Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
The doorknob turned, and Dex stepped inside, in his typical jeans and hoodie. The only time he ever looked like a doctor was when he was in his scrubs, and the rest of the time, he kept it really casual.
It was one of the things I loved about him.
He didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him.
He gave me a smile when he spotted me, not the least bit put out that I was in his apartment after the long day he had at the research facility. “What are you still doing here?” He carried his bag to the couch and set it on the cushion, like he intended to sit in front of the TV and work on paperwork for the rest of the night.
“I wanted to put up these pictures before you came home.” I picked one up and flipped it around, showing him holding his two nephews.
He grinned as he came closer, his eyes locked on the photo. “Aren’t these kids the cutest things you’ve ever seen?” He took the frame in his hand and examined it, like he hadn’t seen the photo in a while.
I loved how affectionate he could be, how playful, how warm. It wasn’t typical for a guy, especially of his caliber. He was masculine but also sweet—when did that ever happen? “I think so.” But I thought the guy in the middle holding the two kids was cuter, not that I would ever say it.
He moved around the couch to look at the other pictures, including the photo of him and his dad in front of the Christmas tree that his mother took on Christmas Eve. He looked at it for a while, his eyes softening for a moment. “These are nice.”
“I thought they would make your apartment feel a little warmer.”
“Yeah, the moody sculptures aren’t quite my style, but they’re cool.” He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair—”
“Wait, I want to talk to you about something,” he said from the fridge. “You want a beer?”
My heart immediately raced at the invitation. “Sure.”
He came back with both beers, both caps twisted off, and handed me one.
“What’s up?” I asked after I took a drink.
He sat on the arm of the couch, his knees wide apart, his hard body stretching his sweater, outlining his biceps, triceps, and all the other ceps he had. “I’m running out of money.”
That was not what I expected him to say, so I stared at him blankly. “Uh, what?” I processed his billing, and he was definitely not running out of money. In fact, he was balling. After seeing a couple high-profile patients, his piggy bank wasn’t empty anymore.
“My charity fund. I’m seeing more underprivileged patients than I used to, so I’m draining the cash quick. Pretty soon, it’ll hit zero, and I’ll have to turn patients away.”
“Shit. What are we going to do?”
“Shit that I hate doing. Publicity.”
“Meaning?”
“I need to give some speeches, some interviews, attend galas. A bunch of annoying crap like that.” He rolled his eyes before he took a drink and set the bottle on his thigh. “It’s the most effective way to get more donors. I already had a lot who supported my work, but I’m just seeing so many patients now that the funds can’t keep up with me. So, we’ve got to get more.”
I usually had ideas about everything, but right now, I was drawing a blank. “I’ve got to be honest, Dex. I don’t even know where to get started.” How did I schedule these interviews? Who did I contact?
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Talk to Emerson. She handles all of that for Derek, so she can give you some good pointers. She’d be happy to help.”
Oh, right. He was an author…and a famous rocket scientist. “Great. I’ll reach out to her so we can get on that ASAP.”
“Great.” He took another drink of his beer as he looked at me. “Got plans tonight?”
I shook my head. “Just gonna order sushi and watch TV.”
He nodded in approval. “Not a bad plan.”
“What about you?”
“Just gonna sit on the couch and work. I should hit the gym, but I’ve just got too much shit to do.”
He seemed to work as much as I did now. “You want me to grab you some dinner?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I know today is grocery day, and I’m still working off all those pies I ate….
“If it makes you feel any better, you can’t tell.” At all. The guy was just as ripped as always.
“Maybe you can’t tell from the outside, but I can definitely feel it at the gym. When I stop working out for more than two days, I’m so out of shape, it’s ridiculous. A two-hundred-pound bench feels like a thousand pounds, and the treadmill is torture.”