Page 45 of Alphas Like Us
I hang up, and I realize Farrow has stopped writing on my leg. His focus drills into the young doctor, and before I can speak, Farrow tells him, “You’re in the wrongroom.”
Farrow knows thisdoctor.
It’s my first thought. The doctor actively disregards Farrow, his attention only onme.
He must be in his late twenties, exceptionally tall with swept-back auburn hair that curls beneath his ears. He looks like he could audition to play Bill Weasley inHarryPotter.
You know, the oldest, hottestWeasley.
He’s not in scrubs like the ER doctors and nurses I’ve met tonight. All of which had to sign NDAs. Underneath his white coat, a navy geometric-printed shirt is tucked in charcoalslacks.
I strain my eyes to read the stitching on his coat, but I can only make out theMD.
The doctor starts approaching the bed. “I’m Dr…” His voice dies out as Farrow slides my legs off his lap and standsup.
My boyfriend steals the chart out of Bill Weasley’s grip. Then he sits on the bed’s edge and flips through the clipboard papers like nothing justhappened.
Bill Weasley casts a cutting glare atFarrow.
“Maximoff,” Farrow says, at ease as he skims my chart, “meet Rowin Hart.” He looks directly at me, and he adds, “Myex.”
What.
The…
8
MAXIMOFF HALE
Fuck…?
Farrow’s ex is right in front of me. Something that I thought could only happen in an alternate universe. One that I honestly didn’t want tovisit.
The pain in my collarbone makes way for a foreign feeling. A kind of strange discomfort that wants to twist myface.
“Dr.Rowin Hart,” Rowin emphasizes tome.
I’m staring at him in a whole new light. He has a hoop cartilage piercing, and as he nears the heart monitor, I spot a tattoo of a star below hisearlobe.
This guy just lookscool.Cooler than me. Someone that Farrow could and probably would get along with—Christ, I don’t even know how long they dated. Do I wantto?
My jawclenches.
Why am I doing this to myself? I’m more than confident and secure in my relationship with Farrow. My mind just won’t stop overanalyzing meaningless fucking things that don’t matter, thatshouldn’tmatter.
Like howwinis literally in the nameRowin.
I know, I know—it’s disconcerting. You don’t have to tell metwice.
While Rowin reads the machines and Farrow reads the chart, I sit up a lot more, using my good hand to pull my body up against the inclinedbed.
Rowin steals the chart back. “I’m genuinely shocked that you didn’t tell your celebrity boyfriend about me.” The truth is that I asked Farrow not to give me details. I didn’t wantthem.
Maybe that was amistake.
I don’t know. How can anyoneknow?
Farrow twirls the marker between his fingers. “I’m not doing this with you, Rowin. You don’t get to fish for info about myrelationship.”
