Page 40 of Dr. Intern

What I don’t understand, though, is why Claire shies away from me at the first flicker of conflict or discomfort. Whenever we flirt, she dishes it back to me without a second thought. Then, it’s like once the words leave her lips, she realizes her faux pas and retreats completely. Almost like she’s embarrassed of her sexuality because she thinks that it’s something to be ashamed of. It’s fucking not—and god, do I want to teach her that.

Last night I didn’t hear a peep from her after she practically fell down the stairs to get away from me. I gave her space, but if I were a betting man, I’d put all my money on the fact that she won’t come out of her room today. That even if I were to knock on her door, she would pretend she was out for the day and ignore me completely, just to avoid her perceived awkwardness between us.

But from my perspective, there’s nothing awkward about what happened. It was hot as fuck finding her watching me, and if I had known she was standing there, I would have made sure she heard her name on my lips when I came.

Before I left for the gym this morning, my plan to get Claire out of her bedroom included Krispy Kreme donuts and promises to watch her stupid reality shows with her. But then, I realized that spending time with me is probably the last thing she wants to do if she’s set on avoiding me, so I had to scrap that idea and come up with something else.

Fortunately, and unfortunately, while I was cooling down on the treadmill after my morning workout, my phone went off with an email from the humane society. Apparently, they’re renovating their main building and desperate for volunteers to temporarily take in the animals.

Ding, ding, ding—what woman can resist a tiny, helpless creature?

My family has always adopted dogs from them before, but I wasn’t sure how that would work since we live in a high rise. Instead, I decided to play it safe and went with an orange kitten, figuring he could be a peace offering to Claire and hopefully mend the bridge of awkwardness between us.

In hindsight, I probably should’ve checked with Parker, since it is his condo . . . but that’s a problem for a different day. Plus, this is a completely temporary arrangement. The shelter just needs us to give him a home for a week and then he’s off to find his forever family.

Although, at this point, I’m starting to think even a week together is going to be too long because the little rascal hustled me. His originally calm demeanor has now turned feral, and he’s throwing himself around the carrier in desperate attempts to break free. Thank god there’s nobody in this lobby because I’m pretty sure they would call animal control for a baby mountain lion on the loose.

By the time we make it up the elevator and to the door of the condo, I think I’ve gone deaf in one ear from his shrill meows. I like to think I’m a pretty patient guy, but this hellion is making me question everything I know about myself.

“One week,” I mutter as I push open the door to the condo with my elbow. “You’ve got one week with us little man, and then back to the shelter you go.”

I set the carrier down in the kitchen and take a moment to assess the situation. Frosty is still going strong with his vocal performance, and I’m half-convinced that he’s about to break some sound barrier I wasn’t aware existed. If he keeps this up, I’m going to have to order earplugs as a legitimate survival strategy to make it through the next few nights.

Rummaging through the box the shelter gave me, I pull out the necessities—a small litter box, food, and a bowl. I plop them on the floor, surveying the living room for a good spot to put his belongings. This is when I realize that, aside from the videos of cute cats that my sister-in-law sends to our family group chat, I know absolutely nothing about cat care.

I scratch my head, contemplating the placement of the kitty commode. Do cats prefer privacy like humans? Or should I put it out in the open where it’s easy to find?

Eventually, I opt for a corner in the living room, hoping for the best.

The kitten screams again, reminding me that he’s still trapped in the carrier.

As soon as I lean down and release him, all hell breaks loose. The furry torpedo launches itself at me, charging forward with supernatural speed.

Caught off guard, I stumble backward as I try to escape his fury. I end up tumbling over the back of the sectional and crashing head-first onto the cushions.

A string of curse words flow from my mouth, followed by a sigh of relief when I realize that I’m not injured.

Just as I’m trying to regain some semblance of dignity and determine how I’m ever going to escape this couch, I hear the creak of Claire’s bedroom door.

Immediately, I pop my head up to warn her. “Watch out! He’s probably coming your way!”

Her thin brows furrow with confusion as she glances briefly at me, and then down at the lion in our living room.

Only she doesn’t squeal from terror—she bursts into laughter. I’m talking doubled over on the floor, can’t breathe type of laughter. And it’s beautiful, because I was seriously questioning if I’d ever hear that sound again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she manages to gasp out as she clutches her stomach. It’s mid-afternoon at this point and it looks like she hasn’t gotten out of bed all day, those sexy pink satin pajamas swaying against her skin as she rolls back and forth on the floor in a fit of laughter.

Frosted Orange, Frosty for short, prowls over and rubs his body against her bare legs, purring so loud that I can hear it from across the room.

Little shit.

“It’s not that funny,” I snap, standing up from the couch as Claire turns to face me.

She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, still laughing. “It absolutely is.”

“He was coming for me!”

Picking up the kitten and returning to her back, Claire places him on her chest. “Good boy,” she says, running her thumb over his disproportionately sized head.

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