Page 9 of Stat: Love In Scrubs
I forced a polite, businesslike smile, but the rest of me wasn’t cooperating. My body replayed that club bathroom—cold tile at my back, his mouth on mine—while heat crawled under my skin. Rules in my head, desire winning despite. Then it hit me. My eyes widened. I never gave him my last name that night. Hell, I hadn’t even given him my real first name.
“How did you know my last name?” I asked.
Doc chuckled with a shake of his head. Before he could respond, Esa tilted her head to the side, then pointed to my chest.
“Ms. Sinclair, it’s on your shirt, silly,” she said, then giggled.
I pressed a hand to my forehead, forcing a smile. “Of course. Well, follow me to my office so we can get you checked out and I can fill you in on why we called you,” I said, keeping my tone clipped, leaving no room for back-and-forth. I needed to get back in my element, where control lived.
The steady click of my heels on tile was the only thing holding me together. It didn’t help that I felt his gaze burning into my back—down my spine, across my ass—dragging me straight into memories I had no business reliving. His thick hands gripping my ass, his teeth at my neck, that delicious scrape.
Once we reached my office, I gestured to the chairs across from my desk. “Have a seat.” I settled behind my desk, grateful for the barrier it provided. “So, Esabella seemed a little off today. Said her stomach was bothering her, but when we checked her over, everything looked fine physically.”
Before I could continue, he was already lifting Esa onto his lap, his hands gentle as he felt her forehead, then her stomach. The complete shift in his attention—from whatever tension had been crackling between us to pure father mode. Watching him zero in so fast made my chest tight. My mother begged for this kind of attention. I watched him murmur something soft to her, saw the way she immediately relaxed into his chest, and felt something twist in my chest.
The attention he showered her with reminded me of my father. He was always beyond attentive when it came to me.
I caught myself smiling just as his eyes snapped up to mine. Heat shot through me, quick and uninvited.
“Uh—we concluded that maybe she just needed some Dad and Esabella time.”
Esa settled against his shoulder like that was all the medicine she needed. My chest ached at the sight.
Doc rubbed her back, then stood with her in his arms.
“Yeah,” he said, standing with her still in his arms. “I think you’re right. I’ll take her home.”
I stood too, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. “Of course. Just sign her out at the front desk.”
I gestured toward the door to lead them back to the front desk. I gave him a tight smile that was on the verge of being awkward. We walked to the door together, and I made the mistake of extending my hand for a professional handshake. The moment our skin touched, that familiar electricity shot up my arm. I pulled back too quickly.
“It was... good to meet you officially,” I managed.
“Bye, Ms. Sinclair!” Esa waved over his shoulder as they headed down the hall.
I lingered in the doorway longer than I should have, watching them go and trying to ignore the voice in my head whispering that this man was going to be trouble. With a quick wave, I slipped away as smoothly as I could, praying it was the last time our paths would cross—though deep down, I already knew my luck wasn’t that good.
On the ride home from Little Angels Academy, all I could think about was Liz or Ms. Sinclair. Esa had spoken about her on multiple occasions. Not once did I think she was talking about the woman I fucked in the club. I think if anyone else was in this situation, they would think the same.
Seeing her again was a pleasant surprise. The way her ass swayed when she walked ahead of us reminded me just how full her ass felt within my palms. If I hadn’t been there for my daughter, that meeting would have gone a different way. I was sure of it by the heat in her eyes when they met mine.
“Daddy, did you hear me?” Esa asked from the backseat.
I cleared my throat and glanced through the mirror to see her staring up at me intently.
“I’m sorry, Bean. What did you say?”
She released a breath like I was getting on her nerves and she was tired of repeating herself. I held back my laugh as I waited for her to repeat herself.
“I said I love Ms. Sinclair and wasn’t she pretty?” she asked.
I chuckled and nodded. “Yes, she is pretty, but my question is, why are you going to this program pretending like you don’t feel good if you love Ms. Sinclair?” I asked, flipping the attention back to her.
I peeped in my rear-view mirror once more to see her lean back against her car seat, then cross her arms while looking out of the window. I had learned a long time ago to give her the time to think through her answers. We had long since come to the understanding that she could express her feelings without consequences, as long as she was honest and respectful.
“Ms. Sinclair isn’t my teacher, and I wanted to be with you. All you do is work, and I get it. I am supposed to share you with other people so we can have a house, but I want time with you. Don’t you miss me, too?” she asked, speaking with the kind of clarity that reminded me she was growing up, whether I was present for it or not. At six years old, she already understood sacrifice better than most adults.
I glanced up in the mirror, and her large brown eyes were staring back at me, pleading for me to feel the same way. My chest felt heavy. If only she knew how much I missed being with her. My hands tightened around the wheel. If only she knew how much I missed her, how much the hospital stole from us both. I just found myself on a mission that I felt not many others could achieve.
