Charming as Puck(80)

And even when he was sending physical gifts, they got more and more personal every time.

And that’s the Nick I always thought was hiding under the pranks and the ego and the ass.

Not that I need presents. Just hanging out with him—naked, clothed, at home, in a bar, wherever—is everything I’ve ever truly wanted.

“You’re so smiley today, Dr. Oakley,” my last patient of the day—or rather, her owner—says as I finish listening to the dachshund’s lungs. “I saw you in the paper the other day with the Thrusters’ goalie. Are you really dating him?”

I pull back Bruiser’s lips to inspect his gums and teeth. “Nick and I have been friends for a long time,” I answer diplomatically, because I’ve seen enough of what Felicity gets asked for just because she’s related to him to know not to commit to anything.

“Such a handsome devil. And those are all his real teeth, aren’t they? Did he really pull that Jell-O prank on the team management last year?”

I suck in a smile, because that story might’ve gotten a little inflated when it hit the press. “His sister works in the front office, and yes, she found her stapler and computer mouse inside a Jell-O mold one morning over the summer, but the Thrusters have never formally commented on who they think was behind it.”

“What about all the computer screens and keyboards in Jell-O?”

“That was exaggerated.”

“It was him, wasn’t it? I heard about those cookies.” She lowers her voice. “You know the ones. On his grandmother’s lawn.”

There’s a knock, and my mom sticks her head in the room, sweeping a glance at the dog to make sure he’s not about to take off. “Kami, you have a phone call. And a delivery.”

My heart leaps. “Five minutes,” I tell her.

She slips into the room. “Oh, you go on. I’ll finish up here. How’s Bruiser this afternoon?”

Normally I’d argue—I don’t like my patients to feel like they’re getting passed around—but I’m more than happy to escape gossiping about my private life.

Especially when I get to the phone and see a number that I think I know lighting the display.

There’s a package the size of a shoebox sitting on the front counter.

I transfer the call to the phone in the break room and carry the box down the hall, then shut myself inside before I grab the receiver. “Hey,” I say more breathlessly than I mean to. “How’s Seattle?”

“Lonely and dreary. Did you get your last present?”

“I’m opening it now. If it’s a glitter bomb, I’m going to strangle you.”

He laughs, and god, I miss him. He just left yesterday, but I miss him. Not in a maybe someday he’ll see me kind of way like I used to dream about him, but in an I miss my best friend kind of way.

He fixed us tacos two nights ago, and we ate them over a romantic comedy that he didn’t once complain about watching, and then he sat there astonished that he liked it, arguing over which character should’ve realized they were in love faster, and how much less shit the heroine should’ve put up with.

And then he’d blinked at me like he’d realized what he just said, and then he gave my dogs treats and carried me upstairs like a caveman and made me come three times.

But my favorite part is waking up with him still in my bed.

And only partially because he talks in his sleep in the early morning.

The other part is that sleepy grin and the, “Hey, gorgeous,” that happens as soon as he cracks open his eyes.

“I should keep sending you presents every day,” he tells me now. “It’s a good use of my time and energy.”

“I don’t need anything else,” I tell him while I carefully unwrap the brown paper around the box.

“But you might like it.”

“The law of diminishing returns says I’ll appreciate each gift less and less.”

“Not when they’re coming from the genius of my brain,” he counters.

I’m laughing as I peel away the paper and find a simple white box inside. I lift the lid, and— “Oh my god, you didn’t. No, you did. Please tell me this isn’t—never mind. I’ll look later.”

His rich laughter rumbles over the connection. “You should look now.”

“I am not taking this doll’s clothes off to see if it has a penis,” I hiss. “I haven’t done that since I was nine.”

“Handsome, isn’t it?”

“He’s freaking adorable.” My own little brown-haired Nick doll, complete with bright green eyes and that grin that sits right on the border between charming and cocky. It’s in a Thrusters uniform, from the jersey to the pads to the shorts to the skates. There’s a helmet and a stick in the box with him, and this doll has more muscles than any doll has a right to have.

“Adorable? You mean studly and hot.”

“So cute. Like a teddy bear in a pink tutu.”

“Check out what he’s packing in his pants and see if you still want to call him a teddy bear. More like a lion. Or an elephant.”

I glance at the door to make sure it’s closed, and I carefully peel back the doll’s pants, feeling like a total peeping tom the whole time.

And then I burst out laughing again. “Oh my god, there is something wrong with you,” I gasp.