Page 2 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

“Did I do something wrong?” She sits up on the bed, staring at me with confusion.

“Overstaying your welcome.”

“But you wanted me to stay. You even made me food.”

Her eyes are getting larger and larger with her confusion, and I force myself to not think about how adorable that is.

“Now I want you to leave. Can you be cool about it and just get your things and get the hell out?” I step forward, grabbing her clothes off the floor and tossing them at her. “You’ve got ten minutes, and after that I’m calling security.”

“What?” She flinches backward like I’ve slapped her. “You can’t be serious. Is this some sort of game?”

That adorable look again. I feel as if I’ve just run over a sheep right in front of its mother.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Would you just leave, please? You need to go.”

“Alright. Alright.” She raises her arms, quickly slipping her clothes back on. I fight the urge to run toward her and tell her it’s all a bad joke and slip her out of those clothes again.

She’s given me the best orgasm I’ve had in years, and I feel so oddly comfortable around her…that’s even more reason why I need her to get out quickly. Getting attached to quick flings is the best recipe for disaster.

“Just so you know, you’re a bastard.”

I see sadness and anger war on her face as she pushes past me. Emotions choke in my throat, cutting off my apology. I hear the door slide close behind her as she walks out, and I let out a deep breath. For a moment, it feels like the world has flipped upside down.

I know that I won’t forget her anytime soon.

1

LIAM

My ass is stuck on a stool in the cluttered garage. I nurse the whiskey in my glass, trying not to get high on the smell of motor oil and grease assaulting my senses.

My best friend—or better put, the only man who can tolerate me—Damon, is lying on a creeper under an old Chevy, his legs sticking out like he’s some kind of human jack. The sound of him muttering to himself as he tinkers with the engine brings a wry smile to my face. I watched him do that every time he cleaned his rifle at the six NAVY SEAL camps we shared over the years.

People clearly don’t change that much, whether they’re firing guns or fixing cars.

“So, where’s Ethan?” I ask, taking a sip of my whiskey. It burns a little, but it’s a good burn. The kind that reminds you you’re still alive.

“Science fair,” Damon’s voice echoes from under the car. “June’s picking him up. You know how she is with her schedules. Kid’s probably going to come back with another ribbon.”

“Kid’s smarter than you,” I shoot back, grinning. “Spending his time winning science fairs while you’re stuck here fixing up old rust buckets.”

The wrench clatters with a loud bang echoing in the garage, and a moment later, Damon slides out from under the car, wiping grime from his forehead, then swiping his hands on the grease-stained rag.

“What’s bad about fixing cars? Just trying to carve out a semblance of a normal life here.”

He’s missed a huge smudge of grease on his cheek that makes me chuckle. The peace and quiet of a town like this probably works for Damon. He looks quite at peace, grease-stained or not, and that makes me happy and at the same time worried that he’s about to shoot that happiness into oblivion with him getting married in a couple of weeks.

I shrug. “Never said anything about it being bad.”

He points his wrench at me with a mock glare. “At least I'm not stuck in some sterile hospital poking and prodding at hypochondriacs all day.”

“Hey! I remember saving your life a couple of times. Don’t knock my profession.”

“Okay, Dr. Fancy Pants. You fix people, I fix cars. We’re both just grease monkeys in different coveralls.”

I laugh. “More blood for me than grease.”

“Yeah, and blood’s worse than grease.” He shakes his head. “But at least we’re fixing things now.”

---