“What about you, Dr. Donnelly?” Lawson said in a light tone, sipping his coffee.
“John,” he answered. “Donnelly reminds me of work. My parents and sister call me Johnny—you can call me John.”
Wyatt’s throat bunched for some reason, and he cleared it. “John it is, then.”
The sound of his name said out loud in the space between them felt even more intimate than taking his glorious cock down his throat.
Fuck, everything felt good with John.
John.
“Did you make me any?” John asked, tilting his chin to the coffee mug.
“I did. Don’t know how you take it, though. How do you like it?”
“Dark and black like my soul.”
“You’re certainly not that.” He stood and handed him the paper cup of coffee in bed.
John pulled himself upright and took it, eyeing him self-consciously. “I’m sorry again for…”
Wyatt shook his head, deciding to play it off, knowing that it would be safer for John than admitting the truth. “Don’t. I did that to you. I sliced open that wound, and I should’ve known better. I knew you were in pain with your shoulder, I just hadn’t realized how much.”
John nodded, keeping his gaze averted, which bothered him. He reached down and clasped his fingers under his chin, fingering the beard as he tilted him upward, needing to see his eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed about.”
John blinked, shifting uncomfortably, and Wyatt let go, deciding not to push it. He returned to his chair across from him, propping his feet up on the edge of the bed. “We were supposed to have that talk about your rules.”
“Right. I forgot. I thought about them last night before everything went to hell at work,” he scrubbed the back of his neck, and Wyatt couldn’t help but imagine a stethoscope there, loving the way his big hands would constantly be touching his neck, beard, or face…
Wyatt felt the lightbulb go off in his head and leaned forward in realization. Dr. John Donnelly kept a hell of a lot to himself, and whenever he struggled to suppress it, he rubbed his neck, fingered his beard, or scrubbed a hand over his face.
That was his tell. It was right there all along, and Wyatt never saw it.
Fuck, I’m finally figuring him out.
It’s a start.
A start to what, he had no fucking clue. But he liked that he was slowly peeling back the layers to this man who clearly didn’t want to be seen beneath his steel armor.
“Well, we already broke two rules,” John muttered, sipping his coffee.
“Really?” he asked, feeling oddly pleased.
“Condoms, always. And no sleeping over.”
He hummed, unable to suppress a smile.
“I suppose we can adjust it,” John said, pulling the bedding over his waist, his naked back leaning against the headboard. “We can continue to not use condoms if we—uh—stay exclusive, as you asked.”
Wyatt certainly planned to, and now, hearing that John did too, he tried to smother his elation. He didn’t want another cute paramedic riding his Dr. Donnelly.
His? Where the fuck did that come from?
“Sleeping—well, considering we’re both ED doctors,” John drawled. “We may accidentally fall asleep on each other from time to time.”
“So, there’ll be a next time?” he asked.
John's dark gaze met his, vulnerably exposed. “Do you really want there to be?”
