Page 100 of Dr. Bad Boy

Another shake, and I pull her close again, giving her a kiss before I take my first sip of beer. She’s all tense.

“I’m being an ass, just talking about my day. I’m sorry. How was your day?”

“It was…I didn’t get much work done. But that’s okay.” She tilts her head to the side. “What do you mean that you’re grateful you’ve never had kids?”

I shudder. It’s complicated, and not at all what I want to talk about tonight.

“Don’t you love kids?” She gives me a weird look and I take another swig of beer.

“I…care about children. It’s important to me that they be treated well, as fully autonomous human beings. Not after thoughts. That’s huge. They come first in my world.”Because I never did. Fuck. That’s not where I want my head right now. Or ever, with Violet. “And they’re genuine, you know? Kids don’t play games. They’re not selfish like adults are.”

She pulls away from me. “Not all adults.”

I shrug. The only one that matters for this discussion. Me. “I’m as selfish as they come, Violet. I’d be the world’s shittiest father.”

“That’s not true,” she whispers.

“We can argue about that another time. Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head, then nods. “I’m fine.”

“Which is it? Yes, you’ve eaten, or no, you haven’t but you don’t want to be an imposition?”

She hesitates.

“Come on, let’s heat up whatever mystery food got delivered yesterday.” I link my fingers through hers and pull her to the fridge. “Do you want stir fry, shepherd’s pie, or chicken curry?”

“Is it shepherd’s pie or cottage pie?” she asks tonelessly. “Because technically I think shepherd’s pie has lamb in and what we call shepherd’s pie is just beef.”

“Here, have a stir fry.” I take another sip of beer, trying to figure out where the conversation went off the rails. Who the fuck cares what dinner’s called? I grab the apparently-wrongly-named shepherd’s pie. “And you can taste this and decide what it really is, but I’m sure it’s beef.”

She reaches past me, her delicate fingers wrapping around a bottle of sparkling water.

“Violet?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

She hesitates. “Nothing.”

I open my mouth to call bullshit, but she presses up on her tiptoes and brushes her lips against mine.

“Let’s eat dinner,” she whispers against my mouth.

When she steps back, her gaze drops and I can’t catch her eye again.

We heat up our food in silence.

Eat together. Still quiet. We talk—about the shepherd’s pie, about the holiday party, but it’s all shallow.

Polite dinner conversation.

Each word a brick in a wall that I don’t see her building until we’re done eating and she’s across the kitchen from me, tidying up.

Until there’s distance, and it suddenly seems huge.

I need to regain control. I need to—we need to—escape, find that kinky happy place where none of this bullshit intrudes.

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