Page 29 of In Your Wildest Dreams
I run my thumb along the back of my ring on my middle finger, twisting the gold band around absently. “I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t how I would have scripted it, but shit happens.” His gaze drops to my scrub top where my name badge hangs off the front pocket. “Being a nurse suits you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I’m learning.” After another sip of coffee, he asks, “Why’d you give up tennis?”
Why’d I do any number of the things I did over the past two years? Why’d I stop hanging out with friends or going home to see my family? Quitting tennis is just one more bad decision I made among many.
I go with, “It was hard to juggle it with school and work.”
Not the complete truth, but it isn’t a lie either.
“How long until you graduate?”
“May.”
Speaking of school, I turn my wrist over to check the time. The minutes are flying by and I need to get home to shower and change before my first class.
“You need to go?” Ash asks.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. The professor for my morning class is a stickler for being on time.”
“I get it. Plans this weekend? I’d love to take you out sometime. Drinks? Dinner?”
There’s a part of me that wants to say yes, but even if I were ready to date again after Gabe—and I’m not, going out with Ash would be like signing up for a marathon without training. “Thank you, but I can’t.”
“Because you’re busy.” His brows lift in a playful, teasing expression.
“It’s only been a month since my ex and I broke up and I’m not really in a place mentally or emotionally to get involved with anyone yet.” It’s honest, but I’m sure he thinks I’m blowing him off. A hint of sadness creeps in as I realize this is probably the last time I’ll ever see him. “Thank you for the coffee and for asking me out. It’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me in a while.”
“You deserve nice things,” he says with such certainty that I wonder if he has any idea how hard the past month has been.
I clear my throat and swallow down my emotions. “I hope your shoulder heals quickly.”
“Thanks.” He pulls a napkin from the holder. “You got a pen?”
I hand him one from my backpack and watch as he scribbles on one side of the napkin and then turns it over and scribbles on the other side.
“That’s my number,” he says as he sets the pen down on top of it and slides it toward me. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”
His name and number stare up at me in bold slanted letters. I flip it over and then look up at him quizzically.
“That is the name and number of the girl I was telling you about with the room for rent. In case you don’t find another place. I told her about you. She’s cool. I think you two would get along well.”
I’m oddly touched by the gesture even if there’s no way I’m calling some random girl that he probably slept with. I fold it and tuck it inside the front pocket of my backpack. “Thank you. Again.”
His blue gaze holds mine. “You’re welcome, Nurse Bridget.”
* * *
Saturday morning, I pull the pillow over my head and groan. It’s the third day in a row I’ve woken up to the sound of landscapers hard at work before sunrise. Chainsaws, leaf blowers, pressure washers, and today…some sort of weird, loud hissing noise?
I forgave the last two days because it was the middle of the day and I’m used to noise and distraction while I’m trying to sleep during normal work hours. I didn’t even hold it against them (too much) when they left their tools on my front porch yesterday afternoon during their lunch break and I ran out for my afternoon classes and nearly ate concrete as I tripped and fell over a weed whacker.
The point is, I understand that people need to do their jobs and not everyone can work a traditional eight to five. Trust me, I get it. But it’s the weekend and I had big plans of sleeping in.
Sitting up, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. Another groan slips out when I see it’s just past six.
