Page 68 of Detention with Daddies

“Three. I’m running a regular yearly panel.” Olivia doesn’t watch the blood. She watches me instead, head tipped to the side.

Most of the women in my life don’t get to see this side of me. The competent doctor. I work with mostly males. They don’t get offended by my gruff bedside manner. I’m tough. Some womenand girls can handle it. It’s not like I’m unsupportive, but I won’t let them get away with half-assing it.

I’m pretty sure that’s what drew Olivia to me as a student. She’s been like that with me. I can’t half-ass it with her.

The draw is easy, and I’m taping her up with a gentle touch that I can’t seem to help but use on her.

“What about the rest of the tests? Checking your heartbeat, lungs…” Any excuse to keep touching her.

That knowing look she gives me doesn’t keep her from saying, “Yeah. It would be good to get another opinion to compare to what I hear.”

I take her stethoscope and settle it in place, breathing on the chestpiece to warm it up before I press it over her heart.

Why does this feel so intimate? I count her heartbeats, and her beats per minute are elevated. Is that because of me?

“Breathe. Inhale for four. Hold for four. Exhale for four,” I instruct, counting with her through a few rounds before I listen again. It’s better. “Eighty-two. Very good. I bet it’s better when you do it yourself.”

Her laugh is soft, and her fingers traipse down my tie. “It is, but that’s still good, considering.”

I grin at her and shift to listen to her lungs, hitting all twelve points in front—probably a little overkill—then the eight places in back. I’m nothing if not thorough.

If she checked mine, she would hear my erratic pulse and the strain in my lungs as I try to breathe her in as deeply as possible. I want her like crazy.

I’m still behind her when I set the stethoscope down. “Do you still plan to accompany me to the gala? I wasn’t lying when I said a lot of people will be there for you to discuss your work with.”

Olivia peers over her shoulder at me. “Yes. I will go with you.”

It’s a relief. And she must see it in my face or my stance. She’s so observant.

Now that I’m done, I’m almost afraid to touch her. I settle for tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Her hand comes up to press my palm to her cheek. My fingers trail over her neck.

“I do find you breathtakingly beautiful. Your curves. How you move. Sure. But I’m also taken by your intelligence, your confidence, your passion.” I lean in to whisper against the shell of her ear. A soft confession. “I especially like how you can be submissive when I want control. That you won’t let me do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

I try to keep my bolder impulses to myself. “And you will put me in my place when I need it. I find that I like that far more than I thought I would. No one else has ever tried.”

The admission is far more intimate than I intended at the onset of this, but now, I’ve found I can’t keep myself from wanting more from her.

OLIVIA

Shawna spends a week helping me find the perfect dress for the fundraising gala. It’s green, of course, to accentuate my hair and eyes. Dark to highlight my pale skin and freckles. The neckline plunges in a deep V between my breasts that Shawna convinced me was the right amount of sexy.

A soft gold pattern overlays the top, but the bottom is the most beautiful of it all. Voluminous skirts billow out from my hips, making my waist look small. The layers are split to reveal a long slice of leg on the right.

Shawna would not let me hold back on this. I’m going to my first university-wide event as someone who has something to say, to pitch for donors to help support. And I’m showing up with Waylen as his plus one. Whatever that means beyond my want to make a good impression, I’m not so sure yet.

As much as my bestie has bolstered my confidence, the way Waylen’s eyes bug when he picks me up at her place—because I didnotwant my mother to ruin this moment—solidifies how sexy Shawna said I should feel.

I do feel sexy now. She’s done a good job to get him to look at me like this.

“You are stunning.” His voice is low, dark, almost like he wants to devour me.

My skin heats, and I smile at him in his black suit and matching green tie. How did he know? His hair has more curl to it tonight, styled with care—probably his daughter’s work—and he’s shaved the typical scruff from his face.

He looks ten years younger.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

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