Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

She glared at me, then smiled and shook her head.

We rejoined the festivities, walking hand in hand.20EricaGavin came home late the next night after a long shift, his eyes looking sunken and exhausted. He lingered in the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator, and didn’t seem to hear me come up behind him.

“Hey,” I said, leaning up against the wall.

He looked back at me. “Hey.” He reached into the refrigerator, took out some milk, and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

I watched him sit down at the table with a sigh and eat almost mechanically.

“Long day?” I asked.

He nodded. “Long day. New patients, new problems.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

That seemed to surprise him, which annoyed me. He shouldn’t be surprised when I offer to help him out. It wasn’t like I was some monster that refused to listen to his problems or carry my weight around the house. I cleaned up, did laundry, and even fixed a leaky faucet yesterday.

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “I just need a good night’s sleep. I’m off tomorrow, so that’ll help.”

“I’ll probably go in and see my mom again if that’s okay.”

He shrugged. “Sure, whatever you want.”

I lingered and wanted to ask him more about his day. I didn’t know why—maybe I was curious, or maybe I wanted to help him destress. I was tempted to give him a back rub, or to kiss his lips, or to sit on his lap and hold him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t know why—that kiss in the alley behind the hotel still lingered on my lips, and I knew we were moving in that direction, turning a fake marriage into something real, or at least something much more. I didn’t know where that would leave us, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever figure it out.

But a knock at the door stole my attention away. I glanced back at him as he stood with a weary sigh and walked over to answer it. I followed, curious who would show up at this time of the night, and stood a few feet behind him as he pulled the door open.

I recognized the guy right away. He was one of the men from the bakery, the one that had stood for Gavin to sit down. He lingered down at the bottom of the stoop with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Boss wants to see you,” he said.

Gavin tensed. “Right now?”

“Right now. He’s got news or some shit.” The guy looked around. “We’ve got a car.”

Gavin hesitated. “I just got off a long shift. I need to change.”

The guy eyed him then shook his head. “You’re fine. Come on.”

Gavin grunted and looked back at me. I didn’t know what to say or do, and my heart raced. He wore scrubs and a sweatshirt, and looked exhausted—and might’ve had a bloodstain on his pants.

“Let’s go then,” he said with a sigh.

I went to follow but the thug held up a hand. “Boss asked for you, not the girl.”

“She’s coming with me,” Gavin said, staring at him.

“Don’t make this difficult.”

“This meeting is as much about her as it is about me, so she’s coming with.” Gavin stared the guy down.

He grunted and shook his head. “Whatever, fine. Your funeral. Come on.” He led us to a black SUV and got behind the wheel.

Gavin climbed into the back and I joined him. The guy didn’t speak as he drove. The car smelled like smoke and licorice, and the guy turned on a Spanish language radio station. He sang along, nodding his head to an upbeat tune, before pulling up in front of what looked like a closed dry cleaner’s.

“That’s it,” he said. “You get out here.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Go in that green door. You’ll see them, in the back.”

Gavin hesitated then got out. I followed, hurrying to stay close. I wished I’d gotten changed too, but it didn’t matter, at least my clothes were clean. He approached the dry cleaner’s and found the green door, a rusty thing with no markings or signs on the front. It was unlocked and opened easily into a long hall with several doors on either side.

He shut the door behind us. “Think we’re about to get whacked?” he asked.

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m serious.” He didn’t smile at me as he walked down the hall toward the sound of laughter and music playing. “This is a weird situation, right?”

“They’re mafia guys. I have no clue what’s normal to them.”

He grunted and reached a door on the left. He glanced back at me then opened it and pushed it open. The sound of conversation and music got louder as we stepped into what was clearly the back of the dry cleaner’s. Clothes were stacked and hung all over, some of them in various states of repair and disarray. Chemicals were stacked in tubs, and cleaning equipment lingered all along the walls.