Page 2 of Dr. Intern

Once I put my truck in park, I read her message.

What makes you think I’m interested in your opinion?

Ouch—cold heart to match her cold eyes. Guess she really is the icy, elegant girl from the first photo. I bet she loves missionary and never sucks cock.

Just as I’m about to close the app and forget her, I get a second message.

;)

Interesting way to flirt, but I’ll bite. I type out a response, doubling down on her comment.

I think you’re interested in a lot more than just my opinion, pretty girl.

Three dots appear, to indicate that she’s typing back.

I can’t bring myself to get out of the car, like I’m glued to my phone and need to know what she’ll say next.

Maybe I am… Maybe I’m not. Guess you’ll never know.

Like hell, I won’t. All of my plans to focus just went out the window.

Meet me at GJ’s in an hour.

After a much-needed shower to wash my stench away, I change into jeans and a button-down before heading out. By the time I get to the pub, I still don’t have a response from her. But I’m not the type to send desperate, repeated texts. If she shows up, that’s great. If not, I’ve got my laptop with me. I can grab a booth, order a bite, and dive into work.

Settling into a secluded table, I pull out my computer to begin prepping for the case tomorrow. The chatter of the pub surrounds me as I immerse myself in my work. Every now and then, I glance at the entrance, trying to ignore the slight twinge of disappointment when I don’t see anyone—it’s not like I’m invested or anything.

Normally women don’t make me chase them—they’re eager, willing, and desperate for my attention. But there’s something different about her, something that tells me she isn’t going to beg, that she might be the one who makes me beg.

As I’m focusing on a case video, a flicker of movement catches my eye and causes my stomach to tighten with uncertainty. If I were a big drinker, this is when I would down a shot of whiskey to steel my unexpected nerves. It’s odd, really, since I’m not typically rattled like this.

I look up, my gaze landing on the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Piercing blue eyes, somehow more striking than the photos, meet mine as she skips in my direction.

She legitimately skips.

What grown woman skips?

She has workout clothes on—black leggings and a cropped gray pullover covering a body that looks nearly perfect at first glance. Her hair is pulled back, attempting to tame the wild dark curls that threaten to escape a clip. She looks like she put absolutely no effort into coming to see me, and for some reason, that turns me on.

“Hey there,” she greets me, her voice a soft melody that lingers in the air.

I close my laptop, offering her a smile. “Hey. I was starting to think you might bail.”

Her laugh, easy and genuine, fills the air as she slides into the booth across from me. “I like to keep people guessing.”

“Speaking of guessing, care to tell me your name?” I ask.

The app that we use doesn’t include first names, which I prefer because it keeps me from judging too much at the beginning.

Her genuine smile reveals a set of perfectly white, straight teeth. Teeth that, for some reason, I want to run my tongue over.

“What do you think it is?” she asks, batting her naturally full eyelashes at me. “Do I look more like a Jackie, or a Marilyn?”

She’s fun. Damn.

I take a sip of my water, considering the question. “Both—let’s call you Jacquelyn.”

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