Page 50 of A Place Like You

Drake: Though I want to believe you, Sutton says you’ve been doing that since the Sunday she got hammered—two months ago.

Wren: Sutton has taken first place on my shit list.

Drake: See you tonight :wink: emoji.

* * *

Wren

When the doorbell rings, my pulse skyrockets, threatening to escape my chest. Part of me wants to ignore the person behind the door, but curiosity wins, and I make my way to it, swinging it open.

Drake is right in front of me, armed with that handsome grin and dreamy eyes. “Hey,” he greets me.

“Hi,” I manage, trying to steady my frantic heartbeat. I’m sure he can hear it hammering. The only thing I can do is move aside to let him in.

This is a bad idea, Wren. You should just kick him out and maybe set up a schedule in the clinic so our paths don’t cross until he’s out of the program. And maybe this is why he’s here—to say he’s leaving town for good.

Bye-bye, hot surgeon. Hello, my old peaceful life.

Okay, it wouldn’t be that peaceful, and he’d be missed terribly . . . But it’s for the best. He needs to return to his old life, and I have to repair the walls he’s been slowly breaking down since he entered my life.

“Are you okay?” Drake asks, brow furrowing.

I nod. “Yeah, what do you need tonight?”

His mouth quirks. “You’re cute when you’re nervous. You know that?”

I scowl at his teasing. “Am I amusing you, Kershaw?”

“Why are you grumpy, Dr. Lynch?” he rumbles, sending shivers through me. “Do you need me to check you out, make sure you’re healthy?”

I cross my arms, irritated. “Don’t flirt with me.”

His grin widens. “So fucking adorable.”

I huff impatiently. “Is this some kind of last-day wish?”

He frowns, confused. “What does that mean?”

“You guys are leaving tomorrow, so you think it’d be a good time to fuck the doctor before you leave?” The words slip out before I can stop myself, and I immediately cover my mouth, regret washing over me.

Hurt flashes across his face. “You must think very little of me. The last thing I would do is use you.”

I bite my lip, chagrined. “But you’re leaving, aren’t you?” My voice wavers slightly despite my efforts to remain composed.

He steps closer, and I instinctively shy back, trying to keep space between us. But he doesn’t give up and takes another step forward. We dance like that, a silent push and pull, until he says, “Stop, you’re about to hit yourself with the wall.”

“What’s gotten into you, Drake Kershaw?” I ask shakily, my pulse racing from his sudden proximity. I’m not scared—rather, unsure if I can trust myself this close to him.

I can feel the heat radiating off his muscular frame as he edges nearer still, his eyes searching mine intently. My heart pounds, and tension thrums in the scant air between us.

Slowly, he raises a hand to the wall just above my shoulder, leaning in. Drake’s eyes bore into mine, exploring every nook and cranny of my soul. They seem to be begging for an answer to some silent question he hasn’t yet articulated. His hand slowly rises and leans on the wall right above me.

Time stops as he takes yet another step closer.

He continues to dip his head, eyes smoldering.

He’s close.

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