Page 17 of Texting Dr. Stalker

No matter how much common sense I tried to cling to, my body drowned with terror it couldn’t shake.

Squeezing the back of his neck, Alexander looked nothing like the self-assured doctor in the ER yesterday. Nerves collided in his gaze, and lines bracketed his mouth as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. Then his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Sailor? Are you okay?”

I tripped backward.

Lily rushed up the steps and grabbed the plate from me before setting it down on the deck chair and wrapping her arm around my waist.

She managed to find twenty bruises to press on, but I sagged against her anyway.

My mind buzzed.

My heart raced.

Sweat broke out on my temples, and sickness rushed up my sore throat.

“Sailor—” Alexander reached for me.

“He’s touched you, hasn’t he? How many times has he fucked what’s mine?”

Milton’s red-splotched face replaced Alexander’s kind concern, and I choked on a scream.

He wrenched back just as Lily pulled me against her. “She’s fine. Just…it’s a lot being back, you know?” She squinted against the setting sun. “She’ll be okay, though. Won’t you, Sails?”

I nodded quickly, hoping like hell I didn’t offend him.

He’d done something so sweet in bringing food over, and all I could do was look at him like he’d been the one to strangle me. Remembering my manners and cursing my awful black eye, I dipped my chin and went to speak.

But only pain came out.

“No, no, don’t try to talk.” Alexander flinched in commiseration. “Just rest.”

Lily hugged me tighter, making me grunt in pain. Her voice adopted the polish of her real estate training. “It was so nice of you to drop off food for Sails. Thank you so much, Dr North.”

He scowled but didn’t look at her. His eyes never left mine. “No need for titles. Call me Zander.”

“Well, thanks for the dinner, Zander.” Lily nudged me not so subtly toward the back door. “I’d welcome you to eat with us, but you said you have a friend waiting?”

I winced again at her not-so-subtle hint for him to leave.

I tried to speak. To apologise. To explain I wasn’t afraid of him, even if my panic said I was.

But he shook his head and held his finger to his lips. “Don’t talk, remember?”

My eyes locked on his mouth.

Heat scalded my cheeks for no reason whatsoever.

His shoulders tensed as the moment dragged uncomfortably. Clenching his jaw, he focused on the black and blue swelling of my cheek. “Before I go, are you sure you’re alright? Do you need anything? Did you pick up a prescription for pain meds? What about Dr Klep? Did she give you her number in case you need to talk to someone?”

Something deflated inside me all while my fear kept stalking.

This man was a doctor.

He wasn’t here because he wanted to raise our acquaintance from occasional hellos. He was here because he was fabulous at his job and took every patient seriously, even if I wasn’t technically his patient.

Forcing a smile, I nodded.

I didn’t try to speak this time and was actually grateful that I couldn’t.

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