Page 89 of Doctorshipped
JAYME
I’m sitting in Grant’s kitchen waiting for Fiona, scrolling my phone to see the damage—and by damage, I mean the photos Ella Mae chose to upload onto my social media accounts. Her comment and hashtags have me chuckling and freaking out more than a little.
Under the pictures she wrote:Just another day in rural Ohio with my fang-tabulous love.
What in the ever-loving name of Mike?
Besides some normal hashtags like #fantasyauthor and the book title, #lovebloodylove, she has: #vampirelover, #Idtakeastake4u, #youremybloodtype, #bitemebabyonemoretime, #IVant2suckUrBlahd, and my personal fave, #notjustsmittenImBitten.
What have I gotten myself into?
I look at my follower count and my jaw drops. One hundred and twenty-three? How did that happen? I only left Ella Mae and Brooks less than an hour ago and I gained nearly one hundred followers. And this post has twenty likes and a few comments which I start to read.
Fiona’s voice snaps me out of my social media haze.
“Miss Jayme! You’re here! Grampykins, this is Miss Jayme. Miss Jayme, this is Grampa-rama-rama-dingdong.”
“Nice to meet you, Jayme.”
“Nice to meet you too. Should I call you Grampykins or the ding-dong name?”
“Let’s just stick with Joseph. Or Mister Peppers,” Grant’s dad says with a gracious shake of his head and an amused chuckle. He’s obviously over the moon for his granddaughter. Rightly so.
“I thought you were a doctor like Grant,” I say.
I get this gentle warning glare not to say the two words together. Doctor and Peppers.
“Ahhh. Gotcha,” I say.
Already, I love this man. And I see just a smattering of where Grant inherited his gentle heart—that heart he tucks away so carefully under his genuinely grumpy exterior.
Grant’s not one of those grouchy people who just needs his heart to grow two sizes after he returns the Who pudding. He’s a real, bonafide grump. I’m dying to ask Joseph a thousand questions about Grant as a child, but in the spirit of not seeming like I’ve got a burgeoning crush, I keep my mouth shut.
Speaking of the grump, Grant must have heard Fiona and his dad come through the house. Grant walks into the kitchen and says, “It’s suddenly too people-y in here.”
I mean. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
I send Grant a playfully scolding glance.
His dad smiles a knowing smile, which makes me love him even more. He understands his son. No wonder Grant said his dad is his best friend.
“Did you just make a joke?” I tease. “I think you just tried to be funny. Good for you, Buttercup. I like it.”
“Did you just call me Buttercup?” Grant asks.
He folds his arms over his chest and scowls at me. Those arms distract me for a minute. Even through the fabric of his shirt, I remember what they looked like during the water fight. Unhelpful thoughts. Grant continues to scowl, but it’s a different scowl than usual. More thoughtful? It’s definitely less menacing. Maybe because his dad is here.
“It’s a saying. And possibly your new nickname.”
“I don’t do nicknames.”
Grant’s dad is watching us like he’s got front row seats at Wimbledon.
“You don’t have to. I adore nicknames, Doctor Buttercup.”
“Me too!” Fiona says.
Grant smiles at Fiona, then he turns to me and asks. “Are you trying to get fired?”
