Page 99 of Dr. Bad Boy

Each sharp, jabbing thought opens a new wound inside me.

I’ve been summoned here for a dirty booty call, nothing more, and that’s on me, not Max.

Nine months hardly seems like enough time to unravel the mess I’ve made. I pull out my phone and fumble my way to a due date calculator.

August.

If all goes well, my baby will be born the first week of August.

I hear the quite growl of the garage door opening and put my phone away.

One thing at a time.

35

Max

Iprowl into the house, my need for Violet trumping all else. I got kicked out of the PICU an hour ago, the trauma specialists pointing out that I had other patients to care for and they didn’t need me double checking their work.

It took me forty minutes to wrap up the rest of the work on my desk and take a quick look at the notes for tomorrow’s clinic.

Now my night is all hers.

She’s in the living room. I hang up my jacket, set my bag on the kitchen counter, and start rolling up my sleeves as I approach her.

She looks tired, too.

Food, drink, a little hanky-spanky, and we can go to bed early. Naked.

“Thank you,” I say as I tug her to her feet. “I know I broke your rules a bit.”

“It’s fine. I needed to see you, too.” There’s a tremor in her voice. Maybe she had a bad day, too.

I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her close. “We should do this more often. The mid-week thing. It’s nice. I had a weird fucking day. You ever have days like that? Where something that should be ordinary and normal just isn’t, because who the fuck knows why?”

She nods slightly. “Yeah.”

I rub my nose against her cheek. “You, though, kitten. You are perfect. Just exactly like this. So simple, you and me.”

She stiffens, and I kick myself for pushing her.

“Shhh, ignore me. I’m wound up.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk about it? Can you talk about work?”

I shrug. “Yeah. In broad strokes. You don’t mind?”

She shakes her head.

I tell her about Ethan. Nothing identifying, nothing I wouldn’t put in a journal article. Mostly I tell her about the frustration that sometimes bleeds into my normal ability to maintain professional boundaries.

“You really care,” she says softly.

I need a beer. I lead her into the kitchen. “Yeah. Although days like today make me grateful I don’t have kids.” I pop the cap off a beer bottle and hold it out to her.

She frowns as she shakes her head.

“Do you mind if I have one?”

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