“Too bad for you she’s not the marrying kind.”
His grin doesn’t abate in the slightest. “Pity.”
Frustrations of the day forgotten, I can’t help but laugh. This guy is uber cute. A fantastic surprise in the midst of the shit show that is this day.
But I definitely found the catch.
This pull toward another human doesn’t occur often for me. Usually, I run from it, but I sense zero danger from him. A guy this fun-loving will never breach my barriers. The laugh lines around his eyes make me think he’s never been serious a day in his life. He’s the perfect combination of fun and safe, and I need a friend in this new city. Plus, he’s far too interesting to waste on a one-night stand.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He holds up his badge. That inordinately attractive face shines out.
Asher Foley, MD. OB-GYN.
Asher points to my name on the ugly badge. “And this is Jocelyn Mattox, MD. Anesthesiology.”
“It is.”
“Future wife.”
“Right up until I find twenty dollars to shred and replace her.”
He bends closer and motions me to do the same. “You can destroy the evidence, but she’ll live forever—” he taps his temple and smiles “—right here.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re going to be annoying about this, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so.”
Before I can stop him, he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of my badge.
My mouth falls open, and I subtly try to wrestle the phone from his hands without drawing the attention of the teacher.
To no avail. It’s already in his pocket. He will own that picture for the rest of time.
I lower my voice. “You will suffer forever for this, Asher Foley.”
He shrugs and turns back to his computer. “We’ll see, sweetheart. I’ve got blackmail fodder now.”
Asher
It isn’t a quantity of people you need to light the shadows. It’s quality.
—My Therapist
My office in our clinic space on the second floor of the hospital is packed full of dusty books inherited from the doc who retired before I started. A single window covered with cheap vinyl blinds looks out over the parking lot, but the walls are otherwise bare.
Displayed in fancy frames, my diplomas and board certification currently lean against the wall because I’ve never remembered to bring a hammer and nails to work.
Pretentious pieces of paper anyway.
If I was going to hang anything, it would be my rainbow poster of a uterus being pulled out of a top hat.
I’m not a gynecologist. I’m avagician.
Ha.
Classic.
