Douchebag Doctor by Roxy Gray

I don’t do dates. I don’t have crushes. I don’t sleep with rude doctors. Which one is a lie?
Turns out it’s all three.
The doctor strolled into the yoga studio before any of the others had arrived.
“Hey, you again.”
“Oh. Hi,” Michelle said.
“So, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Would you want to go out for dinner tomorrow?”
Michelle’s heart raced. Her eyes met the doctor’s. They were light brown, like sweet caramel. Her gaze drifted lower, over his arms. Muscular, yet lean. Small veins protruded on the sides. She watched as his hand gently grazed hers, leaving sparks as it went.
“Sure. I’d really like that.”
The other students began to filter into the room. Michelle turned. The doctor bent down to whisper something in her ear.
“Maybe I’ll get to ruin your pants this time.” He smirked.
Michelle fought back the urge to laugh.
“Doubtful. I don’t even know you.”
A smile took over the doctor’s mouth. His voice vibrated by her ear, flicking his British accent into her:
“I think you do. And I think you know what happens next.”