Page 15 of Doc

Asshole. I go through my mental shopping list, wondering what next he can buy me, when Soren laughs and I put that idea on pause.

Soren’s blue eyes glimmer as he laughs, his smile making him look young and carefree. In this moment, I have no idea how old he is. He's younger than me, for sure…but too young? Not that I should be thinking about how old he is, or if it’d be reasonable to get him to fuck me.

Two sets of eyes boring into me brings my thoughts back into focus. “What?” I ask.

James just smiles and shakes his head. “See what I mean? He’s really very intelligent, if you look past the cranky outside, but inside he’s a mess. So just watch him and make sure he’s at least pretending to function like a normal person.”

“Hey!” I protest. “That seems very unfair.”

“I told you last night you needed a keeper. I wasn’t just saying it for shits and giggles, dear.”

I flip him off and he laughs, turning back to Soren. “Anyway, I’ll be around, so if you need anything, just ask one of the guards or other staff for me. But it’s always best for me to get out of theway in case someone needs to see Doc. He gets prickly if there are too many people around.”

“I don’t getprickly.”

“Sure you don’t,” James replies absently. “I’ll see you both later, when I come to drag Doc home by his hair.”

He clasps Soren on the shoulder and leaves the office, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“So…” Soren shoves his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. “You and James are…a thing?”

I laugh, long and loud. “We fuck, if that’s what you mean. He’s my best friend, the only person who knows how to put up with me, but I don’t want to date him. I won’t give you his personal details, but neither of us is right for one another in the long-term. What we have works for us.”

“I’m not judging,” he assures me, his voice soft. “I don’t know either of you, so I can’t comment on your situation, only on what I’ve seen so far. Whatever works for you works for you, and no one can tell you any differently.”

My cheeks burn and I wonder when the last time I blushed was. Soren’s soft expression loosens something inside my chest and I have to catch my breath at the feeling.

Luckily, before I can open my mouth and say something that will ruin whatever this is, there’s a knock on the door. Soren looks at me with a question in his gaze and I give a short, clipped nod.

As he opens the door, I take a few breaths, trying to get my shit under control. On the other side of the door is Roman Amato, and I bite back a groan at seeing him. The little shit is far too observant for his own good, so if he catches wind of anything I may or may not be feeling about Soren, he’s going to run straight to his lovers, maybe even his father. The last thing I need is the main Family gossiping about my personal life.

“Shirt off, on the bed,” I tell him curtly.

“Not gonna introduce us, Doc?” I can hear the smile in Roman’s voice, even as I turn to grab a pair of gloves.

“Soren, Roman Amato, heir to the Family. Roman, this is my new assistant. Treat him gently.”

Roman laughs, but it’s cut short as he groans. “Fucking hell,” he mutters.

Turning back around, I help him straighten and gently move his arm away from where he’s holding himself around the middle, as if that’s actually going to stop his ribs from aching.

“Where’s your keeper?” I ask as I unbutton his shirt and ease it off.

“Don’t need one,” he says, letting me guide him to the examination table before helping him up.

There’s another knock on the office door, but before Soren can open it, the person on the other side does. Hollis Maddigan all but storms into the office, dark eyes fierce behind his glasses as he aims his glare at his young lover.

“You,” he says in a wrecked voice. “Were supposed to wait for me, Giocattolo.”

“No voice,” I snap over my shoulder, as I begin a light examination of Roman’s ribs. “How’s your head?”

Roman winces as I carefully prod his torso. “Not bad. I made it downstairs on my own. I don’t feel like I’m dying just by opening my eyes anymore. Can’t view screens still, but also don’t wanna throw up every time I move. So, all in all, it could be worse.”

“Good. I still want you to take it easy for the next few weeks. Not only to give your head some time to heal, but your ribs as well. You surprisingly haven’t injured yourself more, so keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Nothing but lying around bored,” he grumbles.

“Better bored than dead or worse,” I remind him.

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