Page 14 of Dr. Bad Boy

“It is. But tell your bride I appreciate the thought.”

“Will do. Hockey on Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Gavin started playing pick-up hockey in the summer, a short-lived attempt to keep himself from obsessing over Ellie—a safer physical outlet for restless energy.

Even after they started dating, the team pulled together by his chief of security continued to play. One star player, the captain of the Ottawa Senators, had to bow out of at the end of the summer season, but the rest of us have continued to play as winter approaches.

It’s oddly social for me. But it helps that almost everyone on the team is in the kink scene,andin a sensitive position. A lot of Mounties, and a few friends of Tate Nilsson, the NHL player.

Nobody who wants their predilections made public.

Or their hockey playing schedule, either, although that original goal of having a truly private game has since fallen by the wayside.

Now we have puck bunnies. But the security team does a good job of keeping them at a distance.

“Hey, one last question.” I clear my throat. “If I wanted to make a good impression…flowers?”

Gavin’s silent on the other end of the line. I can practically hear his thought process.Wait, the date’s real? The woman’s real? And you want to impress her?

I wince. “Never mind.”

He laughs. “Flowers are nice, but not surprising. Bring her chocolate. Dark truffles. And a book you enjoyed. If she’s a woman worthy of you, she’ll appreciate the thought.”

I glance at the stack of medical journals on my desk. What was the last book I read for pleasure? “Thanks.”

“There’s a great chocolate shop on Bank Street. Ellie likes the coffee cream and the candied orange rind.” I hear a lot in the next silence. Caution, concern, and a hell of a lot of curiosity. But Gavin just makes a noncommittal sound under his breath, then covers the mouthpiece of his phone for a second. “Gotta go, man.”

“No worries. See you on the ice.”

5

Violet

Iamway better prepared for my next meeting with Max Donovan.

I have a handout on Lawyer-Client Relations and the ethics therein.

I have a phone call scheduled to interrupt us twenty minutes after he arrives. Matthew was horrified when I told him to expect me bursting into tears when he calls me with terrible, tragic news about a family member. He doesn't know why, other than I have an awkward client meeting. He rightfully pointed out that plan probably violated the ethics of lawyer-client relations, but I’d rather dothatthan violate it in an even worse way. He doesn’t understand the devastating scope of what I’m dealing with in Max. That’s because I haven’t told Matthew anything about that night in July.

As far as he knows, I had a one-night stand that I never mentioned again.

Especially now—it’s my secret. I’m not going to get Max again, not like that, so I’ll forever hold those memories tight.

A girl’s gotta masturbate to something hot.

And Max is pure gold for the spank-bank collection.

As a last defence against the good doctor, I wore my most severe blouse, buttoned all the way to my neck, and a shapeless, boxy pantsuit of a lovely, heavy tweed.

I look every inch an unfuckable prude. My hair is even twisted up in a bun on top of my head. Not a loose, sexy chiffon that could be pulled out to tumble around my shoulders. Nope. There are seventeen badass bobby pins in this sucker.

Maybe Max will forget what I look like in nothing but silk and lace.

Hannah brings in a courier package I was waiting for, then hovers. “Do you need anything else?”

It’s Friday night and her kid has a hockey game. I can’t ask her to stay and be a chaperone for a client meeting. I shake my head. “Have a good weekend. Thank you.”

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