Doc - A Club Alias Novel

Of course she’d be considerate of that.

“What’s this really about?” she asks low, her voice sounding dangerous for coming out of such a small woman. “Because if this is how it’s gonna be with you when I’m finally actually taking steps to enjoy my freedom….” She shakes her head. “I already lost an entire decade of my life thanks to one controlling asshole. I don’t want another one.”

My heart squeezes inside my chest. Fuck. My scowl drops, and I lower my arms, ignoring my urge to reach out and pull her to me, to force her to see I’m not trying to control her, but even that would be mixed signals. So I just keep my voice calm, and I tell her, “You’re right. I’m sorry, goddess. My need to keep you safe is coming across all wrong, and I can see clearly how you would think I’m being controlling.”

She loses some of the feistiness in her expression, so I keep going. “I’ll be honest with you. It’s been a very, very long time since I was in a relationship, and even I’m going to make mistakes. It’s very different being the one on the inside, experiencing it, instead of the therapist on the outside, looking in and teaching someone how to fix things. I’m no longer an unbiased bystander. My emotions are involved, and the emotion that was coming off as ‘controlling asshole’ was actually jealousy,” I confess.

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead and her jaw drops, her hand rising to press to her chest. She blinks at me. “Jealous?” She scoffs and lets out a quick manic-sounding laugh as she looks around the gym. “You… jealous.” She shakes her head then meets my eyes once again. “Why in the world would you be jealous?” She takes the hand that was pressed to her chest and gestures at me from head to toe. “Have you looked in the mirror? In the words of the great Emma Stone, you look like you’ve been photoshopped!”

I chuckle, tilting my head toward the floor then looking up at her with just my eyes. “I thought I was old, baby?”

Her brow furrows even as she smiles. “The only thing old about you is your slang, Viking. Get with the times.” She rolls her eyes and takes a step up to me, placing her palms flat in the middle of my chest. “I will admit, the first day we came, I was super jealous of those bitches in class who were eye-fucking the shit out of you.”

I smirk, remembering her possessiveness.

“And what did I do about it?” she prompts.

My smirk grows even cockier. “You marked your territory.”

“Ya damn right,” she says loudly, nodding slow and dramatically. “I pissed aaaall over this.” She waves one hand in front of my face, and I pull my lips between my teeth and laugh through my nose.

When her face finally softens, she rubs a circle in the center of my chest, and it does wonders to loosen the knot that formed there moments ago.

“Is that something you’re into, goddess? I mean, I know we haven’t discussed our likes and limits, but Golden Showers have always been on my hard limits list,” I tell her, trying to say it with a straight face, but I know she can see the mirth in my eyes.

She jerks her head back and grimaces. “Eeww-wah! Metaphorical peeing only. You can mark your territory in front of the meatheads all you want, but you make one freaking move to piddle on me and we. Are. Over.”

“In that case—” I bend my knees and wrap my arms tightly around her ass, straightening my legs and lifting her so her feet dangle. “—you’re just going to have to start getting over the gross and sweaty thing.”

She grumbles. “Blech. I think you’re all good with the marking of me today, Viking. You made it loud and clear by hauling me over here like some freaking caveman.” She rolls her eyes. “Now kiss me and put me down. You need to work out so I have some new mental images for my spank bank.”

And I do just that.Chapter 13AstridMe: Came to the gym earlier than your lunch break to do the 10:00 barre class with Destinee. And then I’ll keep you company while you work out. Look at me texting like a good girl *sticking out tongue emoji

Neil: Thank you, goddess. I appreciate the communication. I’ll see you at 11.I smile, slipping my phone into my purse and setting it next to the mirror beneath the barre, and then I spread my legs into a wide straddle to do some stretches.

“Hey, new girl,” someone calls, and I look up to see the woman who’s always in the class walking toward me, the same one who shoved me on my first day when Neil was handing me my weights. She’s dressed in red leggings and a black sports bra, her dark hair pulled back in a ballerina bun at the top of her head, a full face of makeup.