Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)

“You’re not doing the surgery,” Farrow states plainly to his ex.

“I never planned to. I’m not in a surgical residency anymore.” Rowin tucks the chart under his arm.

Farrow frowns. “Your coat says Orthopedic Surgery.” He motions to the embroidered name and department on the coat pocket.

“I’m getting a new one made.” To me, he says, “Dr. Rhee will be in soon to explain the surgery, but in short, he’ll attach a metal plate and screws to hold the bones together.”

Farrow combs both his hands through his hair. “Wait,” he says, “if you’re not here for the surgery, then why the hell did you stop by?”

To fuck with Farrow, probably.

Maybe to fuck with me, Farrow’s boyfriend, too. But it seems kind of callous. Especially after a car accident.

Rowin faces me, not Farrow, and he tells me, “Dr. Edward Keene has requested that I be your physician after post-op. I wanted to introduce myself before you went into surgery. Any medical or rehab needs, you’ll defer to me—”

“What?” My mouth parts, and I almost go to stand up but cords tug. Dammit.

I always thought Dr. Keene would eventually refer me to a new physician since he refused to be mine. But Farrow’s ex? It’s underhanded and fucking wrong.

Farrow shakes his head repeatedly, his nose flaring. “My father put you up to this?” he asks Rowin.

“This isn’t some sort of conspiracy,” Rowin says. “I’m in training to join the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts’ med team.”

“Med team?” Farrow repeats. “It’s never been called that.”

“It’s what your father called it. Maybe because he’s looking to hire beyond the Keene dynasty. He told me that his brother Trip has been on sabbatical for over a year, and Trip’s wife, who I believe is a family doctor, wants to take leave to have another child.”

I remember Trip’s two sons are under seven, and Farrow told me that his uncle is already grooming them for medical school.

Rowin continues, “Your grandfather is retired, so that just leaves your father. And he’s understaffed as the famous families grow older. He needs more concierge doctors.”

A long pause strains the room.

Farrow rises to his feet. “I hope you know that my father chose you as retaliation against me. You’re not his special physician that he picked out of the pack.”

“I really don’t care why he offered me the job,” Rowin says. “The pay is unbelievably high and the hours are better than surgery. Hell, all of the Med-Peds residents and three-quarters of Surgical would’ve died for this position. It’s too rare to pass.”

“No,” I suddenly say aloud, wincing as I crunch upward. Both guys tell me to stop moving. I glower at Rowin. “No.” My voice is firm. “You can’t be my concierge doctor. You can be anyone else’s in my family, but not mine.”

Farrow’s ex is not prying into my medical history.

And if he already has, I don’t want to know.

“That’s fine,” Rowin agrees. “I’m not sure who you want to replace me, but hopefully you’ll find someone because you need PT after surgery.” He inches backwards, barely glances at Farrow, and he tells me, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on your cousins.”

Rowin leaves.

The door clicks shut, and Farrow remains standing but turns to face me. His eyes carry more apologies than usual.

I bend my knees so he can sit down. “I can remove Rowin from whatever med team there is if you want.”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t care enough about Rowin to get him fired.” Farrow doesn’t take a seat yet, but he rests a knee on the firm mattress. His gaze never drifts off mine. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about him—”

“I asked you not to, Farrow.” I gesture to his chest with my good hand. “It’s not a big fucking deal.”

“Okay, but if I had known you’d ever meet Rowin, I would’ve told you about him and how he proposed. I didn’t want to blindside you, ever.”

I inhale, trying not to smile. “Maybe I can try to accept your apology.”

“Maybe,” he repeats like I’m full of shit and I’ve already scribbled hearts around M + F in my diary. Just so you know, I don’t have a diary. And if I did…Farrow would be all over it.

He places the chocolate tin on the tray table, and I watch him pick my philosophy paperback off the bed.

I try to open and close the hand that sticks out of my sling, and my brain must short-circuit because I say without thinking, “Your ship name with Rowin is literally FarRow.”

Farrow goes still, the paperback rolled in his hand. His brows slowly rise at me. “Wolf scout, there is no ‘ship name’ between me and Dr. Fart.”

I laugh once, a pain stabbing my ribs. I shut my eyes, and when I open them, Farrow is closer, checking an IV tube.

He glances down at me. “How long have you been obsessing?”

I hate that I’m confined to this bed and I can’t stand at eye level with him. “Since you uttered the word ex,” I say, not denying the truth. “He has a tattoo—”

“Stop.”

“And a cartilage piercing—”

“Maximoff.”

“He’s not unattractive—”

“Trust me, wolf scout. You’re much much hotter.”

“Thank you, I know,” I say confidently.

The corner of his lip pulls upward. “I love when Cocky Maximoff comes out for me.”

I’m about to say it’s not for him, but another annoying thought hits me. “He’s a doctor.”

Farrow whistles. “Your perception is something.”

I lean my head back on the hard pillow, staring up at the ceiling, then the wall. “You two fucked in the hospital a lot, like they do on TV?” The worst mental image of Farrow and Rowin pops into my head. “In the…what do they call it?”

That room thing.

With the bed. Where all the doctors crash between shifts. I picture that. My overactive imagination puts my boyfriend’s mouth passionately up against another guy’s mouth; and maybe it’d be a turn-on for some people, but it just knots my stomach—

“Maximoff.”

I blink awake to his fingers snapping at my eyes, his hand on the pillow next to my jaw. Leaning over me, his knee on the bed.

Fuck. I rake my hair back.

Farrow stares at me strongly. “Stop torturing yourself, man.”

“The on-call room,” I mutter as the answer suddenly reaches me.

His hand encases the sharp lines of my cheekbone and jaw. Fully. Securely. His gaze dives deep and touches every damn part of who I am. “I love you, Maximoff,” he says. “And I know you overthink because that’s what you do, and this is new for you. But I love you. And I know it fucking hurts to see someone from my past because it fucking hurt when I went through your NDAs. So if you need me to tell you five-thousand times, a million, that I’m so fucking in love with you, I will.”

I don’t need it; the offer alone caresses and overflows me. I cup the base of his skull and breathe, “Just kiss—” Our mouths are already colliding.

The aggression arouses each synapses of my brain. I grip his hair in between starved fingers, and his clutch tightens on my face. I break apart his lips with my tongue. Deeper, I try to draw forward, but Farrow lowers so I won’t move my chest.

And he slows the kiss to a scorching, unhurried pace that pricks my fucking nerves with hazardous voltage. Our heavy, husky breaths meld. He bites my lip, and a deep groan inches its way up my throat.

Farrow mutters a rough fuck after I run my tongue against his tongue.

My sore muscles strain, but I only crave him closer.

Nearer.

I try to shift my dominant hand—it jerks in the sling, and I turn my head, ripping our mouths apart. Pain annihilates my whole right side. “Fuck.” I clench my teeth.

Farrow eases his knee off the bed. Backing up slightly from me.

Not what I want.

I hunger to thrust my hips upward, for his hips to thrust down on me. Until hard cock grinds on hard cock, and a rough, wild and crushing kiss leads to wrestling. Pushing and pulling. Until we’re one tangled mess of muscle and bone dying to come.

All of that feels out of reach with this injury.

I look at him. He’s already studying my body. My lips sting, and I want that force to return. Thinking he’s afraid to hurt me, I say, “That was my fault.”

“It was,” he agrees easily.

“I meant it was your fault,” I backtrack as irritation nips at me.

Farrow smiles like he’s already beat me and raced miles ahead. “See, I would’ve never touched your right hand even if you blindfolded me. And I’m a doctor. I know which parts of you are off limits. So technically, if you feel a sharp pain, it’s your fault.”

Everything he just said…stirs my cock. My blood rushes downward, and the beep beep of the heart rate monitor suddenly accelerates to beepbeep beepbeep beepbeep.

Fuuuck.

Farrow laughs hard.

“Shut up.” I growl out my frustration and rub my face with my left hand. Alright, new plan. Focus on other shit besides sex.

I remember what Rowin said about Dr. Keene offering him a concierge job.

“You want to talk about your father?” I ask him seriously.

His laughter dies, and he shakes his head and nears me again. “There’s nothing to say. He may not be an evil bastard stalking you, but he’s still nothing to me. That’s the truth.”