Page 37 of Dr. Intern

“Yeah, you kind of look like dog shit,” I joke, trying to lighten his mood as I kick back in my chair. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you smell like it too.”

Walker scrubs his hands over his face, not taking my bait. “It’s the fucking beard. How much longer do we have?”

Our department started doing a “No Shave November” challenge, and if you don’t make it to December, you have to pick up one additional call day. While this might sound easy to the general population, most ortho guys hate having facial hair because it gets sweaty and hot beneath the surgical masks, though it personally doesn’t bother me.

“Three weeks, dude,” I remind him. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

He runs his fingers through his jet-black hair and lets out a dramatic exhale. “It’s itchy as fuck, and as you so kindly stated, I look like dog shit.”

“I think I said you smell like dog shit too,” I add, unable to help myself as I grin over at him.

His eyes slowly open with the singular intent of glaring at me. “I can’t wait until you become chief resident one day. It sucks every little bit of life from your body.”

“I don’t have any life in my body now, dude,” I reply as I log off the computer. “Plus, it’ll be one of the other interns. I’m too good-looking to be chief. Wouldn’t be fair.”

Silence settles between us as I pack up my things. I glance at my reflection in the locker mirror, taking in a week’s worth of stubble and tired eyes. Yep, I’m definitely starting to resemble a mad scientist more than a heartthrob.

“You did good work today, Buffington,” Walker says, finally sitting up from the bed. “Don’t diminish your skills.”

Walker isn’t one to hand out compliments quickly, so I can’t help but feel surprised by his praise. In fact, I’m pretty sure this is the first nice thing I’ve heard him say to an intern.

Something about grumpy chief residents . . . they just love me I guess.

“Thanks,” I reply, shooting him a wide grin. “Probably not something we’ll see again for a while.”

He lets loose a chuckle as he stands. “We might if people keep dumping toxic shit into the Chattahoochee River. Let’s get the fuck out of here. I slept like shit on call last night and need some good rest.”

I shake my head as I sling my bag over my shoulder. “You try getting good rest when you live with Parker’s little sister. All she wants to do when I get back from the hospital is talk.”

It comes out sounding like a complaint, but really, I’d give up every additional minute of sleep to talk to her. She reminds me what it feels like to be excited to be alive. Somehow, even though I come home feeling like I’m running on empty, the second I see her, I’m instantly recharged.

Whether she talks to me because she’s lonely, or because she’s beginning to forgive me, I don’t care. Coming home to Claire has become the highlight of my day, and I hang on every word that comes out of her sweet lips.

“Parker Winters?” Walker asks, raising an eyebrow at me as he gathers his things.

“The one and only,” I confirm.

“What’s that like?” He smirks, clearly amused by my revelation. “If she’s anything like Parker, I can only imagine . . .”

For some reason, my pulse quickens with the urge to defend her. I respect Parker, he’s like a brother, but comparing him to Claire feels off, especially given his reputation around here. In truth, they couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. She’s vibrant, intriguing, and lively as hell—a stark contrast to Parker’s more reserved nature.

She’s . . . perfect, and all I fucking think about.

But I can’t say that, nor should I even be admitting it to myself, so I keep my response simple.

“She’s nothing like Parker.”

Chapter 15

Claire

Are men supposed to be so clean? It’s been a while since I lived with one, though when Parker lived with us he was more of a man-child than a man, so I doubt he even qualifies. If Parker doesn’t count, then I’ve officially never lived with a man until now.

In D.C., all of my friends from college would complain about how gross their boyfriends were, leaving the toilet seat up and hair in the sink while they remained oblivious to their mess. Their stories of testosterone-fueled Sundays and beer boxes crowding out the wine in the fridge made me appreciate my living situation with my girlfriends. Honestly, it also made me a little relieved that my boyfriend at the time never suggested we move in together.

So, when Beau forced his way into the nonexistent roommate position, and immediately offered to clean the apartment, it threw me for a loop. It didn’t seem on brand for the male population, given everything I’d heard from my friends. Then when he started writing me stupidly cute notes and making my morning coffee, I started to question if I was in an alternate universe.

Because in what world does your brother’s best friend, and previous one-night stand, move in with you?

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