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Dr. Man Candy
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I’ve never had an “O” but my growly, gorgeous doctor says he can help me by doing “Face Time.”
I must be the only twenty-five-year old woman who’s never had a big “O” before.
I’m almost embarrassed to admit it because it feels like a liability when I go out on dates.
But Dr. Brett Northing says he can help me using a technique called “Face Time.”
It’s not what you think.
Face Time isn’t a messaging app where you can give yourself cute bunny ears and big eyes.
Nor is it “face time” in the corporate sense where employees hang out at the office for management to see.
Instead, it’s a very personal type of face time …
… that always ends with a big “O”!
I went completely bonkers when Dr. Northing told me about his methods. Is he insane? You could go to jail for this! But my physician is absolutely gorgeous with tattoos running up his sculpted arms, lips that were made to be kissed, and thick, powerful thighs. He says he’s ready to do the honors whenever I feel the need …
But am I ready to give it all to my handsome, hunky doctor?
If you like your men growly, possessive, and ready to CLAIM, then you’ll love our hero Brett Northing. He doesn’t have an MD, but he has something else that makes female patients very, very happy. Reader beware: not responsible for renewed interest in Face Time after devouring this book.
As always, my books end with an HEA, with no cheating and no cliffhangers.
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Janet squeals when she opens yet another adorable onesie. This one has a cute little tulle skirt attached to the bottom.
“Oh my God, where’d you find this?” she gushes. “This is perfect. My daughter is going to be the best dressed baby in the world,” Janet pronounces.
Our other friend, Tammy, says she bought the onesie and added the skirt herself. Wow, sewing? That’s so not my thing.
But I’m happy for Janet because I’ve known the bubbly brunette since our freshman year of college. Most of the girls at her baby shower are her old sorority sisters, but I was never a part of that scene. Frankly, there was no need because I spent so much time with them that it felt like I was in the sisterhood without having to take the actual pledge. Only one other guest, aside from Janet’s family, wasn’t in Alpha Beta whatever either.
My best friend, Maggie, sits beside me wearing a bemused smile. She knew Janet long before college, so it’s probably strange to see our friend pregnant and surrounded by a bunch of former sorority girls. I’m just glad to have one other person our age who isn’t wearing a shirt with Greek letters on the front.
Janet opens yet another box filled with cute pink onesies.
“You guys are the best!” she shrieks, holding up one with the bedazzled letters of their sorority on the front. “I hope my daughter rushes when she gets to college because I want her to have as many amazing friends as I do!”
I struggle not to roll my eyes. I have plenty of friends and I never went through that the agony of Rush Week, where different girls try out for different houses. I’m trying not to be so judgmental, but it’s hard when all these girls can talk about is the “old days.” We’re past that now, aren’t we? After all, this group of girls must have real jobs and real lives now, just like me. So why can’t we move on?
I sigh. My carefully wrapped box is next on the pile. After seeing the expensive outfits, strollers, and other things the ten or so other women brought, I’m embarrassed for Janet to open my homemade gift. It’s just so hard, given that it seems like everyone’s getting married lately. I swear, I’ve been to at least ten weddings in the last two years, not to mention bachelorette parties, engagement parties, bridal showers, and now baby showers. I’ve maxed out three credit cards just on wedding related activities. Being a young woman with a lot of friends is hard!
I wouldn’t change it for the world, though. New York City may be a bustling metropolis, but it can be really lonely sometimes, so I’m lucky to have so many great friends who want me to share in their special days. I just wish it didn’t cost so much.
Janet’s sister, Lucy, picks up my box and hands it over to her sis. My friend carefully removes the bow and adds it to the bow bonnet, a tradition I never really understood, and opens the box. Janet pulls out the soft pink blanket that I crocheted for the baby. It’s cute and soft, but obviously not super-fancy.
But I like it. I think a handmade present is better than a onesie that the baby will grow out of in a few weeks. I’ve been making blankets, hats, scarves, and stuffed animals using crochet patterns I find online. At least these things will be useful for a while, and I’m hoping the blanket lasts years, rather than the month those onesies will survive.
Janet tears up, and I know I made the right decision. “Did you make this?” she asks.
I nod. “Do you like it?”
The blanket is light pink with Janet’s last name in darker pink down the middle. Stitching the word onto the crocheted blanket was challenging, but I thought the personal touch would make the gift even better. Judging by Janet’s awed expression, I was right.
“It’s beautiful, Chloe,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I love it so much.”
She snuggles with the blanket for a minute. My whole body relaxes. I was worried for no reason, which is usually the case, but you never know at these things. Girls can turn on you on a dime sometimes.
Janet finally adds my blanket to the pile of other gifts and moves on. She makes her way through more blankets, onesies, diapers, and other baby things, but gratifyingly, she seems to love my homemade gift the most. I feel happy and blessed.
Maggie reaches over and squeezes my hand. Of everyone here, she understands my fears the most because my friend does okay for herself, but she’s not rolling in money either. Maggie’s a fact-checker and occasional pet sitter. Clearly, neither of us will be hitting the big time anytime soon.