Page 34 of Dr. Bad Boy

University, probably. And even though I continued medical training after graduation, technically, I haven’t lived like this…ever.

In my first year at university I lived in the dorms, because my psychologist thought it would be a good transition back to being a normal young adult.

Turns out it wasn’t that simple.

I got Gavin out of the deal, though. But after that first year, I moved back into my house in Southlands, the oversized, extra-private modern mansion I’d bought when I was a sixteen-year-old angry at the world and desperate to hide. Third year I missed Gavin, so when he moved off-campus and finally convinced me I wouldn’t be recognized, I followed, sharing a two-bedroom apartment in a building not unlike this one.

Of course, I always had my home to retreat to if I needed it. For studying or alone time or…play time.

I was careful not to reveal my true self to my best friend until the last year of our undergraduate studies when I realized he might be into the kink scene, too.

By that time, I was a veteran of the higher-end Vancouver circuit.

A sought-after Dom at twenty-two.

That was when I realized it was healthier to limit who I slept with by making it a formal financial arrangement.

It hasn’t been exclusively call girls since then. Just ninety percent of the time, because the handful of attempts to find a sub I clicked with since had all been disasters.

A harsh reminder I need as I climb the last half-flight of stairs to Violet’s place. She’s on the top floor. It looks like there are four places per level.

“Do you know your neighbours?”

She gives me an innocent look. “No, but they’re big and burly and tattooed and ride motorcycles. Carry sawed-off shotguns—”

I lift my eyebrow and she stops.

“Yes, I know them,” she says softly. She points to the nearest door. “That’s Matthew’s place. He’s a city cop.” A beat of hesitation precedes her next words. “And he’s gay. But he could totally beat you up. And he would. So keep that in mind.”

“Be scared, but not jealous. Got it. Is he the guy you were on the phone with at the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“And in your office?”

She pauses as she slides her key into the lock. “Are you going to tell me who you called as you left that evening?”

I lift my chin and nod. We need to stop playing games with each other. “A friend. Also a cop. He’ll never beat you up.”

There’s a moment that stretches between us as I say that, then it’s gone before I can grab on to it. She pushes inside and I follow. She points into a bright, tidy kitchen and I put the groceries on the table.

The whole time a weird tension is coiling inside me. That moment at the door…I don’t know what that was.

I don’t like not knowing. It sets me on edge.

And Violet doesn’t deserve that from me. Fuck, she’s gotten the short end of a lot from me already. Maybe I need to start by apologizing.

I watch as she puts the food away, leaving the loaf of bread on the table. The shopping bag is folded up and stowed in a dedicated spot on a freestanding shelf. When she starts to straighten things on the counter, I cross to her and lean against the next foot of laminate, blocking her from her busy-work.

I wait for her to look at me, then I start. “I’m going to talk, and I want you to listen.”

She glances away. “Never my forte.”

“I recall your listening skills to be top-notch.”

“That night was different. That’s not really who I am on a day-to-day basis, and we’re so complicated—”

“Hush, kitten.”

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