Page 22 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
“Knuckle sandwich? Is this 1972? Who says that?” Duke rasped, shaking his head and glaring at his drink. For a fraction of a second, Sam wondered why he was so dedicated to finishing that thing when it clearly tasted like rubber cement smelled.
“Just saying—our girl is on a roll with this.”
“My bad. You are right. Sam is definitely far superior to a certain doctor that we all dislike because reasons.”
“Thank you, Duke.” Sam gestured to her heart. “Besides, I will be leading the clinic shortly, because Dr.Howie Franklin said that if I can find the funding and a senior adviser, I can have my program.”
“That is so exciting. Seriously, Sam, congratulations on clearing the first hurdle.”
“Now, I just gotta find me some funding.” Sam sighed, leaning back into the couch and fighting the urge to close her eyes.
“We got you. English major right here,” Duke said, tapping his chest and grinning.
“And I have grant-writing experience from my days with the international medical charity. I’m happy to chip in,” Jehan said, pulling out the hair tie that was supporting her ponytail and giving her hair a shake.
“Y’all are sweet. But you don’t have to do that.” A small part of Sam’s chest twinged with fear. Her friends weren’t wrong about how much work writing grants could take, especially without Dr.Franklin’s full blessing. But if she allowed her friends to help and she still failed ... letting her friends down and not getting her program funded was too much. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m good. You both have enough work to do without me.”
Duke looked like he was happy to leave it at that when Jehan said, “You are doing something important. Of course we will help.”
For a moment, Sam was quiet. What had she done to deserve such wonderful roommates? It wasn’t like either of them had a ton of free time. She certainly hadn’t done anything this big and time consuming for them. Yet here they were, pitching in to make her community program a reality. She’d find a way to pay them back, even if it meant doing Duke’s chores for the next six months.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Duke added, interpreting the silence caused by Sam’s emotional vortex as hesitation.
“Thank you both. I’m lucky to have you two around.”
“We know.” Duke laughed, giving up and placing his drink back in the fridge. “Sam, we’re gonna have to help you at a different time, though, or we’ll be late.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“We got a game tonight. Remember? Are you gonna play in your scrubs or what?”
Sam really looked at Duke for the first time. He was dressed in his basketball gear, which explained the protein shake from hell. “Ugh. Jehan, you sure you don’t want to play? You can have my spot.”
“Nope. That is the one thing I can’t help you with.” Her friend laughed, pushing herself off the couch.
“Who are we playing?”
“Not Dr.Too-Perfect Face, so you don’t have to see someone you don’t like.” Duke smirked as he added extra emphasis to the wordsdon’t likejust to hammer home how much he didn’t believe Sam, even if Jehan had made him let it go.
“That just means I’ll have to wait to rub my success in Grant’s face.” Sam shrugged, then took Jehan’s hand and let herself be yanked off the perfectly fluffy couch with a groan. Turning back to Duke, she asked, “How did I let you talk me into this?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t quit now. You got a reputation to uphold, point guard.” Duke chuckled as Sam shuffled down the hallway.
“I regret our friendship. I could be sleeping right now,” Sam called as she reached her bedroom door.
“Don’t lie. You regret nothing,” Duke shouted from somewhere in the living room.
Sam smiled as she dug out a pair of shorts from a drawer. He was right; she loved having her roommates around, so sleep would just have to wait.
Chapter Seven
Sam eyed the email suspiciously. It had been a month since she had started applying for grants to support what she had termed the official-sounding San Francisco Central Hospital Birthing Program, and the rejections had been stacking up ever since. Jehan swore this was normal, but Sam wasn’t convinced. Honestly, she had started asking Duke to read the emails first so that she could ease herself into the heartbreak of rejection. But Duke wasn’t scheduled to come in today, and outside of a very exhausted-looking emergency pharmacist, no one else was in the staff lounge. The little blue new-email dot glared at her, and Sam cursed whoever had drafted the email for failing to indicate whether this was good news or bad news in the subject line.
Tapping the phone in her hand twice, Sam held her breath. She needed to make up her mind. At any moment, she could be called over to the hospital to check on patients. Either she was going to be brave now, or she was going to wait roughly six hours until she got home.
“Just do it,” Sam said to herself, exhaling. The pharmacist looked up from his cup of sludge, and Sam nodded apologetically before closing her eyes all but a crack as she tapped the email.
Dear Dr.Holbrook:
