Page 50 of Dr. Attending

C) “Let me consult cardiology for a secondopinion.”

D) “I’m sorry. Would you like to see psychiatry before you go home?”

Whoever wrote our practice questions should have included a fifth option that says, “I’mthe one who’s going to die if I have to answer another one of these.”

I’ve only been studying for boards for a few hours, and my eyes are already crossing. Every single question is starting to blend together, like they’ve been copied and pasted with different wording. And this one is actually the easiest I’ve gotten all day—most of them sound like I’m watching an episode ofHouseand trying to come up with an obscure diagnosis that I’ll never actually see in clinical practice.

I lower my head to the wooden table in the library and close my eyes because the fact that I have to do this every day for the next six weeks makes me want to cry a little bit. Maybe if I imagine that I’m anywhere other than here, I’ll be able to trick myself into believing that I’m not miserable.

Somewhere the fall air has a chill to it. Where the water sparkles beneath the September sun, and the leaves are changing colors from lush green to deep burgundy. Somewhere, I can remember what it feels like to live outside of medicine. Somewhere like the lake.

I close my laptop and start to pack up my things, needing both a change of scenery and a change of clothes. I had to swing by the research lab for a bit this morning to finish up a few things for a project I’m working on, so I’m still in my navy scrub bottoms and matching long-sleeve top. The outfit isn’t uncomfortable—especially since my top is buttery soft—but I’d rather be braless and pantless if I’m going to continue this torture.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I head out of the dimly lit section of the med school library. Hopefully, a few minutes of sunshine on the walk back to my apartment will reinvigorate my brain cells.

As I’m rounding a sidewalk corner in the middle of campus, I hear a voice that I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to forget.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

If my next move were a board exam question, it might read like this:

A thirty-three-year-old male unexpectedly shows up at the physician’s office when she is swamped. She hasn’t seen or spoken to him since he gave her the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life two weeks ago. He is her brother’s best friend, ten years older, and the father to an almost one-year-old son. Upon physical exam, he appears to be wearing navy hospital scrubs and a fitted windbreaker that clings to his chest in all the right places. His dirty-blond hair is slicked back, and his hazel eyes soften as soon as they meet hers. Which of the following is the most appropriate response by the physician?

A) “I’m too busy to see you today. Please stop by the front desk and make an appointment for the next available date.”

B) “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but seeing you makes me feel a little less dead inside. Why don’t you step into my office?”

C) The physician should pretend like she didn’t make eye contact with him and avoid him forever.

D) “I’m glad you came to my office, but you need to be seen by another physician who can better attend to your needs.”

Unfortunately, this is just another question that I don’t know the answer to, and I can’t even narrow down the options because they would all be valid responses right now.

So I do none of them.

I simply blink up at Weston, praying that he makes the decision for me because I’m just so tired of stressing about what’s right.

“Caroline.” His tone transforms from cheerful to concerned as his eyes sweep over me. “What’s going on? Why do you look like you’re so upset?”

My body stiffens automatically. “Do I? Must be because I saw you.”

I know it’s a low blow and incredibly unfair given the way we left things, but I can’t help it—my instinct with him is to fight so that I don’t become his next meal.

Weston steps closer, now less than a foot away from me.

I can feel my pulse start to race as I inhale the woody citrus scent of his cologne.

A smile that feels too intimate dances on his lips. “I know that can’t be right, princess. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

“I was studying, dimwit.”

I try to scoff, but the sound comes out unsteady, so I have to roll my lips instead to keep my emotions in line.

Weston nods in understanding. “Oh, that’s right. If you want me to help you, I’m happy to.”

He steps closer as his voice lowers to a whispered drawl that makes my skin prickle. “We could even play strip trivia, and I’d be more than happy to find a way to punish you for wrong answers. If I remember correctly, you liked a little pain. Didn’t you, princess?”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment because this is the first time we’ve talked about our hookup. Actually, it's the first time we've talked at all since the lake, and I wasn't prepared for my body to have such a visceral reaction to him.

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