Page 51 of Dr. Attending

“Fuck off, Wes,” I snap as I step back, trying to control my racing heart. “And why are you even on campus right now? If you’re that desperate for a hookup, I suggest loitering outside of the nursing school instead.”

Weston’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t take my bait.

“I swung by UH for a lecture,” he replies as he presses forward and gently wraps his hand around my upper arm.

I feel my face scrunch up, but my body instantly relaxes like it remembers exactly how good it feels to be touched by him.

His voice drops to an almost growl as he leans in. “And if you think for a second that I’m going to touch another woman when I have a chance withyou, you’re delusional.”

Sorry . . . what?

Maybe I’m more exhausted than I thought because there’s no way that he actually just said what I think he said. A chance with me? Where did that idea come from? And why does he look so confident about it?

I square my shoulders, but I don’t pull away because there’s a significant part of me buried deep inside that doesn’t want to believe that what I’m about to say is true.

“You don’t have a chance with me,” I bite out.

In the late-night moments when my mind refuses to consume any additional information, my thoughts have inexplicably drifted back to Weston. As much as I try, I can’t continue to deny that he’s changed. He’s transformed from the playboy asshole I remember into a man who is damn near perfect. Any woman would be lucky to have him. Any woman other than me.

Which is why it doesn’t bother me that he never pulled me aside the day after we hooked up. Or that he rode home with Parker and Cassidy instead of me. Or that he hasn’t reached out to me since.

Because as I was looking back on the shared iPhone album from the wedding, I was reminded of the cold, hard truth—I’m not what he needs, and I never will be.

Among all the pictures of Carter grinning and laughing with everyone else over the weekend, there was one of the two of us that stood out. Not because it was a great shot, but because it was the opposite. We were sitting on the screened-in porch the morning after the wedding while the guys made breakfast. He was wailing uncontrollably in my arms, like everything I was doing to settle him down with was completely wrong. And it wasn’t until Weston came out and scooped him up that he finally settled.

All I could think about for the rest of the weekend was how I wasn’t wired for motherhood in the way that some people are. How both Carter and Weston need someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone with that natural instinct who has always dreamed of becoming a mom. Someone who isn’t me.

Weston studies me intently for a beat. “Whatever you say, princess. Come on. Let’s go.”

His grip on my arm tightens just enough to let me know he’s serious, but he doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for me to come willingly.

But he knows me better than that.

I reach up and grab him in the same spot, my fingers digging into his flexed bicep with just enough pressure to make it clear I’m not a pushover.

I narrow my eyes on him. “You’re the delusional one if you think I’m leaving with you right now to go hookup.”

He has the audacity to shake his head and bark out a laugh.

“While I’d love nothing more than to go for round two with you, that’s not what I have in mind.” His gaze softens, and his voice dips lower, more serious now. “Just trust me. I promise you won’t regret it.”

I know without a doubt that I should walk away. That I should let go of his arm, turn around, and continue walking home. But there’s something in his golden eyes—something in the steadying way they hold mine—that makes me pause. It’s like he’s pleading with me to give him a chance, and even though I’ve sworn to myself a hundred times that I wouldn’t, that’s exactly what I’m about to do.

“Fine,” I sigh dramatically, trying to sound disinterested. “But tell me where we’re going first. I need to mentally prepare if I’m going to have to get in the car with you again.”

“We’re going to Midtown Memorial.”

Chapter 19

Weston

“Do you know how to scrub?” I ask Caroline, as we walk side by side down the empty hallway.

I already know what her answer is going to be, but I’m trying to make conversation on the way to the operating suite since she’s been uncharacteristically silent.

When we ran into each other on the campus lawn, I could tell something was off. She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and whenever I feel that way, the only thing that helps is to step into the OR. It resets my mind and reorients me to a single task rather than the thousands of others on my plate. I don’t know if it’ll do the same thing for her, but I figure it’s worth a shot.

Caroline glances up at me with a soft scoff, like my question was offensive somehow. “And suture.”

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