Page 7 of Paging Dr. Hart
“Bad at not talking. Bad at sitting quietly.” I take a sip of water. My almost-empty glass leaves a wet ring on the table.
“Maybe,” he admits, somewhat sheepishly. “I used to get into trouble for it at school, talking to my classmates. By the end of the year, the teacher would have me in my own desk, off in the corner of the room, separated from everyone else.”
“Did it work?” A corner of my mouth lifts involuntarily.
“Nah. I’d still yell over to my friends.” He smiles at the memory. “It probably made me louder, not quieter. I just like it. Talking to people, getting to know them.”
He turns his attention back to his plate, systematically eating his food like it’s five-star dining. Which is crazy. I mean, it’s hospital cafeteria food. We all know it’s not good. Ethan sucks a dollop of ketchup off his thumb. Mygaze snags on that motion, and, for some reason, my cheeks heat. To distract myself, I ask, “How about you? Where’re you from?”
Almost all his food is gone. Only a couple of fries remain. He pops them into his mouth one by one before answering. He has a nice mouth, full and sensual. “I’ve always lived in Cleveland. My family’s been there for generations. Both of my parents are doctors. The hospital where I’m doing my internal medicine residency—my dad used to work there.”
I blink, unable to imagine it. That kind of permanence. Having all that family history to help tell you who you are. I had to make up who I am. It must be so easy for him. To walk in footprints his parents laid out in front of him.
Done with my food, I neatly arrange my used silverware in the middle of my plate and push it to the side. Ethan’s finished, too. His plate is a messy pile of crumbs and smeared ketchup. He pulls a pack of peppermint gum out of his pocket and offers me a stick. I shake my head no.
This time, the silence is less awkward. He doesn’t let it last long. “Listen, I know you’re mad at me—”
“I’m not,” I interrupt, straightening.
“Yes, you are. I don’t blame you.” His gaze is steady. “You’re angry at me for interrupting your lecture and for messing up your shirt. You haven’t bothered to hide your feelings, and I like that. I appreciate people who say what they think, who are direct.”
Flustered by the compliment, I open and close my mouth several times, searching for a response. He holds up a hand, halting me. “I’m sorry for how we met, but don’t worry. You’ll get over it.” He sends methatsmile, the infuriatingly charming one, before adding, “I’m insanely likable.”
My mouth drops open in shock. I retort, “Insanely cocky is more like it.”
His smirk widens, unshaken by my words. “Not cocky.” His eyes graze over my face in a way that sends a tremor through my body, like I’m having my own mini-earthquake. “Confident,” he continues, lazily draping his arm across the back of the chair next to him. “There’s a difference.”
“Overly confident,” I fire back, crossing my arms over my chest.
Now he moves forward, bracing his elbows on the table, eyes twinkling.“I promise,” he says. That smile again, this time unfurling slowly. “I’ll grow on you.”
“Yeah.” I snort and roll my eyes. “Like a rash.”
He throws his head back, laughing like a little kid, so loud the whole cafeteria turns to us and I slink down in my seat, embarrassed. Ethan looks at me like I’m incredibly amusing, which I most definitely amnot.
“Besides, most people don’t like it.” I stare at the floor, littered with crumbs, then drift my gaze back up to him. “When I’m direct.”
“Well, then.” He leans closer, his eyes sharpening with a strange intensity, and says softly, “Good thing I’m not most people.”
We stare at each other for a moment too long.
Ethan’s expression turns serious. He clasps his hands together on the table. “Be honest. Are you going to stop me?”
“Stop you from what?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “From getting into this residency. You don’t want to go to Cleveland.”
I pause, secretly impressed by his boldness. Then I laugh loudly at the thought that I have any power in this situation. More likely, Dr. Washburn arranged this tour to waste time. To give Ethan’s interview a thin veneer of legitimacy. “The fact that you’re even here makes me ninety percent sure you’ve already got the spot. My opinion will have nothing to do with it.”
He frowns, those expressive eyebrows inching downward. “That leaves ten percent of uncertainty. Ten percent that can change my life.”
Oh,I get it then. How much this means to him. Back when I was trying to get into radiology, I was scared too. Worried that if I didn’t make it into this residency, I’d have to choose a different specialty. I couldn’t imagine it. Going to work for the rest of my life doing something that was my second choice.
I meet his eyes. “I won’t block you. If they ask me, I won’t sabotage you.”
He must have been holding his breath, because now he blows it all out at once. “Thanks,” he says softly, nodding in acknowledgment.
Before I can respond, we’re interrupted by Melanie. Patrick, another first-year resident, follows closely behind her. They slide their trays onto our tableand sit. Melanie darts her eyes to Ethan, then sends me a secretive smirk. I kick her lightly under the table, but she moves her leg out of my reach and grins wider.
