Page 49 of Dr. Intern

I’ve spent the past two months thinking about nothing but her.

I deleted the apps.

I ignored the texts, the pages from women.

I shut myself off from sex and dating completely—all because I couldn’t get her out of my head.

“I texted you,” I explain, needing her to understand. “But I was stuck in the hospital for two days straight after our date and didn’t have a chance to send it until I had finally slept.”

Her face brightens momentarily. “You did? I never saw it. I deleted all of my messages after Mom . . .”

“I did,” I confirm. “I thought you hated me because when I finally sent it, your mom was in the hospital. I was convinced you wanted nothing to do with me because my dumb ass sent you a dirty text on the worst day of your life.”

Claire bites her bottom lip, considering my words. “How dirty are we talking?”

“You don’t want to know,” I smile, glad to see her perking up.

“I don’t hate you,” she admits quietly as she draws her knees up to her chest. “At first, I tried to be mad at the fact that you were moving in. Tried to find something wrong with you because it was easier that way—to think that you were some horrible guy, and I was better off without you. But I couldn’t.”

She sighs, closing her eyes as a single tear falls. “You’re too damn perfect, and it’s infuriating. Because of course, you wouldn’t want someone like me.”

I shake my head, surprised by her admission. Surely she can’t think that about herself. Instinctively, I reach out and wipe the tear from her still-flushed cheek. “Is that what you think?”

She leans into my touch, keeping her eyes closed.

“Is that what you think, Claire?” I repeat, brushing the back of my hand over her cheek.

Her reddened eyes open. “Look at me,” she sniffs, gesturing to her body. “I’m a mess. It makes complete sense why you wouldn’t want me.”

“You’re not a mess,” I insist, hoping she believes me. “You’re a force of nature, pretty girl. A goddamn category four hurricane. And you know what? I’m a storm chaser.”

The corners of her lips tilt upwards. “You are?”

“Absolutely,” I nod. “Best one there ever was, of course. Belong on The Weather Channel.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She giggles and I feel thankful to hear that sound again.

“Not everyone can be good at everything. But that’s just a burden I have to bear.”

Claire looks away and sucks in a deep breath, as if she’s wrestling with her thoughts. Wanting to encourage her to open up, I gently prompt, “Hey, what’s on your mind? Other than the fact that we’re both up way past our bedtimes.”

She swallows, her eyes distant as they study the tiled floor. “You don’t think I’m too much?”

“Why would you think that?”

Her chin quivers as if she’s remembering something deeply seeded within her soul. “I’ve just—”

“Look at me,” I say, reaching out to her again. My hands hold her bent knees, rubbing the skin as I wait for her to listen. She needs to fucking hear this.

After a beat of silence, her gaze finds mine.

“Anyone who tells you that you’re too much needs to go find less. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman.”

Claire blinks warily at me a few times, as if she can’t believe what I just said. “I am?”

“Fuck yeah, you are,” I respond without any hesitation. “You have no idea how much I want you, Claire, and living with you has only made that even more painfully evident.”

“Really?”

---