Page 19 of Undeniably Enemies

Me: But you won’t.

She doesn’t respond immediately, and I take it as my moment to end this. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I should have told her who I was and let it die ten minutes ago. I don’t know what I’m doing other than maybe I’m a little lonely and definitely out of sorts with her in the ER. The last woman I went out with was an ICU nurse, and she dumped me after a few dates because she said I was too consumed with work and never liked to go out or do anything other than have sex. Essentially, she had me pegged, and I couldn’t argue it.

The truth is, I didn’t like her enough to change that or want to spend more time with her. It’s been a chronic problem for me. I date women for a couple of weeks at most, and they break it off because I’m not emotionally invested in them beyond sex, nor will I ever be. I’m not good at the bar pick-up thing. I hate putting myself out there while trying to be witty and irresistible, all for a few hours with a woman I’ll never see again.

So I go out with women I know I’ll never love and hardly even like, and after a few times in bed together, it ends.

I wonder if I truly am broken. If all the heartbreaks and disappointments and betrayals have destroyed me for good. The worst part? It’s been five years since I fucked Wren at thatparty, and she’s the last woman I wanted enough to put effort into.

And look how that turned out.

Me: I need to get to bed. It’s late, and I have work early tomorrow.

Wren: Same for me.

Wren: You really won’t tell me who you are?

Me: Not tonight.

Wren: I may not ever text you again.

Me: Then you’ll never figure it out.

I set my phone back on my nightstand and turn it to Do Not Disturb so I won’t be tempted to check or text again. That was an unexpected bit of fun after a long, miserable day of dealing with my bratty Cinderella.

It’s been a weird year since I moved back to Boston from LA. Originally, I did it because I wanted to be closer to my friends and family. Estlin had just moved home from Paris, and with our age difference, I hadn’t lived near her since she was a little kid. She had been through a lot with her ex, and the big brother in me wanted to be there for her.

But as the year has gone on, I’ve found I love being back in Boston. I love my job and the people I work with. I love being near Owen and Estlin and my parents. My buddy Bennett, who I knew in LA, even lives here now and is married to Katy, who is Owen’s other best friend. I have people, and I could have more of a life. I could move past what Tilly did to me and start to try again with women. I could. But I haven’t.

If my interactions with Wren over the last year since I moved back have taught me anything, it’s that that night should have never happened. She was young. I took her virginityagainst a wall at a party. And she hates me for it. Not that I can blame her.

I can’t stand her either. Truly. Genuinely cannot stand her.

But I also find myself watching her and looking at her differently than I look at anyone else, and I don’t know why. I can’t even explain it to myself other than I’m attracted to her. Very attracted.

She’s still too young. Too bratty and spoiled and entitled. She’s still Owen’s little sister, and since I have no plans to fall in love with her the way he did with Estlin, I shouldn’t notice her the way I do, and my dick shouldn’t still be interested. Especially not after all this time. It wants a redo if for no other reason than to wash away the haunting memories of that night, but it’ll never happen, and fundamentally, I don’t want it to.

It’s fucking Wren. No thanks. She’s not my type anyway.

I sigh and glance at my phone sitting there like a tempting little thing. Because despite my built-in protests and endless denials, she is my type. And secretly, I know it. Which is why I shouldn’t have texted her back the way I did.

Next time I won’t engage. I’ll tell her it’s me, and that’ll be that.

I meant it when I told her to show up on time, do her job, and stay out of my way. I just hope she listens for once in her life.

7

“Okay, who’s next? Daffodil?” I ask as we stand by the nurse’s station doing rounds. I have four interns, six mid-level residents, a nurse practitioner, two nurses, and three medical students, including Wren, on my staff today. It’s seven thirty, change of shift happened thirty minutes ago, and I’ve got a large coffee that’s almost empty in my hand because I slept like shit last night.

Daffodil blushes and looks down at her notes. Not a great way to start impressing me, but I cut her some slack because she’s shy and anxious, not to mention sweet and good with patients and their families, even if she isn’t really cut out for the ER. She would have been an ace in pediatrics, but it’s her life.

“Um, well, the patient in room six is having a miscarriage. OB has been notified and?—”

“I need more details, Daffodil,” I cut her off.

She nods and starts to play with her hair. “Right. Uh. Thirty-two-year-old female, G1P0 at sixteen weeks gestation, presented overnight after a fall down the stairs. She is accompanied by her husband, and there are no indications of abuse.Ultrasound unfortunately confirmed fetal demise. OB is set to evaluate soon to discuss D&E.”

Shit. At least she’s here, and we can take care of her. “Better. I want you and Miss Fritz to closely monitor this patient until OB has come down and takes over. How is her mental state?”

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