Page 6 of Doctor One Night

I should say something, apologize maybe, but instead, I just stand there like an idiot, looking awkward as hell. I haven’t seen her since I ran into her with my dick.

“Here, let me help,” I mutter, crouching down to pick up a few papers, trying to keep my hands steady.

“Thanks,” she says, her tone light, no indication that she is as ruffled as I am.

I hand her the two papers I managed to pick up while she picks up everything else. For a second, our fingers brush. It’s just a touch, but it’s enough to send a jolt through me. Damn it, why does she have to look so fucking hot?

“You’re here late,” I finally grumble, more to fill the silence than anything else. The words come out harsher than I intend, and I instantly regret it. That's the best I've got? Wasn’t that my lead-in last time?

She smiles, that same easy smile I remember, and stands up, smoothing out her papers. “I just had to pick up some charts before a meeting tomorrow morning.”

I clear my throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Look, about that night in the lab. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out.”

She cuts me off, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, Dr. Parrish. Really. We were both caught up in the moment, and we stay busy. All good.”

Her response is so simple, so unbothered, that it only throws me even more off-kilter.

Good. I will accept she is being honest. I nod, not trusting myself to say anything more. I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to find something—anything—to focus on besides her.

She tilts her head slightly, studying me in that way she has, like she’s reading every thought in my head. “Everything else okay?”

I can’t help the scoff that escapes me. “Long day. Always something. But yes, all good.”

She nods, and for a moment, there’s a hint of something in her eyes. It seems like she wants to say more. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you’re eager to get home.” It must have been wishful thinking.

There’s no sarcasm in her tone, no bitterness, just a simple statement. And for some reason, that makes it worse.

I should be grateful she’s not making this more complicated than it needs to be, but instead, I just get more annoyed. At myself, at the situation, at how damn perfect she’s handling all of this.

“Yeah,” I mutter, already turning to go. “Take care, Dr. Renna.”

“You too,” she replies. When I glance back, she’s already walking away, back to whatever task she was so focused on before I ran into her.

As I head to the parking garage, the encounter plays over in my head, every word, every look. She’s right—it was just a moment, nothing more.

Hunter’s Condo

The City Federal Building, Downtown Birmingham

11:31 pm

The elevator doors glide open with a soft chime, and I step into the hallway of my building’s top floor.

It’s quiet, as it always is at this hour. I swipe my key card and push open the door to my condo, instantly greeted by the cool air conditioning. I keep it at seventy-two at all times.

Everything here is just as I left it—immaculate, organized, and undeniably high-end, but not in a flashy way. It’s the kind of luxury that whispers rather than shouts.

The living room is spacious, with large, clear glass windows that offer a sweeping view of the Birmingham skyline. The lights of the city glitter far below, but up here, it feels like I’m a world apart.

The furniture is modern, with clean lines, soft leather, and polished wood. A low-slung sectional in a deep charcoal gray anchors the room, facing a sleek fireplace that I almost never use.

On the opposite wall, there’s a built-in bookshelf filled with medical texts, a few novels I keep meaning to read, and a scattering of framed photos—mostly impersonal, like shots of places I’ve traveled or abstract art that caught my eye.

The kitchen is open, with granite countertops and high-end stainless steel appliances that gleam under the soft lighting. I make my way over to the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and lean against the counter, letting the silence of the space settle over me.

This condo is everything I thought I wanted. It’s comfortable, it’s luxurious, it’s mine. It’s small, but the view more than makes up for it. But sometimes, standing here alone, it’s almost too empty. Like I’ve curated this perfect fortress and locked the world out.

I take a long sip, my mind drifting back to the path that got me here. My parents always pushed me to be the best. Excellence wasn’t an option, it was a requirement. That pressure was both a blessing and a curse.

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