Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I laughed but it was sad. I walked myself to and from school from six years old. They used to pay another little girl a couple of pounds a week to walk with me for the first term but after that, I made my own way there and back. They were too absorbed in their crumbling marriage to give a shit about the kid they brought into the world.
“Anyway, I wasn’t cutting her hair. The girl with a chair next to mine was. Ellie had just started as a doctor and I just couldn’t believe someone younger than me was a doctor already. Someone from my school, come to that. They were discussing gruesome illnesses and vomit and stuff, and I was completely fascinated with everything Ellie was saying. Then a couple of months later, my boss was booked on a first-aid course. The morning of, she was sick. It was my day off but I offered to go. The training was an entire day. I loved it and got to talking to the person giving the course over lunchtime. They were at med school and doing this on the side for extra cash. I grilled him like he was a serial killer suspect, then I just became obsessed with the idea that maybe one day, I could be a doctor.”
“So if you left school at sixteen, you didn’t do A-Levels.”
I shook my head, ready for the look of disdain that so often followed when someone found out I left school at sixteen. “I did them at night while I worked.”
“Jesus, Sutton. You’re amazing.”
“Not sure Matilda had to go to night school,” I said and winked at him.
“I saw your grades at med school. You must have been top ten percent of your year all the way through.”
“Five percent,” I corrected him. “You looked at my grades?”
“Yup. I look through everyone’s grades who are on my team. If I didn’t think you were amazing before tonight—which I totally did—I would now.”
“I don’t deserve special treatment because my parents were arseholes.”
“Firstly, yes you do. Secondly, the amount of perseverance and will power—the amount of discipline and determination you had to have to do what you’ve done in the way that you’ve done it—is incredible.”
“This might sound silly to you, but I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone. I just want to keep my head down and get through the next two years. It’s exactly why being here is so . . .”
He reached for my hand across the table and this time I didn’t move away. “I’m not going to say a word. But I’m not sure flying under the radar is going to be possible. You’re a very talented doctor.”
I appreciated the compliment, but it wasn’t his job to make me feel better. I was fine. “We probably shouldn’t be discussing work.”
He smiled and I felt it in my toes. “I remember we tried that once. Got very drunk.” He stood, took my hand, and pulled me up from where I was sitting.
“I feel like I killed the mood a little,” I said. He circled his hand around my waist. “I don’t talk about this stuff with many people. Any people, really. For some reason I have verbal diarrhea around you.”
“Definitely the preferred type of diarrhea to have.” He placed a kiss on my forehead. “I like listening. I like talking to you. I like being with you.”
I sighed, relaxing a little in his arms. “I thought maybe after last night things might have . . . shifted. That it was some kind of pent-up physical need.”
He shook his head. “But it’s not. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have risked last night. Neither would you.”
“So I guess we need to wear this one out a bit more.”
He frowned. “What? Keep having sex until you’re bored or over it or something?” He looked at me half amused, half horrified.
“Isn’t that what most relationships are? I mean, if people are honest.”
He shook his head and let out a half laugh. “I don’t know. But I’m not interested in any other relationships. I’m interested in you and me. And I’m not expecting to get bored. Not with you.”
“Ever?” I grinned at him. “Is this a marriage proposal?”
He smiled in a sort-of adoring, deliciously sexy way. “Is marriage something you want?”
I pulled out of his arms. “Absolutely not,” I said. “I was kidding. We’ve known each other five minutes.”
He pulled me toward him. “There’s no need to freak out. I’m not about to propose. I’m just interested. Given your parents, I would have thought it might be something you either crave or run away from.”
“I’m neutral. I don’t think about it.” I paused and when he didn’t say anything, I added. “Is marriage something you want?”
He laughed. “You look like someone just set off a stink bomb.”
“I do not.” I play-thumped him on his shoulder and my hand rebounded off hard muscle.