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Slowly he turns to face me, an unreadable expression troubling his handsome face. “I thought you didn’t date.”
“Normally, I don’t. It’s easier to be alone.” But this is a favor I owe, and I stand by my word.
He takes a step toward me, and then another, approaching me until he’s in my space. He tilts his face down and I raise my chin—partially in defiance at his sudden attitude, partially because I want to get as close to him as possible.
We stay like that, staring at each other, a series of small steps following until my back is pressed against the window and he’s in front of me. He reaches an arm around each side of me to rest on the frame. His voice lowers to a dangerous octave as he speaks.
“Maybe you’ll like the guy. It could be good for you. Do you some good to break out of your shell.”
“Why do you even care what I do, or who I do it with?” My eyes plead with him, begging him to tell me that all the tension I’ve felt these last few weeks isn’t so one-sided. “What’s it to you?”
Dr. Ryan is quiet, his eyes searching mine once again, exaggerated breaths landing on my face as he takes the last step forward, pressing his chest to mine. The proximity is closer than is safe. It’s close enough my body wants to betray me, to lean into him like he’s a force more powerful than gravity.
I force myself to look away from his penetrating gaze and focus my attention on the center of his chest. I count the stitches in the fabric of the V of his scrubs, waiting out the silence.
He reaches a hand up to my face, his fingers softly gathering the hair that’s fallen from my ponytail and tucking it behind my ear. His knuckle grazes along my jawline before it falls away. “He’s a lucky man.”
For a split second, I wonder if he will kiss me. I’m begging him to do just that when a sad smile crosses his face. He takes a step back, then another, before turning to leave without another word.
Chapter Twelve
Ryan
The buzzing of my phone draws my attention for the third time this hour. I don’t even need to pull it out of my scrub pocket to know it’s my sister. Corey is planning a trip to Chicago within the next month. She wants to know my plans, to know if I’m going to budge this time and agree to see our mom.
Pulling out my phone, I quickly turn it to silent, but not before I see another text come through.
Corey: Call me when you can. Or text. Or email. Send a smoke signal or a Goddamn homing pigeon if you need it, just stop ignoring my questions. You’re too old to be this dramatic.
I smirk, Corey is such a shit and knows exactly how to get me to respond.
Me: Remember, you’re two years older than me. If I’m too old, what does that make you?
Corey and I have never seen eye to eye when it comes to our mom. She is all too willing to spend time with Mom andmend the relationship after the shit she put us through as kids. Correction, she didn’t put usthroughshit, she mostly ignored us, left the television on as a babysitter while she ran off, and did whatever she wanted. If she put us through shit, that would indicate she was an active part of our lives.
I lean back in the computer chair, tension instantly gripping my neck and I roll my head side to side, trying to relax and get my mind back on work when I feel a warm presence next to me. I take a swig of coffee from the small, white Styrofoam cup on the desk, grimacing as the bitter liquid turns my throat. This hospital takes inbillionseach year and boasts of having the highest quality, state-of-the-art equipment for transplant robotic surgery. They spent oodles of money over the last few years turning this place into the Hilton. They could probably propel a man to Mars, yet the coffee they supply for the break room could rival paint thinner.
Lainey’s small shoulder gently bumps against my side, a move mild enough to remain unseen by most, but enough for me to turn my attention towards her.
“You alright?” she asks as she pretends to lean forward and review the open binder in front of her.
“Yup,” I snip back.
She looks at me and tilts her head to the side just a fraction of an inch, but enough to tell me she can sense the lie. “I don’t believe you, but fine.” Her gaze then falls to the cup of black tar in my hand. “You know you work the day shift now, right?”
“Yeah?”
“And you know there is a gourmet coffee shop downstairs that’s open during the day, right?”
I look down at the cup in my hand and chuckle, taking another drink and nearly gagging. “For the last eight years, I’ve been drinking the coffee from the unit kitchenettes, black coffee is black coffee, it all tastes the same.”
She turns around to rest her hip on the desk, attention fully directed towards me. “Well, I can tell by the look on your face with every miserable sip that you don’t like the way it tastes. If what you’re doing no longer works for you, and better options are staring you in the face, why continue to torture yourself?”
I purse my lips together to temper a smile, wondering how long it will take her to realize that what she says could easily apply to us. Another moment passes before a faint pink blush rolls across the apples of her cheeks. “Are you just putting two and two together, firecracker?”
“We’re talking about coffee, Dr. Ryan.”
“Are we?” I prod, lifting the cup to my lips for another drink but I can’t take it. Even the smell burns my nostrils and I’m sure it’s the reason I eat tums like candy. I chuck the cup into the garbage can at my feet as the phone on her hip rings. She answers it, gaze still locked on mine as she walks away, chatting to the person at the other end.
