Page 4 of Written in the Charts

After Maggie and Derek’s wedding, I’d gone on an ice-cream bender, downing a pint every two days as I sorted through the emotions I felt. Seeing Evan again after all that time—and that kiss, holy fuck—had been a whirlwind of emotion. When I finally made the decision that I was not emotionally ready to tell him what happened to me, it was a bit easier to move on. Plus, pouring my time into the twins and helping Maggie had helped me stay distracted.

My hand lingered on the doorknob, and I hovered, not ready to enter, but Carol—nurse and coworker—escorted a patient through the patient door and down the hall, and I didn’t want to look like I was avoiding going in. So I smiled softly and opened the door, the charming face oftheEvan Miller smiling up at me.

“Gypsy?”

I tried to force a smile, but it probably looked forced. I was nervous as hell. I could feel myself sweating. I didn’t know whether to melt into a puddle of anxiety on the floor or change my panties because of the puddle between my legs. Evan was the hottest guy to ever look my way. A lot of guys wouldn’t give me a second glance because of my full figure, but he wasn’t like that. He had never cared. He told me the day we met that he wanted a woman who could make him laugh, and I had—by citing a line from one of my favorite movies.

It was all steam and passion from there. Until my father got involved. We were forced to limit our time together because he wanted me to get serious about college, and in the process, Evan’s father fell very ill and died. I was supposed to go to NYU with him, follow my med-school career path. But I didn’t get in. Dad blamed Evan, and I watched him slip through my fingers as he mourned his father. Evan was going to be a vet—the type that works with animals. I guess he succeeded in being a vet, just not what he thought.

I shut the door quietly and walked over to the counter, setting the file down and squeezing a dollop of hand sanitizer onto my palm as I sat on the stool. Evan wore his army fatigues, and fuck, was he hot. I knew why they said women could never resist a man in uniform, and given my history with this man in particular, that stereotype was correct. Who’d want to resist?

“Evan...” I stuttered. Why the fuck was I so nervous? My fear of his finding out our past that he had no clue about had been totally overridden by his singular sweep of the eye across my body, landing on my exposed cleavage.

“You never called. After the wedding? You said you’d call.” His eyes left my chest and swept up to my face.

“Sorry... I’m doing this residency and—”

“No big deal.” He shrugged and smiled. “So, how long have you been working here?”

I folded open his chart and gestured to his pants leg. “Roll it up. Says here you’ve been having pain again? Same as the injury back in high school?” I stood and put on a pair of non-latex rubber gloves. “I’ve been here long enough to make an impression.” I chuckled. “I have at least six months left, and then I have to pass finals.”

Evan pulled his pants leg up past his knee and scooted back across the exam table until his leg was extended. I pressed on the patella, moving it gently and watching his face. I felt the crunching beneath it as if it were my own pain when he winced and stopped immediately.

“That bad, huh?”

He nodded. “But you can do it all day if you want.” His grimace resolved to a smirk as he lowered his gaze back to my tits.

“Eyes up here, buddy.” I chuckled at him. It felt wrong to be flirtatious with him given that I was his doctor and he the patient. This was strictly off limits in medicine. If I was emotionally involved with him in any way, I’d have to recuse myself from being his doctor. The ethics board would have a field day. I should have turned around and walked right back out of this room as soon as I saw it was him.

“I mean, I still like what I see. What I saw six months ago at that wedding.”

I didn’t see any signs of external injury, but there was slight swelling. “I don’t like what I see, though. The chart says you’ve used cortisone?” I looked up at his face, and he nodded, but his eyes were filled with something that made my heart flutter.

“Yeah. Doc Marshal used that back in the day, but really, this is flared up from jump school. I just don’t—”

“I know. I’ve heard it before. You don’t want the VA to know you’re here. Got it. But if they pull your chart, there is nothing I can do to stop that. You know that, right?”

“If I tried to kiss you right now, would you try to stop that?” He turned, dangling his legs off the side of the table and facing me. His grin was magnetic. I felt my cheeks warm just thinking of the kiss we’d shared months ago.

“Evan, I am your doctor. I can’t...” I stepped away, turning to reach for his chart.

“Well, you’re not my doctor when you’re not on the clock. How about dinner? We can catch up.”

With my back to him, I grinned. I could tell Doc Marshal that I couldn’t treat Evan, let him take the treatment on, and then I’d be free to date him if I wanted. I tried to make it work in my mind, but all I could think about was the lusty way he looked at me.

“Fine. Dinner is okay.” I turned back around and said, “But first we have to do a cortisone shot, then I’m going to send you to the hospital for some imaging. If the cortisone doesn’t work, then Doc Marshal will have to take over. I can’t violate rules in place by the ethics board.”

He nodded and grinned. “Good. Well, I’m sure the shot will work.”

“If not, we have something called PRP therapy. It’s platelet-rich plasma injected just like the cortisone is, but more frequently. You can only get the steroid once every six weeks and only a few times. You’ll risk damage to your cartilage. But PRP is said to help reverse the tendonitis and help the tendon heal.”

“Sign me up!” He pushed his pants leg down, and I realized he would likely need more than just one visit, which meant a touchy conversation with Cameron—a.k.a. Doc Marshal.

“Not so fast. Cortisone first, then imaging, then PRP if you need it.” I patted his good knee and tugged my gloves off. “Sit tight. I’ll go prep the needle. We can chat more about dinner when I come back.”

The minute I left that room, I leaned back against the door with my heart racing. Evan was just as charming and handsome as I remembered, and my nervous jitters still hadn’t calmed down. Now I had agreed to dinner with him. I wasn’t sure whether I should vomit or squeal like a thirteen-year-old.

This could be a second chance for us. I just had to play it cool.

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