Page 9 of Dirty Doctor
“You sure as fuck will not,” he demands, grabbing the back of my wheelchair and steering us into the parking lot.
“Are you kidding me?” I yell, trying to stop him from moving me without my consent. He tips the wheelchair backward a bit, so I can’t escape.
Dick.
“I’m your stepbrother, Langley. This is what brothers are for, isn’t it?” he growls, stopping in front of a silver Tesla.
“When did you get a Tesla?” I ask as he sets the chair down and opens the passenger door for me.
“I’ve had this car for years. It would do you some good to pay attention to your surroundings,” he mumbles, helping me into the seat. His hands are calloused and cool, and I ignore the electric fission that passes between us at his touch.
I sulk in my seat as he returns the wheelchair, and it gives me time to look through his belongings. Even though we grew up together, and I feel like I know him on a soul level because of that, on the surface, I know nothing about him. I didn’t even know he drove a Tesla. I poke around the cup holder, pilfering through old receipts. One gas station charge for $3… probably for coffee, since the car is electric. A toll bridge receipt for the highway. The receipt for The Salsa Shack… and a number written on the back in loopy cursive.
Oh, hell no.
I take the receipt and stuff it in my purse, but a second later, I shake my head and put it back where it belongs.What the hell is my deal lately?I look in the back seat. A rain jacket, a duffel bag, and a towel. I look out the window and see Luke heading back. I quickly open the glove compartment, yelping as my eyes land on the foiled packs of condoms.
I slam it closed again.
Ugh. I know Luke is very good-looking—young, a doctor, and single, as far as I know. But why does the thought of him being sexually active make me so uncomfortable? I rub my chest where it aches as Luke opens his door and gets in. He looks at me suspiciously before putting the car in drive and leading us out of the parking lot.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I ask, biting the nail on my thumb.
“Doctor Jones can cover for me for a little bit.”
I nod, trying not to smile. “Why do I get the feeling that you hate his guts?”
Luke scowls as he turns onto the main road. The Tesla is nearly silent—the outside world muffled. The drive is smooth as butter, and I run my hands over the pebbled leather.
“Because I do,” he answers.
I wait for him to explain his bold statement, but he just concentrates on driving. “Are you going to elaborate, or do I have to pry?”
Luke’s expression doesn’t change as he says, “He slept with my girlfriend in grad school.”
“Ouch,” I answer, my voice quiet. “Were you guys… were you serious? Or—”
“I caught them together the night I was going to propose, so yeah. We were pretty serious.”
“You were almost engaged?” I ask dubiously. “How did I not know—”
“If you’d ever taken the time to get to know me instead of automatically hating me from day one, perhaps you would’ve known.”
Burn.
I feel my cheeks heat at his words. “You hated me, too. This wasn’t one-sided and you know it.”
Luke scoffs, rubbing his mouth with his hand as he pulls up to a red light. “I never hated you, Langley. Not even for a second.”
His words cause my pulse to speed up, and I ball my fists uncomfortably until my nails form little indents into my palms. He’s never told this—we’ve never even gotten close to this kind of conversation ever. I look out the window, digesting everything he’s telling me.
“You have always been so pompous,” I mutter. “I just assumed you’d turned into a pompous adult.”
“You know nothing about me,” he growls, and his fingers are white as they grip the steering wheel.
“Clearly,” I answer, wrapping my arms around myself as the light turns green. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend. And I’m sorry we never took the time to get to know each other.”
Luke doesn’t say anything, and I stop talking as we make our way through Eastport. He exits the highway, and we take a detour through the woods, the large birch and maple trees towering over us as we weave through the outskirts of town. I hate to admit it, but I don’t even know where he lives. I remember Howard mentioning he bought a house and renovated it when he moved back a few years ago, but since he and I weren’t exactly close-knit, I’d never been there. We always congregated at our parents’ house.
