Page 6 of Aching for His Discretion

Tell me, sweetheart, what was the name of that numbing medicine you gave me when you stitched me up?

Oh, it’s just called lidocaine. It’s a local anesthetic that prevents pain by blocking the signals at the nerve endings in the skin.

Perfect. Thank you so much for the information, Tesoro. Such a smart girl.

My face went red as my heart fluttered at his praise.He thinks I’m smart… Oh, what it’s like to be loved.

He sent me another message, but I wasn’t able to read it as someone sat beside me and grabbed my muffin from my table. I looked over my shoulder and sighed to see one of the gunners in our class, Alec Harrington. He was very smart and always went out of his way to show me that I wasn’t as bright as he was. He was good-looking to an extent, but he definitely had nothing on my personal Levi Ackerman.

“Mind if I take a bite?” he asked, his boyish grin plastered on his face, and I grabbed the muffin from his hand, annoyed. Thankfully, it was still wrapped in a napkin.

“No, you can’t. Go away,” I muttered.

I flinched as he leaned in closer. “You’re so feisty. I love it.”

I scooted away from him and gasped internally as he placed a hand on my thigh… Did I mention he was a little touchy-feely and took rejection a bit negatively?

“My friends and I are throwing a party soon. You should come. It’ll be fun,” he mentioned, leaning in, and I went to speak when our professor thankfully came over.

“Mr. Harrington… please do the both of us a favor and leave Ms. Monroe alone,” he said.

Alec ignored him as he gave my thigh one last final squeeze and stood up.

I looked over to my professor and silently thanked him with my eyes as he went to the board. Did I also mention Alec was the son of a very prestigious doctor who donates heavily to the institution fund every year and practically could do anything he wanted in our school? It was annoying when he did, but thankfully, I had a good reputation with my professors, and they knew of his small antics.

Soon, the seats began to fill with many of the students, and class began. I took a few notes as the professor went over someanatomy and material we needed to cover for our Step 2CK and CS exams.

He placed a few practice problems on the board and began passing out our recent written take-home quizzes. He stopped beside me and leaned down, placing the quiz down before me.

“I expect more, Ms. Monroe. You know that,” he muttered, and I bit my lip as a C+ was in red at the top of my paper. It wasn’t going to truly count in my final grade, but it let me know that I’d been slacking and that I needed to reevaluate my test-taking.

Oh gosh, I don’t want to cry.It wasn’t a terrible grade by far within the class, but I thrived on academic validation, and without it, I felt like a failure.

It was times like this when I wished I had a bit more of a backbone, that I could brush off something like this and not let it ruin my entire day. But with my overthinking kicking into overdrive, I couldn’t help but fixate on how this one grade might impact my chances at residency. Obviously it wouldn’t, but to me, the little things mattered, and the pressure to excel was relentless.

If Grayson was here, he’d understand my frustration.

Eventually, the class ended, and I left the hall with the intent of going home to get changed and heading straight to the hospital to face the wrath of Dr. Wyatt once again.

I hung onto a tiny bit of hope that my day could possibly get better, but I didn’t see that in my near future. No, I saw myself potentially crying the second I got home after my shift. Oh well. At least my muffin and coffee were good while they lasted.

“Patient rated pain an eight on a scale from one to ten and has not responded well to medication. Will follow up when the new dose of pain relievers is administered,” I said into the microphone, which typed my words into the computer as I finished up my last report of the night.

Dr. Wyatt didn’t pay me much attention today, and I was thankful he didn’t overload me with things I could mess up, as he had more assistance on the floor than just me.

Clocking out of my shift, I made my way home, listening to the sound of the cars and crickets. It was only a ten-minute walk, and I was happy to be so close to the hospital and my campus.

Entering my building, I walked up to my floor only to see Mr. Amante once again—only this time, he was waiting by my door with his phone in his hand.

“Tesoro. I was wondering when you’d get home. You didn’t respond to my text,” he muttered.

I found myself not even questioning why he was there. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep.

He walked over to me and brushed my hair out of my face. “It seems like you’ve had quite a long day, hmm?” he asked, and the moment he said that the waterworks began to flow, and tears welled up in my eyes.

“I-I got a 79% on my test today,” I muttered, defeated.

He cooed softly, bringing me closer to him, and I felt a massive relief as I was brought into his embrace. It felt so warm. I was unaccustomed to being held this close to a man…and he smelled so good.

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