Page 29 of What Should Have Been Ours

She texted me? That’s gotta count for something, right? Maybe she’s not so put off by me as I thought.

Smiling, I respond.

Cam: No chance of that happening. I fully intend on winning just to impress you.

“Alright, what the hell was that?” Wes asks, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

I school my expression back to neutral. “What? Nothing. Just checking my schedule.”

Wes narrows his eyes. “Bull. Nobody blushes over a schedule.”

Before I can react, he lunges—faster than any man surviving on four hours of sleep and an ungodly amount of caffeine should be able to, and snatches my phone straight out of my hand.

“Wes—”

It’s too late. He’s already dancing backward, eyes flicking to the screen.

Then he freezes.

“HOLY. HELL.”

Every single person in the residents’ lounge turns to look at us.

I swear under my breath. “Wes, don’t—”

But he’s already holding the phone up, his voice carrying way too loudly across the room.

“My Future Wife?” he announces to the entire hospital population. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

I lunge, but Wes dodges me effortlessly, flipping through my texts like the nosy bastard he is.

“Oh, dangggg,” he whistles. “She’s got jokes.”

He clears his throat dramatically, then reads out loud:

“My Future Wife. So, how much should I bet on you getting tackled within the first five minutes?”

Laughter ripples through the lounge.

I groan, rubbing my temples. “Wes, I swear—”

“Oh, wait, there’s more,” Wes cuts me off, eyes widening as another text rolls in. “Oh, this is good—” He barely holds in a wheeze as he reads:

“My Future Wife. So, if you get tackled and end up concussed, should I bring flowers or just tell the nurses to put you in a medically induced coma to save you from embarrassment?”

The lounge erupts.

Dr. Patel leans back in his chair, grinning. “I like her.”

Wes is dying, wiping away an actual tear. “This is gold. I’ve never seen this side of you.”

I finally snatched my phone back. “You’re obnoxious.”

Wes just smirks, entirely unbothered. “Look, all I’m saying is, you’re walking around with her saved in your phone as My Future Wife, and she’s out here making fun of your athletic abilities. This is true love.”

I glare at him, but I can’t exactly argue.

Instead, I ignore the idiot I somehow made my best friend, and type my reply.