I turn to him abruptly and meet his gaze.It’s not a teasing, distracted or annoyed look.It’s not just any look.
This isthe look.The kind of look that makes your blood run cold and leaves you gasping, as if you’re on the verge of passing out, having a heart attack, or drawing your last breath.
I stare at him, unable to speak.He smiles, lifts his hand towards my face, and grazes my chin with two fingers.Gently, he turns my face towards the pitch.
“The game is in front of you,” he says.
His voice, his touch.Again.
That thought creeps into my mind once more.
I grit my teeth, swallowing around the feeling of sharp splinters as I force myself to look at my son walking across the field.
“You must be proud of him,” Jamie says again.
I am proud.I’m so proud of him; my heart is bursting with pride and joy.I just want to find the right way to help him understand that.
Chapter9
Jamie
Did I really have to sit next to the Doctor?Couldn’t I sit on the other side, between the brothers, or far enough away that his scent wouldn’t mess with my head?
The Doctor is like a magnet — my perfect opposite.No matter how hard I try to resist, I’m always drawn to him.
I want to touch him, talk to him, breathe him in.
Look at him.
That’s where it all goes wrong.
I shouldn’t look at the Doctor.I can’t resist that puppy-dog gaze begging for a cuddle, especially because I’m not a cuddler.I don’t care for chin scratches or belly rubs.
Absolutely not.
And then he rejected me, and the disappointment burns.My pride howls, and my body feels perpetually wrapped in flames.
If I could have him for just one night, I’m sure this obsession would finally burn out — if I could do to the Doctor all the things I have in mind.
The Doctor shifts his weight every few seconds — restless, uncomfortable.He probably doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s doing here, or what he’s supposed to be looking at.
He definitely doesn’t feel like family.
The O’Connors close ranks in their usual circle, leaving him on the outside.I’ve watched the brothers do this for years — loud, overbearing, sucking all the air from the room.They think they’re intimidating.To me, they’re open books.I know which buttons to push and which secrets they’d rather keep buried.
Reading people is what I do.I’m a meticulous observer.I notice what others miss because they’re too distracted or self-absorbed.Not me.I see, I hear, I speak.I never miss a chance to weigh in, and I steer people where I want them to go, using everything I know.
But the Doctor is different.Every time I think I’ve got him figured out, he shifts, shows me another layer I didn’t see coming.He’s a book with pages missing, and I want to know what’s on them.
“This isn’t really your world,” I tell him.
“Are you saying I don’t belong here?”
“It was just a comment.”
“Well, don’t make any more.They’re enough for me already,” he points at the brothers with his head.
“Tough, isn’t it?”
