Page 176 of The Doctors Will See You Now

I winced when I hit send before thinking through my words carefully. Jesus Christ, Scott. I might be in love with you? That’s the worst fucking thing you could say to this woman. She hadn’t seemed clingy when I’d taken her home that night, but immediately after being intimate, she’d flipped the switch. I was still angry with myself for taking everything that far. On some deep, internal level, I’d known Pamela Lockhead wouldn’t be happy with fucking once and moving on.

Pamela: It’s in two weeks. I just emailed you all the details.

This time, I made sure my response didn’t make me want to punch myself in the nuts quite so much.

Me: Thank you.

Pamela: We should get together between now and then. Have some fun.

See, Scott? Do you fucking see what you’ve done? She had clinginess written all over her. The more I would fuck her or consider fucking her, the more complicated my life was going to be. It was better to cut and run after the one time.

Not to mention, the thought of fucking Pam after fucking Harlow felt ruthlessly lackluster. And, surprisingly, made me feel oddly nauseous at the very thought.

Me: Sorry. I’m slammed with work the next two weeks.

Fucking hell, that was an awful cop-out. But I couldn’t exactly tell her to fuck off given the fact that she’d just secured a meeting I’d spent months unsuccessfully attempting to land on my own.

Pamela: Maybe after then. ;)

Ah Christ.

Me: Yeah, we’ll see.

Don’t judge me. My mother may call me a heartbreaker, but I hate breaking fucking hearts. My real game is staying far enough away that I don’t have to.

I tucked my phone back into my pocket before I could give it any more thought and slammed my locker closed. No doubt I was a good five minutes late for my shift now. But that was one perk of being the boss. I’d just tell Deb I was busy doing important shit, and she’d have no choice but to believe me.

Knowing they were working shorthanded without me, I shoved open the door and broke into a jog on my way to the floor.

Will Cummings was running the other direction with a sweating, panting pregnant woman on a gurney next to him.

He smiled and nodded in my direction. “I see you got a live one,” I called after him, but he was too busy listening to the woman as she screamed in his ear. He really was one of the best doctors I’d ever seen, his bedside manner completely unparalleled. Not actually obscene in any way.

I, on the other hand, actually deserved my nickname. Hell, I probably deserved his. But the old saying was right: Nice guys finish last.

“Dr. Shepard!” Deb yelled just as I rounded the corner.

She had barely contained panic—the kind that only came with years of training—in her eyes.

“What’s up, Deb?”

“You’re just going to have to see it,” she told me and turned in the other direction to break into a jog.

I followed her obediently, grabbing a pair of gloves from an empty bay on the way there. If this was anything like she was making it sound, time and protection were going to be of the essence.

She pulled the curtain back as the woman behind it cried out in hysterical agony, and it didn’t take me long to figure out why.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered just before jumping straight into action.

Visibly pregnant with a—

“Is that a curtain rod?” I asked, fucking horrified as I got a closer look at the pole sticking straight up and out of her protruding belly.

“Yes,” Deb said, efficiently briefing me. “She’s thirty-six weeks pregnant and was walking on 53rd when that struck her from above. Probably someone working in an apartment with the window open. The police are looking into it, but overall, it just seems like horrible timing.”

“My baby!” the woman screamed, panting to catch her breath through the panic. “Somebody please tell me my baby is okay.”

“What’s your name?” I asked as calmly as possible, stepping forward to take her trembling hand in mine.