Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“I have my bad days, of course. It’s hard when I lose a patient, or when I see insurance issues, or people who have no choice but to come through the ED because of lack of medical coverage and things like that, but yes, I’m doing what I want to do, and I’m doing it where I want to do it. My dad doesn’t want me at Atlanta General, and he doesn’t understand why I’m not in oncology.”
“Maybe he should go to med school and become an oncologist, then,” I said, and Hutch laughed.
“Think about how he could have boasted about me, though? The oncology doctor who was saving people like his pride and joy.”
“There are already plenty of things to brag about you. You’re…”
“Sexy?”
I cocked a brow. “I’m not allowed to flirt with you. We’re friends.”
“Shit. I forgot.”
It was something I had to actively work on remembering. “Be good,” I teased. “But yes. You’re also funny, kind, smart. And a decent cook.”
“Hey. This was your recipe. If it’s not right, it’s your fault.”
“Good point. And it is delicious. We already went over that. I just like to give you shit. But you’re easy to talk to… Even through the app, I felt comfortable with you right away. You’re fantastic with kids. Layla looks at you with so much adoration. It’s…beautiful.”
Hutch’s voice was slightly more scratchy than normal when he said, “That’s enough. You’re going to give me a big head.”
“Look at that. Who knew you got embarrassed so easily?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t. I’m a cocky motherfucker, remember?”
“Yeah, but it’s different when you hear something from the heart, something that goes deeper than your looks.” I’d learned so much about him just talking to him over the app and now in person. It felt like I knew Hutch in ways no one else did, saw things in him no one else saw. Hell, maybe I was lying to myself. Maybe I was just hoping for that to be true because I liked him so damn much.
He sighed. “When I’m around you, or speaking with you, it’s hard to ignore things I’ve spent a lifetime ignoring.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He waved me off. “It’s fine. It’s probably not a bad thing. It sure would be easier to talk about how much I want to strip you bare and fuck you right on this table.”
My cock throbbed, blood rushing to my groin. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re friends, then. You can’t distract me with sex.”
He chuckled. “Fuck. I still can’t believe this happened. Out of all the people in Atlanta…”
The more time I spent around him, the more right he felt and the less surprised I was.
We veered off onto safer subjects after that. We didn’t go inside right away after eating. We just…talked. When we did go inside, Hutch insisted on helping me with the dishes. I liked doing them with him, standing next to him while we did such a simple, everyday thing.
Afterward, I knew what he would say before he said it. “I should go.”
“Thank you for coming over.”
We both stood next to the kitchen island, leaning against it, facing each other. Hutch dried his hands on a towel, folded it, and set it down, then cupped my face and pressed his lips to my forehead, stalling there. I breathed him in, held his waist, wishing…hoping…we could be more.
But he pulled away and I let him, all the reasons we couldn’t do this staring back at me in his eyes.
“Good night, Ryder,” he said, then went to the door and walked out.
13
Hutch
Weeks went by, and our routine became like clockwork. We texted daily. On Mondays, we started going to the hospital together and leaving together afterward. Luke was home now, off-cycle in some of his treatments, but like Layla, he was able to meet up with Ryder there for their weekly time together. Sometimes we went off on our own—me with Layla, and Ryder with Luke—but other times, the four of us hung out together, Layla like the little sister Luke never had. Ryder had also gotten to meet Luke’s mom. It was clear how much she loved her son and how worried and alone she felt because of his illness.
Our dinners continued too. A few days a week, we alternated between whose unit we went to, made dinner together, and ate together. Raphael was obsessed with him, which Ryder never failed to rub in my face. He’d played his guitar for me once but hadn’t been able to talk me into playing the piano. It was too personal to me—something I’d loved because it made me feel closer to my grandmother, whom I’d never met, and because it had made my dad proud. Layla was the only person who got me to play anymore.