm,” I muse, taking a sip of my wine. “Have y’all talked recently?”

Cassidy sighs. “He’s texted a few times, but I wanted to talk to Parker first.”

“And?”

She purses her lips for a moment before replying, “I mean, he isn’t happy Wes is back, obviously, or that I want to have a friendship with him. But he also understands now that the love between me and Wes is related to my brother and those shared memories, not anything romantic. Or at least, he should because I spent an hour trying to explain that to him last night.”

She pauses, tracing her fingertip along the rim of her glass.

“I think I’m just going to leave things with Wes alone for a while though. At least until we’re through the wedding.”

I arch my brow at her. “Your mom’s okay with that?”

From what Cass has told me, their families are still super close. I know that her mom was making a push to invite Weston and his parents to the wedding because she didn’t think Parker would care.

She clearly doesn’t know her future son-in-law that well.

“I haven’t told her. I’m just kind of ignoring the issue until we have to send out invitations in April.”

“Oh yeah,” I mutter sarcastically, “because ignoring your problems has worked out so well for you in the past . . .”

Chapter 3

Morgan

What boosts morale in the hospital more than a pizza party?

Festive decorations . . . duh.

Even though my inbox is filled with required training modules, I’m currently running around the unit with my arms full of heart-shaped garland. Valentine’s Day is only two weeks away, and I firmly believe that staff satisfaction trumps learning about boring new policies any day of the week. At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself when I leave the training to the last minute and have to stay late to finish by the deadline.

As I’m standing on my tiptoes to hang a string of garland, a booming southern voice calls in my direction. I ignore it, stretching my five-foot-two frame taller to attempt to catch the edge of the sign above the ER desk. When I miss the mark for the third time, I let out a frustrated sigh and drop back down to the ground—what’s the point of wearing Hokas that add three inches if I still can’t reach anything?

“Brute,” I say, turning toward the voice that always makes me smile. I wouldn’t normally talk to a doctor like this, but Beau and I have always had the best banter—he doesn’t take things too seriously, and neither do I. “Make yourself useful and pick me up so that I can reach this damn sign.”

The light-brown irises of his eyes glow with amusement. “I pulled a muscle last night, if you know what I mean,” he responds cheekily. “Make Walker.”

I didn’t even notice Walker standing next to us, but it seems like my body certainly did because everything inside me suddenly feels tighter. Taking a quick breath to collect myself, I plaster on all of the confidence I can find and look up at him.

Walker’s face is unreadable, all emotion concealed by his olive skin and jet-black facial hair, but his brown-black eyes flicker slightly, like he can’t control his response to me.

“Since your intern is apparently incapacitated,” I say with a pointed look at Beau, whose smirk is growing wider by the second, “I require your assistance.”

“You know I can just reach the sign on my own, don’t you?” Walker asks, tone flat as his eyes quickly return to that stony indifference.

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