Page 22 of Dr. Attending

“You know, you’re kind of hot when you boss me around.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Sure, I might have been thinking it, but thinking something inappropriate and saying it are two very different things. Especially when the person I’m saying it to is Parker’s sister.

Caroline doesn’t reply. She simply reaches one arm behind her and straightens her middle finger as she continues to work on the car seat.

I grin as I head toward the house.

Caroline was always a grounding force—someone who would put me in my place without batting an eye. I’ve wondered if that side of her would transform over the years as life inevitably beat her down, but I’m glad to see that it hasn’t. She’s just as fierce as I remember.

Chapter 8

Caroline

When I pulled up to the stunning white Tudor house in Morningside, I assumed that I was picking up flowers or custom place settings. I should have known something was fishy when Parker sent me a text after he hung up, making me promise not to turn around.

I was still in such a mental haze from my exam that I didn’t think anything of it. I trust my brother wholeheartedly, so what was the worst that could happen?

Weston Southerland—that’s what.

I typed out several iterations of nasty text messages to Parker while Weston was loading the car, but none of them adequately portrayed my white-hot rage as well as I hoped. So, as soon as we make it to the lake, I’ll be marching my way to his room and letting him have it like I should have years ago when he first started pulling controlling shit like this.

My fingers curl around the steering wheel as I watch Weston pack the trunk through my rearview mirror becauseI don’t understand how someone can be so annoying and so infuriatingly handsome at the same time.

From his perfectly swept dirty-blond hair to his classic country-club outfit—complete with a Masters pullover, khaki shorts, and loafers—he looks like he belongs on the cover of a glossy magazine about summer vacations and trust funds. And judging by the sly wink he shoots me when he catches me staring, he knows it too.

I whip my gaze away from him, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment because I should have learned my lesson by now.

People don’t change. And definitely not people like Weston. Not the guy who used to waltz into every room like he owned it, who charmed everyone in his path and left a trail of damage in his wake. I’ve fallen for his act before, and I refuse to do it again.

But as much as I tell myself that, as much as I know better, there’s still this tiny part of me that can’t seem to fully turn off my awareness of him. The part of me that notices the way his forearms flex as he adjusts the duffel bags. The part of me that heard the way his voice changed when he apologized to Carter for bumping into his car seat earlier, like he was genuinely sorry. The part of me that notices the good things, despite the long history of the bad.

Weston’s voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts as he taps on the driver side window with his knuckles, grinning like he’s never known an inconvenient emotion in his life. “All set, princess. You ready to hit the road?”

I grit my teeth and shoot him a glare. “Don’t call me that.”

The nickname makes my pulse race because it reminds me of the first summer I met him. The summer I learned that some golden retrievers are just wolves in disguise.

“Yes, ma’am,” Weston says, saluting me with his right hand before sliding into the back seat.

He buckles his seatbelt and reaches for his son’s car seat, giving it a quick shake to make sure it’s secure. When it doesn’t budge, his mouth falls open.

“How’d you figure it out so fast?” he asks, his tone incredulous.

A thrill of satisfaction races through me, but I keep my expression neutral. “I read the instruction manual, moron.”

I don’t add that he had it right the first time, and all he had to do was lock the seatbelt so it would stay tight. Where would the fun be in that?

Weston lets out a warm chuckle and flicks his eyes to mine in the mirror. “I don’t know why Parker is worried about you being happy in medicine. You’re going to fit in just fine.”

I shift in my seat, the easy confidence in his voice making it harder to hold his rich hazel gaze.

“Uh . . . yeah,” I stammer, reaching for the ignition and turning the key. “Ready to go?”

If Weston notices my abrupt change of subject, he doesn’t mention it.

“Sure am,” he answers, adjusting his square-frame sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. “Sorry for making you chauffeur. But I don’t know how the little man is going to do on the long drive, so it’s probably easiest to hang back here with him until he’s settled. Then I can take over later.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” I reply as I back down the driveway. “And there’s no way in hell that you’re driving my car.”

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