Page 53 of Fixation
She’s about to find out.
“I thought I was clear before.” I stop at the edge of the bed, tilting my head. “I want you to get better.”
A little roar vibrates in her chest when she notices the bowl in my hands. “You’re crazy if you think I’m eating that.”
“I said, I wanted you to get better.” My tone broaches no argument. “For that to happen, you need to eat.”
“I think…I think you lied when you said you were a real doctor.” The cogs are moving in her head. It shows through her expressive eyes. I wait for her to say it. “Or-or…Right. Fuck. You’re not a doctor. You’ve been stalking me. You’re a weirdo who works from home. That’s how you knew I left the house when I did. How you could just get up and leave. Follow me from there to the hospital. There—not sure how—you stole these scrubs from a real doctor, called yourself a surgeon, no less?—”
A thrill runs through me. She understands the depth of my devotion, even though she’s got some of the facts wrong.
She sees me.
She was always supposed to be mine.
“—then you appeared in the ER. Like it was a coincidence. You liar. You stalker.”
Her cheeks burn bright red. I don’t miss the way her eyes linger for too long on my tattoos. Don’t miss that little gasp that’s followed by a scowl.
Oh, she hates herself for liking me.
Any emotion is a good emotion, I guess.
“A real doctor would’ve helped me. Actually helped me.” Those baby growls will be my undoing. I’m quick to catch myself, to fix my expression into a solemn one. “You stole me, you monster.”
“I made you soup.” I’m a live wire, need and lust pulsing inside me. As gently as possible, I place the bowl down on the treatment cart. Her gaze is glued to me, watching me bend to elevate the head of the bed. “A broth, with real bone marrow. Real chicken.”
“I told you I won’t eat it.”
I pick up the bowl, raise the spoon to my mouth, and blow.
Her arousal is ever evident in her second gasp. No coughing. I fixed that for her.
Then she catches herself ogling me. “Dammit.”
Over the years, a couple of patients have asked me out on a date. Some of them blushed. One wanted to give me her granddaughter’s number.
The answer has always been no, no, no, and no. My expression remained in a perpetual, statue-like state. No emotion has creaked through my impenetrable mask.
It’s been easy so far. A walk in the park.
I haven’t felt anything for any of them.
Hiding my true self from Harper is a hard feat. Matter of fact, nothing’s ever been more challenging than this. Holding back my desires. Maintaining professionalism around her.
Nothing.
A twenty-eight-hour shift would’ve been a walk in the park compared to this.
“Here.” I bring the spoon close to her chapped lips.
Harper licks them. Curses. Stares at the spoon as if I laced her soup with poison.
She has every right to think that.
She’s still eating it.
I’m her only source of nourishment for the next few days.
