Page 35 of Auctioned to Dr. Daddy

Her shirt is soaked in a way that makes it impossible not to notice her peaked nipples and the faint smear of a hickey that pokes just slightly too far out from under the top of her shirt. She’ll have to use makeup to cover that up for work.

The thought sends a bolt of pride down my spine. I might not be the roughest person in the bedroom, but there’s something special about seeing her marked up and claimed as my own.

The door closes behind us.

“Fuck,” laughs Demi, using the back of her hand to wipe the rainwater from her face. “That got bad fast! I wasn’t expecting it to hit quite that hard.”

“Yeah,” I say, agreeably, “Neither was I.”

The problem is that I’m not just talking about the rain coming down in such a sudden crash. I’m talking about the way that I fell for her.

I know that this isn’t going to make working together easy. Staying hands-off—that would have been the best way to deal with all of this. But Demi is too much for me to ignore. Too pretty, too funny, too much of everything that I’ve always wanted in my life.

A light at the end of a long, dark divorce. Something good, where there hasn’t been anything good in a while.

The thought of having to keep things on the down low… It’s one that I’m starting to realize I don’t want to deal with. Not anytime soon, at least.

As long as she’s happy not keeping things off the table… I think that I might be, too.

Chapter Sixteen

Demi

Thisismythirdtrip in a row to the bathroom this week, each one a rush to get to the porcelain throne before nausea overtakes me.

I’m definitely coming down with something.

It’s a hazard working at the hospital. I’ve upped my vitamin C intake and I’m trying to get some extra sleep at night—a challenge considering how often we’ve all been working late shifts recently.

Deciding that a can of Coke will help settle my stomach, I make my way toward the cafeteria.

As I go, I get an incoming call on my phone. Pausing briefly, I shuffle up to the wall of the hallway, making sure that I’m out of the way before answering it.

The video call pops to life, with a harried-looking Selma on the screen. “Heads up honey, but you’ve got a hard week coming.”

“Hello to you too,” I tell her, stifling a laugh. “Please take all your bad news and kindly take it elsewhere.”

“Ha ha.” Selma rolls her eyes. I can tell that she’s sitting in an unused patient’s room. “I’m being serious. That storm just broke loose here. I’ve only got a few minutes, but it’s going to be a hell to get through, and it’s supposed to be even stronger when it gets to you.”

“I hope that the horses are going to be okay,” I say.

The signal breaks for a moment, going to harsh distorted static before Selma comes back into focus. “Forget the horses, did you get your tires changed? I’m pretty sure that you mentioned Doctor Handsome saying that needed to happen.”

“I did,” I promise her. “I’ve got new tires on all four wheels, and I’m going to be sticking to the back roads all the way home.”

Selma looks worried, her brows pinching down and her lower lip catching between her teeth. The black choker that she’s wearing has a rose on it; her lucky necklace. “You should try to find someone out there to crash with. Or just stay in the hospital after your shift ends. That’s what I’m doing.”

A rap on the door. “Hands on deck!”

The voice is muffled. It might be Tyler Stone, but I can’t tell. Selma gives a heavy sigh and stands up. “That’s my cue to go. But I’m being serious, Demi. This storm is nasty. You need to be way more careful about it than you normally are with bad weather.”

I promise that I’ll be on my best storm observing behavior, though that doesn’t get me anything more than a huff, and then we both have to end the call. The foul taste of bile is still clinging to the back of my tongue, so I turn and hurry down the hallway, making a beeline for the cafeteria.

It seems like I’m not the only person who decided to take lunch right now. The cafeteria is big and crowded. Not only do the staff members come down here for their meals most of the time, but the family members of all of the patients use it too.

I grab myself a coke and something light to pair with it, hoping that the minestrone soup and a handful of crackers will help settle the last residual waves of nausea. Well, fine, it’s not really a handful of crackers. It’s actually a whole heap of crackers, soaking up the rich broth and turning it into a delicious, salty mess in the bowl.

Looking around for somewhere to eat, I spot two familiar faces at one of the nearby tables. “Josie, Carter!”

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