Todos os capítulos de My Boyfriend’s Dad Is My Gynecologist : Capítulo 141 - Capítulo 150

BethThe diner was one of those retro places with chrome barstools and red vinyl booths that squeaked if you shifted too fast. A jukebox flickered in the corner, low music humming beneath the buzz of neon signs and clinking glassware. It smelled like heaven—griddle grease and toasted buns, vanilla milkshake and sizzling fries.I was already dreaming of my first pickle spear by the time we slid into a booth. Stacy took the seat beside me, thigh pressed to mine, hand never leaving my knee. Adam and Rachel sat across from us, both grinning like they’d just witnessed a Hallmark movie proposal and were personally responsible for it.We placed our orders—two burgers, two baskets of fries, and one towering chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Rachel ordered a vodka soda. Adam stuck with iced tea. Stacy asked for a root beer float because of course he did.“I can’t believe you actually said it,” Rachel teased, stabbing a fry into her milkshake like it owed her money. “Yo

Beth“I should probably call Rachel,” I said, already reaching for my phone as I padded barefoot through the kitchen. “She’ll kill me if I elope and don’t tell her.”Stacy looked up from the coffee pot, mug halfway to his lips. “You think she’d actually forgive you?”“Not a chance,” I muttered, already tapping her name.The phone rang once.Then twice.And then—“Beth Monroe, if you’re calling to tell me someone has been shot or kidnapped, I swear to God I will strangle you with your own uterus.”I barked out a laugh. “Jesus, dramatic much?”“Tell me I’m wrong.”“You’re not wrong,” I said, flopping onto the couch. “We’ve been through so much lately. Which is why I’m calling to tell you Stacy and I are getting married. Like this weekend.”Rachel screamed. Like… banshee-level screamed.I had to hold the phone away from my face.Stacy walked by and raised an eyebrow. “You’d think we told her we murdered someone.”“She’s excited,” I mouthed, turning the phone back to my ear. “Rachel, calm

BethDinner was loud, dimly lit, and draped in velvet.Stacy had picked the restaurant without even asking—some tucked-away spot on the third floor of the hotel, just past a jewelry boutique and across from a tiny cigar lounge. The kind of place that didn’t advertise its entrance. You either knew it existed, or you didn’t.The hostess led us through a wall of wine racks into a private dining alcove, half-curtained and glowing with amber sconces. The air smelled like seared meat and vanilla wood smoke, the lighting was sexy and low, and the tables were made of sleek black stone that reflected the candlelight like oil.Rachel practically moaned. “Okay, now this? This is the energy I needed. Give me moody lighting and overpriced ravioli any day of the week.”“I’m just impressed we’re not eating off plastic trays,” Adam muttered, tugging at the collar of his button-down like it was strangling him. “Do I have to keep this shirt on the whole time?”Rachel elbowed him. “Yes, and if you behav

  Beth We had exactly three hours to find dresses, get back to the suite, change, and make it to the chapel. And for once in my life, I didn’t feel even remotely panicked. Rachel and I stepped off the spa level, our skin glowing, our nails perfect, and our hair curled like we belonged in a shampoo commercial. The boutique directory sparkled on a golden plaque near the elevators, listing designer after designer like a fashion show roll call. Rachel scanned the list and let out a low whistle. “Okay, moneybags. You sure you’re not accidentally marrying a mafia boss?” I smirked. “Just a very sexy doctor with excellent taste.” We wandered into the first boutique, a sleek modern space with mirrored walls and mannequins in slinky evening gowns and glittering cocktail dresses. It screamed destination wedding.

BethThe flash popped again, and I blinked hard, trying not to squint.“One more,” the chapel photographer chirped. “Tilt your heads together a little. Perfect—okay, say ‘Viva Las Vegas!’”“Viva Las Vegas,” we mumbled in unison, smiling like people who had just gotten married by Elvis in a rhinestone jumpsuit—which, to be fair, we had.I laughed when Stacy kissed my cheek right as the shutter clicked.Rachel cheered from the side. “That’s going on the fridge.”“Which fridge?” Adam asked, deadpan. “We have three between us.”“All of them,” she declared.We took a few more—one with Rachel and Adam, one of Stacy dipping me backward like he was about to ravish me on the chapel floor, and one that I swore the photographer took solely so she could use us in the venue’s future ads.When the pictures wrapped, Rachel bounced on her heels like a wind-up toy. “Okay. Now that we’re officially hitched, what’s the plan? I say we go out and have some fun. Hit a rooftop lounge, maybe a club with a goo