Page 23 of Doc's Decision

It’s adorable, and my ovaries clench at the sweet picture they make.

He must feel the weight of my stare because he looks up again, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Wrangling this one is like trying to herd cats,” he comments wryly, shifting a squirming Kash in his lap.

“I can take him if you want,” I offer impulsively, already setting my plate aside and reaching for the baby. “Let you actually eat a full meal with both hands for once.”

Gratitude and something deeper, more intense, flickers across Doc’s handsome face as he willingly passes Kash over to me.

Our hands brush in the exchange, calluses against soft skin, and awareness sizzles up my arms. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the endearment sending a shiver through me. “I owe you one.”

“Anytime,” I manage around the lump in my throat, snuggling Kash close and breathing in his sweet baby scent to center myself.

Doc’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, his touch lingering for just a moment too long to be casual. “You look amazing tonight,” he says quietly, holding my gaze.

There it is again, that sense of tipping over the edge into the unknown.

The air feels too thick, too charged, and I can hardly breathe past the fluttering in my stomach.

I know I need to break the intensity to step back from the brink before I do something reckless.

Like kissing this man senseless in front of God and everyone.

Kash chooses that moment to grab a fistful of my hair and shove it gleefully into his drool-slick mouth, effectively shattering the moment. “Oh no, buddy, Aunt Mandy’s hair is not for eating.” I laugh, gently untangling his chubby fingers and making silly faces at him until he shrieks with giggles.

Crisis temporarily averted, I risk a darting glance at Doc from beneath my lashes.

He’s watching us with an unreadable expression, something hungry and yearning and almost painful in its intensity.

It steals my breath, and I have to look away and focus intently on Kash.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur of laughter, conversation, and the occasional loaded moment whenever my eyes meet Doc’s across the table.

I’m hyperaware of him, every shift of his big body, every rumbling chuckle that I swear I can feel in my bones.

It’s maddening and thrilling, and I just want to crawl out of my own skin or maybe into his.

By the time the pies are reduced to crumbs, I’m relieved to escape to the bathroom for a few minutes alone to regroup.

I pass the drowsy baby off to his doting uncles, ignoring Doc’s questioning look, and shut myself in the blessedly quiet room.

Gripping the edge of the sink, I stare at my reflection, taking in my flushed cheeks and dilated eyes.

I look wrecked, and I feel it too like I’m coming apart at the seams, unraveling with pent-up wanting.

For Doc.

For something real and raw and soul-deep.

It terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure.

“Get it together, Mandy,” I whisper harshly to myself. “He’s your friend. Don’t fuck this up.”

But even as I say the words, I know it’s futile.

Whatever this is between Doc and me, it’s bigger than friendship now.

It’s like a live wire, sparking and spitting and threatening to ignite at any moment.

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