Page 52 of Doctor Hot Mess

Her words are light, but there’s weight beneath them, and it hits me harder than I expect. “Alright,” I say, leaning forward, resting my arms on the table. “I’m in. But only if we make it fair. You go first.”

Her eyebrow arches, skeptical and amused. “Oh, do I?”

“Absolutely,” I say, my smirk returning. “What’s your deepest, darkest secret? What’s your most embarrassing story? Favorite color, shoe size—I want the whole Harper Gray handbook.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Right, because those are totally in the same league.”

“Hey, you said you wanted to shake things up.” I lean back, crossing my arms. “Your turn. Impress me.”

“Deal,” she says, and for the first time all morning, the smile she gives me feels real. “But just so you know, I’ve got some stories that’ll knock you off your pedestal.”

“Can’t wait,” I say, raising my cup in a mock toast with a grin tugging at my lips.

As we fall back into the kind of easy rhythm that’s always come naturally to us, I can’t help but notice how different this feels—not in a bad way, though. Harper’s always been someone who keeps me on my toes, someone who challenges me without even trying.

Instead of it being something I’d usually avoid, it feels oddly right. Like maybe, for once, I don’t mind the accountability—or the effort.

UAB Hospital

1:18 PM

Clinic days are supposedto be predictable—a steady stream of patients, the same questions, the same answers. It’s a grind, but usually, I can get into a rhythm and knock it out without much thought. Today, though? My focus is shot, and the minutes are dragging by like I’m stuck in some endless loop.

Mrs. Wentworth, one of my regulars, sits across from me, rattling off her latest list of symptoms—persistent dizziness, occasional shortness of breath. We’ve run every test under the sun, clinical and diagnostic, and nothing ever comes back abnormal.

I nod along, jotting down notes, but my brain is split between the present and Harper. Specifically, Harper in a bikini, waiting for me by her pool tonight.

“Dr. Bellinger?” Mrs. Wentworth’s voice cuts through my fog.

I look up, offering her my most professional smile. “Sorry, Mrs. Wentworth. You were saying the dizziness came back about two weeks ago?”

She narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Two months ago.”

“Right. Got it.” I scribble something onto her chart, internally cursing myself for being distracted. Pull it together, Jonah. This is exactly why I don’t mix personal and professional—it gets messy.

After finishing the consultation, I send her off with a referral to cardiology, then lean back in my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. My phone suddenly belts out, "I'm Sexy And I Know It." Shit! I forgot to put it on silent. Thank goodness that didn't happen while I was with Mrs. Wentworth.

Carly put that in as my ringtone months ago to be funny, and I keep forgetting to change it.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and see a text from Harper.

Pool’s heated and ready whenever you are. Norrises are out of town for the week.

A grin tugs at my lips before I can stop it. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, but before I can reply, the door swings open, and Carly struts in, a smirk plastered across her face.

“Why do you look like you’ve been caught sneaking cookies from the jar?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe with a coffee cup in hand. Her scrubs are rumpled, and her badge dangles on a retractable clip, as always.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, tucking my phone back into my pocket.

Carly raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You're the worst poker player, Bellinger. Who’s got you grinning like an idiot?”

“Grinning like an idiot is my default state,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I’m a naturally cheerful guy.”

“True. But this is different. Don't act like I don't know you.” She shuts the door behind her and plops down in the chair Mrs. Wentworth just vacated. “Come on, don’t make me drag it out of you. Is this about Harper?”

My stomach does a somersault at the mention of her name, but I keep my expression neutral. “Why would it be about Harper?”

Carly arches an eyebrow. “Because I know you. And because the last time we talked about her, you had that same deer-in-the-headlights expression. Call it a hunch. So, what’s the deal? Did you kiss her again? Or maybe accidentally propose tickling her g-spot this time?”

---