Page 104 of Doctor's Bossy Match
I almost texted her three times already.Each time, I stopped myself.
Is there such a thing as seeing someone too much when it’s supposed to be casual?Because she’s in my head every damn minute.Her smart mouth.Her skin.The way she curls into my side like we’ve been doing this forever.
I need the weekend to breathe, to check in with family, to reset.Get my head right.I’ve got that chief position announcement coming up, and her dad… my boss is being cagey as fuck about it.I thought I was the front-runner.I still do.But he hasn’t made it official, and now I’m wondering what’s holding him back.
I can’t afford distractions.Even if that distraction has the softest skin and the sharpest comebacks I’ve ever met.So I planned a run with a friend.
I glance at Nate.“How’s it going?”
“Quiet.”That’s all he says.
Tonight, we’ve got dinner at Carl’s place with friends, where he’ll have sports on the big screen, cold beer, no pager, no pressure.For once, I’m not on call on a Saturday night.
I glance at my watch.Five miles.I could push to six, maybe even seven.
Then my pager buzzes at my hip.
Shit.
I yank it up, heart already sinking.
Another pediatric emergency.
“Gotta go,” I bark, already turning.
“Catch you later,” Nate calls after me, not breaking his stride.
I sprint toward my street, lungs burning.As soon as I’m inside, I kick off my shoes, strip down in the hallway, and jump in for the world’s fastest shower.
Towel still half on, I’m calling the hospital.“It’s Dr.Harrison.I’m on my way.”
I head back into the hospital for a couple more hours.I check in, monitor the labs, write a few notes, and watch machines keeping a thirteen-year-old boy stable who came in with the sepsis.His numbers are slowly moving in the right direction, which is great progress, but he’s still not out of the woods completely.
When I finally step into the break room, I’m alone, so I go for the coffee machine more out of habit than need.Normally, Regan makes it for me.I’ve barely done it myself since she showed up.
I take a sip.Instantly regret it.
I grimace.“What the hell…”
Same coffee, creamer, and mug.And yet, it tastes like shit.
I rub a hand across my face.“What the fuck is wrong with me?”
She’s in my head again.Regan Thomas.With her too-curious eyes and that stubborn streak that won’t back down, even when she’s exhausted.
I take a seat, reach for the paper on the table, and read it.
Flipping open the front page, my stomach coils.
Fucking hell.
Right there in full color is a photo from the grand opening.But my arm is wrapped around her waist.Her head tilted back to me, leaning in, close enough to whisper something in her ear.
Of course, it had to be that shot on the front page.
“Fuck.”
Her father’s going to see it.He reads the damn paper every fucking day.Stomach twisting, I lean back in the chair and stare at the ceiling.
