Doctorshipped (Getting Shipped! #5)

by Savannah Scott

And then our eyes met. Which means nothing because, obviously, he’s a man and I’m me. But it would be great fodder for a novel. I make a mental note: Write all this into a novel.

The poor man is like a woman-repellant. He’s the citronella candle of men.

And he has forearms that would inspire a romance novelist—which, of course, I am, but my characters are not usually human, so forearms don’t come into play in my books.

“Shannon, I always knew I could make you laugh. What I wasn’t sure of was whether I could be the man you needed—the one you could count on to hold your secrets, to stand with you through thick and thin, and the man who would never let you forget how precious you are.”

Fiona leans over to me and says, “I want a husband like that, Daddy.” “That’s the only kind I’ll let you have,” I assure her.

I know. I know. It’s not usual. Most women swoon over pecs and quads, or the way a great pair of jeans hug a man’s butt. Maybe it’s the length of his unfairly long lashes. Not me. Okay, yes, I’ll watch a man walking away from me, and will not complain if his Levi’s make me do a double take. But eyebrows are my jam.

Oh, yeah. Did I mention the flirting? The man knows how to flirt. Who knew? He swears he has no game. Whatever. He has more game than Hasbro.