Doctor Desirable: A Hero Club Novel

by Anjelica Grace

  So I don’t get to see her.

  I hate it. But she assured me she wants to build a relationship of some sort still. She even mentioned it might be better right now for us to not be working together professionally. Maybe it will give us some time to get to know each other personally with no work run-ins or potential awkwardness. I think what she really meant was if we aren’t working together, I can’t be a dick. If I can’t fuck up by treating her like shit, then maybe she can get to know me enough to not take it personally.

  I could be wrong though.

  One thing I do know for certain, though, is I want to see her. Even when I was avoiding her, I wanted to see her. She’s magnetic, brilliant, and gorgeous. I’m a living, breathing, red-blooded male, who recognizes beautiful women like every other man on the planet. And I saw it in her on day one.

  I can’t take it anymore. She’s on my mind constantly, and I have around thirty minutes before I have to head to my next surgery. I need to talk to her. I just hope she’s not so busy she sees my message too late.

  Me: How are the kids? Driving you crazy yet?

  I set my phone down on my desk and lean back in my chair, propping my feet on the stack of boxes beside my desk, and resting my eyes until she messages back.

  Dee: Not at all. I love working with them. In fact, there’s a kiddo here I think you might be interested in.

  Me: Is that so? Is he arrogant, good-looking, very sure of himself?

  I grin as I hit send on the message. I’m no pro when it comes to knowing Dee and her reactions, not yet at least, but I’m positive I’ll get a reaction from that text.

  Dee: Ha. No, in fact, he is the exact opposite in the arrogance and confidence departments. He is absolutely adorable though.

  Me: So why would I like him?

  Dee: You know him. It’s Micah.

  Seeing his name on my screen makes me sit up straight with my feet planted on the floor. The need to know what’s going on and why she’s seeing him is overwhelming. But professionally I probably shouldn’t be asking those questions.

  Me: Micah? Is he okay?

  Dee: He is. I need to get back to work, but do you want to grab dinner tonight? Maybe catch up, work on the whole trust and getting to know each other thing?

  I want to do that more than anything right now. I want to see her, talk to her; I want to argue with her again because her resilience and determination are hot. But now I want to know about Micah too. I want to know what’s going on in his life.

  Me: I’d like that. What time and where?

  Dee: I’ll be off at five today, but I know you have surgeries, so when can you meet?

  Me: I should be out of the OR by five thirty. So what do you say we meet at seven? I’ll have time to shower and get cleaned up at home by then.

  Dee: You got it, Doc. I’ll see you at seven. Let me know where to meet you.

  Me: I’m not picking. You pick.

  Dee: I haven’t lived here long enough to have a good grasp on dining. Pick a place, I’m not picky and I’m not a vegetarian or vegan. See you tonight. Bye.

  I text her back again to argue the point, but I don’t get a response. Not right away, not before my surgery.

  There still isn’t anything from her after my surgery either. I guess I’m just going to have to decide myself and let her know.

  Me: Meet me at Warwick’s Wings and Beers at seven.

  Dee: See you tonight, Dr. Alexander.

  ****

  Dee

  This is nowhere near what I had imagined him choosing when I told him to pick where we were eating tonight. During my lunch break I pulled up all the possible fine dining locations around the city and was trying to pinpoint which I thought he might pick. Wings and beers, basically a sports bar style restaurant, wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list.

  The outer shell of the building is brick and wood, it’s similar to my apartment building. Inside it reminds me of a place back home. There’s a bar section with high-top tables and bar seating, TVs line the walls and hang over the bartender’s head behind him. The dining portion of the restaurant is full of high-backed booths with small TVs hanging on the wall over each table, and wide-open tables with chairs circling them. No matter where you sit, you can watch sports.

  There are plenty of options for privacy with the high-backed booths and yet everything feels very open and casual. I may not have expected it, but I appreciate him choosing a place like this rather than a fancy, expensive restaurant.

  “I’m sorry I’m a couple minutes late.” I didn’t hear the door open behind me, and I wasn’t expecting his voice, or the touch of his warm hand over my cool elbow, so I jump a mile high and clasp a hand over my chest.

  “Oh my God! Where did you come from?” I turn to face him, trying to slow my racing heart, but instead of slowing it, it kicks into overdrive when I see him in a pair of perfectly fitted jeans and a black button-down with the top button undone and his sleeves rolled up beneath his elbows.

  “The parking lot.” He grins and peers over my head. “A booth for two, please.” The hostess behind me agrees and asks for a few minutes, and I just keep staring at him.

  “Cat got your tongue, Dee?”

  “Just startled, I didn’t expect this. You. I mean I didn’t expect you to just pop up behind me.” The tug of his lips tells me he doesn’t buy my sorry attempt at a cover, but he’s respectful enough to not call me on it this time.

  “Sorry. I had to rush after surgery, showered at the hospital and picked this up from the dry cleaner on my way. I changed in my car.” He shrugs his shoulder like it’s no big deal, and his lone dimple forms on his cheek.

  “You don’t have to explain. You should probably quit changing curbside though. It’s a bad habit to be in. I’d hate for you to get in trouble for indecent exposure.”

  “I’m very careful, and private. The only indecent exposure you have to be worried about is the kind you’ll be asking for anyway.” He’s teasing and playful again.

  I love seeing this side of him, it makes me feel less crazy for agreeing to all of this. I need to see how playful and open he continues to be when we get to our booth and dive deeper than harmless flirtation and eye fucking though. It doesn’t take anything to flirt. It does take a lot to start to form a true relationship—friendship—and let people in though.

  “What makes you so sure?” I put a hand to my hip and cock my head, looking at him expectantly.

  He leans in, softly brushing a curl of hair behind my ear and whispers so low I have to listen hard and ignore the chills breaking out over my skin from his warm breath, “The way you just took in every inch of me, then mentally undressed me the second I walked in the door.”

  I take in a quick, forced breath and step a half a pace back from him. “So sure of yourself. I didn’t undress you. I am worried your changing habits will get you in trouble though.”

  “I’m sure that’s what you were thinking when your eyes dilated and you subconsciously licked your lips.” He winks at me and holds a hand out as if he were leading me forward. And he is. Because the hostess is ready to take us to our table. The second I’m turned and walking behind her, I feel his hand move to my lower back and his body moving in sync with mine, step for step.

  I’m acutely aware of the heat and strength radiating off of him. He isn’t in my personal space, yet I can feel every bit of his hard body behind me. It’s not a physical touch, but the mental perception and expectation of what even one more step closer would feel like. It’s a sensation I both crave and fear with him.

  “Thank you,” I murmur to the hostess, as he waits for me to sit before he slides into the booth across from me. She hands us menus and tells us who our waiter will be, then leaves us alone. “I’m surprised you picked this place.”

  “Their wings are the best in the area. It reminds me of home, too. And while I have every intention of wining and dining you at a fancy place in the near future, I thought this might be more the speed we are lookin
g for just now.”

  His honesty is refreshing and disarming. I’m used to his talking in circles or avoiding topics. “What speed is that?”

  “Slow and steady, establishing trust, for both of us.” He looks over the drink menu and then peeks over it. “Did you drive?”

  I shake my head no. “I wasn’t sure what parking would be like, and I didn’t know if I’d need liquid courage being here with you, so I ordered a ride.”

  “You should try their strawberry margaritas then. I usually order beer, but the margaritas are pretty good.” He hands me the opened menu and points to the frozen, red drink.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk, Dr. Alexander?”

  “Nate, call me Nate. And no. I just know you like margaritas.”

  How does he know that? I never told him I like those, and I haven’t been here or hung out with anyone else enough for them to know yet, so he must’ve seen the bar crawl pictures on my profile from a couple years ago with Tate.

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  His cheeks turn the slightest bit pink at my question, and his gaze drops to the table. “I may have checked out your profile a little after we talked the other night.”

  I can tell he's not used to being put on the spot in this way, but I don't really care. Besides, I like the fact he scoped out my page. “I don’t care you were looking, Nate. I did the same with yours. I think it’s cute.”

  He looks up with a scrunched nose and rolls his eyes. “Why must women say everything is cute? Men don’t want to be cute. They want to be rugged, sexy, unforgettable.”

  “Because women are able to distinguish between cute behaviors and looks, and sexy, rugged, unforgettable behaviors and looks. We don’t use cute in place of those. We use them in conjunction with sexy, rugged, and unforgettable.”

  “So you do think I’m sexy, rugged, and unforgettable too then?”

  It’s my turn to shake my head and roll my eyes now. “Oh my God. You’re the same as every other man on this planet. So annoying. I’m not answering your question.”

  He tsks me and wags his finger from side to side. “We agreed to be honest so we can learn to trust each other. You have to answer.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass. One who might be sexy and rugged. I’m not sure I can agree to unforgettable without a little more proof, but I will agree to you being a badass surgeon I’ll never forget, who has deservedly won many awards.”

  “I’ll take it.” His smile spreads across his face and his eyes glisten with humor and happiness. “I’ll break you down eventually. Have you calling me rugged, sexy, unforgettable, and a bunch of other things.”

  “I already call you other things…”

  As the waiter approaches, I close my mouth and let him think about what I’ve called him and why during our little interruption. We both order our drinks, a strawberry margarita for me, and beer for him, and then he folds his fingers in over each other and perches his elbows on the table.

  “What do you call me, Dee?” His eyes are nearly impossible to look away from while he stares at me over the top of his hands. They pin me in place and hold me captive.

  I have to close my eyes. His gaze is too intense and I’m pretty sure the longer he looks at me, the weaker I’ll become. It’s almost like his eyes are my kryptonite, and I’m a goner in their presence. “Nothing. Nothing you haven’t heard already,” I lie. It comes easier when I’m not staring directly back at him, but if he pressed, I’d probably break in no time.

  “So you still call me, what was it? A jerk? A dick? Maybe even an asshole?”

  My eyes spring open, and if I were any closer to the table, my jaw would’ve hit it when it dropped from the rest of my mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever called you an asshole. Probably not a dick either.” I know I’ve called him both behind his back, but never to his face. Have I?

  “Au contraire, Gorgeous.” He thanks our waiter for our drinks when they’re brought out, then he asks for a few more minutes before we order dinner. The second our waiter is out of earshot, Nate smirks at me and continues, “You have called me a jerk. In the hospital with that one. That was not very professional, but it was sexy as hell.”

  I close my lips around my straw and suck hard, buying time before I know I need to respond. The margarita is delicious, he was right, and I’m glad I listened to him.

  “Mhmm.” I let my moan of appreciation turn into the start of my response, hopeful it’ll momentarily distract him. “I did call you a jerk. You were being one. And I didn’t deserve it. But the other two…”

  He moves his hand forward, then hesitates, as though he’s second-guessing himself, leaving his hand suspended in the air while he stares at me… My face.

  “What? Is there something wrong?” I ask, moving my hand to where he seems to be staring.

  “You have a little… Just here.” He looks at me curiously, then slowly reaches over the table and slides his thumb along my lower lip, wiping a drip of margarita off. It’s a shocking move alone, but then he pulls it back to his mouth and licks the pad clean. “Mhmm,” he repeats it back to me with an extra deep growl behind it that turns my already responsive insides to mush. If his tongue moved any slower over the ridges of his finger, I think I’d melt from inside out and turn into a puddle right here. “You called me an asshole at the carnival, and you also accused me of being a dick there.”

  I take a smaller sip, using it as a moment to compose myself after his display of licking the margarita he took from my lip off his finger, then say as confidently as I possibly can, “As a point of fact, you called yourself an asshole before I called you one at the carnival. So it doesn’t count, I was just reusing your word.” It’s weak, but whatever, I want to win this little debate. “As for calling you a dick, well, when the shoe fits, you should wear it.”

  His laughter is loud and full for many seconds before he quiets to a softer chuckle. “I think I wear those particular shoes with you a lot, whether I can hear it or not. I’m not denying I’m an asshole, a dick, or a jerk though. My brothers would both agree with you on all three, too. But if those weren’t the names you had in mind, what exactly do you call me?”

  The waiter returns again, ready to take our orders now, and his presence effectively ends this conversation as it takes me a few minutes to look over the menu. I settle on mild wings that are extra crispy on the outside, and then pick out an appetizer for us. By the time we are alone again the fun, playful fight is forgotten and an easy conversation settles in about work, local places, and the mundane small talk good for passing time at a restaurant and getting to know each other.

  Seventeen

  Nate

  One course of dinner segued into another, segued into dessert, and now here we are, closing the restaurant down while we finish our final drinks and conversation.

  “You really told your youngest brother if he flapped his arms fast enough when he jumped off the shed, he would be able to fly?” She giggles around her straw and slurps up the final few ounces. She’s on her third margarita of the night, and though I don’t know if she is drunk, but she is definitely a little buzzed. Her eyes are glazed and starting to pinken, and her laughs have come easier and lasted longer. She’s totally let go of all her defenses around me for the time being and I love it.

  “We were incredibly young. And in my defense, Jackson convinced him with me. I didn’t act alone in instigating X-Man’s very first broken bone.”

  “X-Man?”

  Shit. Apparently she’s not the only who is looser now. I nod my head and slide my wallet from my pocket, laying down more than enough money to cover our bill and a very good tip. “Xavier—X-Man—is the baby, and we started calling him that after his heroic attempt at flying. I say hero not in the savior sense, but he believed if he could fly, he really was a superhero.” I shrug my shoulder and kill off the last guzzle of my second beer. “You’ve heard of X-Men, right?”

  She nods her head slowly. I wonder if she knows how slowl
y it’s moving, or how cute she looks like this. Her hair has lost some of its curl since we sat down a few hours ago. Her lipstick has faded with each drink of margarita she’s taken. And her eyeliner is starting to smudge lightly beneath her eyes. They’re all signs of a long day and a good night. For once, I haven’t done anything to ruin it.

  “Well, after he jumped and failed to fly, we felt pretty bad about him being in the hospital, and needing a cast, during summer. He couldn’t come to the pool with us and he hated it. Jackson and I started calling him our favorite superhero. Our X-Man. Xavier loved it, and it stuck. Now it’s just as much a part of his identity to us as his given name.”

  “That is seriously too cute. I won’t share your story with anyone though. I promise. Anything personal you share like that is safe with me. No matter what.”

  Given my history, nearly every fiber of my being wants to refute her words. My brain has warning bells dinging and ringing, warning me to proceed with caution and pray this woman really is as good as she seems. My heart, well, it has a mind of its own. Instead of ringing and dinging, warning me of potential danger and the need to pray, it is thumping and bumping telling me to dive in with both feet and trust.

  “I try not to make a habit of believing drunk people,” I tease her, albeit with honesty laced in every word.

  “Don’t you know the expression drunk words are sober thoughts, Dr. Desirable?” At the same time as my grin spreads over my face, she slaps her hand over her mouth. “I mean, Dr. Alexander. Definitely meant Dr. Alexander.”

  “So that’s the name?” I laugh and hold my hand out to her once I’ve slid out of the booth.

  “No. No it’s not. It was a lie.” She slips her hand in mine. It’s soft, dainty compared to mine. Her nails are painted a light blue with little white strips painted over each tip this time.