Authors: Mila Ferrera
Tags: #romance, #Grad School Romance, #College Romance, #art, #Graduate School Romance, #New Adult College Romance, #College Sexy, #art school, #art romance, #contemporary romance, #New Adult Sexy, #New Adult, #New Adult Contemporary Romance, #New Adult Graduate School Romance
Only Between Us (33 page)
Intern accidentally enraged parent during emotional situation that was resolved by hot doctor with donuts.
“Can I get on when you’re done?”
I almost fall off the stool. Dr. Lindstrom is leaning against the wall of the booth with a lazy sort of grace. “Sure,” I say, then clear my throat.
“You’re new,” he comments, reading my nametag. “Ah. One of the interns. I knew there was another rotation starting.”
“Yeah.” I’m staring at his coffee-stained chest, which is making my insides feel fluttery. So I meet his gaze, which scrambles my thoughts—right when I need every IQ point I possess. “The nurse called me down. She thought Mr. Beeman needed some help. But I … then he …”
I look over at the blank screen.
Intern inadvertently trivialized Mr. Beeman’s suffering, then stomped on Dr. Lindstrom’s toes and ruined his shirt.
I rub my hands over my skirt and wish I was invisible.
“You’re upset because he yelled at you,” Dr. Lindstrom says coolly. “You need to get over that. These people are going through a lot. Sometimes it’s too much. You can’t take it personally, especially—”
“That’s not it at
all
.” Frustration burns through me as I raise my head. “I’m upset because I couldn’t
help
him. Or that little boy. And that’s what I was supposed to do.” But all I did was make things harder for them.
All my doubts hit me at once:
I don’t belong here
. This is one of the most prestigious internships in the country, and one of the hardest rotations on said internship, full of docs known for being total hard asses, and I’m already screwing it up because I can’t think on my feet. Needing to escape, I hop off the chair—and it turns out
thinking on my feet
is the least of my problems. My heel gets stuck in a rung of the stool and I topple over with a yelp.
My face crashes into Aron’s coffee-scented chest, and his steely arms wrap around me, keeping me from sliding to the floor.
“Now I’ve got coffee
and
lipstick on my shirt. What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?” he says, but he’s obviously working hard to keep from laughing. He holds me slightly away from him and looks down at his chest. Then at my mouth.
And his gaze stays. Right. There.
My fingers grip his waist, which is ridged with muscle.
Aron Lindstrom clearly works out
, I think stupidly. He leans over, making sure my right foot is stable on the floor before tugging my left heel from the evil clutches of the stool. His fingers skim over my bare ankle and raise goosebumps. “I’ll bet it was a long walk from the Psychology Department in those shoes,” he comments.
“You’re not kidding.”
He chuckles as he straightens up, and as he does, his shoulder brushes my breasts, just a barely-there touch. I gasp, nearly losing my footing again as my nerves send frantic
more more more
messages zinging through my entire body. I cross my arms over my chest because:
nipples
. I’m pretty sure he could see them through my shirt if he bothered to look.
His fingers tighten over my bicep, and I glance up at him in time to see something stir in his eyes.
Did
he bother to look?
“Is your ankle okay?” he asks. I don’t think I’m imagining the strain in his voice.
“Yeah.” I’m breathless. I want to press my entire body up against his, which would probably not come across as professional.
“My name’s Aron,” he says, finally letting me go. “I’m one of the fellows.” Which explains why he only looks a few years older than I am. He’s still finishing up his training.
“I’m Nessa. And, er … you know what I am.”
His lips quirk up. “I’m not sure I do.”
He takes my place on the stool in front of the computer and types something on the
Psychology/Psychiatry
page. Then he clicks to the General Medical section and writes something else while I stare at the scar on the left side of his slightly stubbly jaw. I’m imagining what his skin would feel like beneath my fingertips—rough, deliciously warm—when he gets up and gestures at the stool again, offering it to me. His gaze slides from my nametag all the way to my face, and I feel it on my skin as it moves, a path of heat that makes me shiver.
Please touch me again.
That is my only thought.
He flashes a devastating grin, like he knows. “Nice meeting you, Nessa. I’ll send you my dry cleaning bill.”
He walks past me before I can respond. I inhale the crisp, grassy scent of his cologne before turning my attention back to the medical record. My hands shake as I click back to the Psychology section and see:
Intern Cavenaugh assisted Dr. Lindstrom in resolution of family conflict and began an assessment of parent stressors and needs.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” I mutter, closing Finn’s record and turning in the direction of Aron’s voice. He’s in one of the rooms down the hall, talking to a patient, judging by his gentle tone. I sit for a minute and listen. He’s got a very faint, hard-to-place accent, yet another thing that renders him hotter than can really be considered fair. I clench my fists and tell myself to focus. I can’t spend my Friday evening stalking Dr. Aron Lindstrom through the pediatric cancer ward at The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia like a crazed fangirl. I have other things to do, like ...
… an assessment of parent stressors and needs.
Right. Exactly. I tuck my hair behind my ear only to feel it slide across my cheek yet again as I start walking back toward Finn’s room. I’m a few doors away when Mr. Beeman comes out. I can hear Shawn laughing from here. “Sounds like you got him settled down,” I offer, bracing myself for a hostile response.
Instead, Greg Beeman runs a hand through his hair and looks sheepish. “Listen, I’m sorry. About earlier, you know.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I’m not here to add to your stress, and I’m sorry that I did. It wasn’t my intention.” I lean forward. “And I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re extremely strong, to be handling all of this.”
He gives me a weary smile. “Thanks. Sometimes I wonder …” He looks back into Finn’s room and sighs.
“Mr. Beeman, can we start over?” I offer my hand. “I’m Nessa Cavenaugh. I’m a doctoral psychology intern, and I’m here to help parents manage under all this stress. You don’t have to talk to me or tell me anything, but I want you to know that if you do think of a way I can help, whether it’s talking to your boys or problem-solving or whatever, I’m available, and I’d be honored.”
He blinks at me, then shakes my hand. His is rough and callused. I wonder what job he had to take a leave from so he could be here. “You can call me Greg,” he says. “And thanks. I’ll think about it.”
“I’m glad. Take care.” I head for the exit to the unit, grateful for this one tiny victory. Aron strides around the corner and stops to talk to Mr. Beeman, and I hover near the double doors, mesmerized. While they converse in low tones, Aron smiles, and it lights up his perfect face and shows off his straight, white teeth. Before I look away, he glances up and catches me staring.
His grin grows wider.
I hustle myself off the unit before I forget why I came here in the first place.
But then I practically skip down the wide hospital corridor. Considering the string of humiliations I just experienced, my first trip to the oncology unit was a
little
bit awesome. I started to clean up the mess I made with Mr. Beeman, and I met one of the fearsome onco docs, who miraculously didn’t seem to hate me. In fact, he seemed to
like
me, despite the fact that I faceplanted on his shirt. He was kind. But also really scary … in an
I’ll-steal-your-heart-if-you-let-me
kind of way. I can’t afford to let that happen.
I bite my lip as my dad’s mantra runs through my mind before I can suppress it.
Always do the thing that scares you.
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