Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

“I doubt it.” He looked at me and I saw the truth in his eyes. He didn’t think we stood a chance.

“There’s got to be a way.”

“I’ll think of something. Cosimo’s a mafia asshole, but he’s still running a business. There’s got to be something he wants more than you.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. He seems… unstable.”

“Then I’ll find him and kill him.” He looked at me and for half a second, I thought he was serious. But then he gave me a little smile and I laughed nervously.

“Right, since you’re a doctor, killing would be easy for you.”

“Maybe not. There are other options though.” He turned toward the bedrooms and walked into the hallway. “For now, let’s call it a night. I doubt they’ll try anything again tonight.”

“This is going to be a nightly thing?”

He shook his head. “Probably not, but we’d better be prepared.”

I sighed and followed him. He lingered outside of his bedroom door and looked back at me. For a second, I thought he might invite me in with him, invite me into his bed, and I knew I’d say yes. I’d sleep with him, touch him, curl up against him and feel his warmth in the middle of the night—or I’d let him keep me up late, teasing me, using me, whatever he wanted.

Instead, he gave me a tight smile, then stepped into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

I let out a frustrated, almost disappointed sigh, then went into my own room, curled up under the blankets alone, and tried to not to think about Gavin’s tongue between my legs—or the knife between his ribs.15GavinThe next few days were tense. I kept thinking about Erica’s taste on my tongue, the way she moaned my name as she came, her gorgeous body, her full pink lips—but the problem of what to do about Cosimo and her mother kept plaguing me.

I knew this wouldn’t be easy. I hadn’t walked into this situation thinking I could make it all right in one easy moment, but I was still frustrated with myself for being unable to fix things without resorting to violence. The days slipped past quietly, but I remained on edge—ready in case of anything.

Most days, Erica came with me to the hospital and sat with her mom. She read books and played around on a laptop I bought for her. I knew she was frustrated and bored and felt helpless, but I was swamped with patients and couldn’t take enough time off to be with her.

I tried my best. We ate lunch and dinner together. I asked her about growing up, about her life with her mom, about her father, about what movies and TV shows she liked, all that stuff. We found we had more in common than we expected. I lost my parents young and essentially raised my sister for a while, which made my life difficult—and she had a tough upbringing with her unstable father. We liked the same shows, the same movies, and even liked the same music, although we were nostalgic for different stuff.

I felt our bond grow stronger over those days, and it was almost surreal, almost strange. That night when I got her off drifted between us like an unspoken secret, but we didn’t so much as kiss after that, and she seemed to want to keep her distance. I wasn’t going to force anything on her that she didn’t want, and yet I couldn’t help catching glimpses of her during our days together, glimpses of her walking through my apartment in a skimpy outfit, lounging on the couch, leaving her bedroom door open as she got changed. I thought maybe she wanted me to look— but didn’t ask her about it.

One afternoon, the problem of what to do with her mother drove me particularly crazy. I found myself in the neurology wing after dealing with a patient, and drifted over toward the offices. I knocked on the door of Dr. Dean Coarse, another young doctor that started around the same time as me.

“Come in,” he called.

I poked my head inside. He looked buried under paperwork but gave me a tight nod and a smile then gestured at a chair.

“Hey, Dean,” I said. “You busy?”

“Not too busy. Take a seat.”

I walked in and sat, stretching my legs. Dean was around my age, maybe a couple years older, with salt-and-pepper hair cut short, a trim beard, and light blue eyes. He looked tired and overworked, and I knew he pretty much single-handedly ran the Neurology Department. He was considered some kind of prodigy, and if I was the golden boy destined for leadership roles, then he was the tortured genius content to rule over his tiny little domain.

“I’ve got a patient I could use a consult on.”

He nodded, finished whatever he was writing, and leaned back in his creaky old chair. “What’s up?”