by JD Hawkins
Copyright © 2021 by JD Hawkins
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Paige Press
Leander, TX 78641
Ebook:
ISBN: 978-1-953520-47-0
Print:
ISBN: 978-1-953520-48-7
Contents
Also by J.D. Hawkins
About This Book
Chapter 1
Colin
Chapter 2
Mia
Chapter 3
Colin
Chapter 4
Mia
Chapter 5
Colin
Chapter 6
Mia
Chapter 7
Colin
Chapter 8
Mia
Chapter 9
Colin
Chapter 10
Mia
Chapter 11
Colin
Chapter 12
Mia
Chapter 13
Colin
Chapter 14
Mia
Chapter 15
Colin
Chapter 16
Mia
Chapter 17
Colin
Chapter 18
Mia
Chapter 19
Colin
Chapter 20
Mia
Chapter 21
Colin
Chapter 22
Mia
Chapter 23
Colin
Epilogue
Also by J.D. Hawkins
Paige Press
About the Author
Also by J.D. Hawkins
Behaving Badly Series
Playing Doctor
Bad Boy Benefits
Cocky Men Series
Cocky Chef
Flawless
All In
Bad Boys Series
Confessions of a Bad Boy
Love and Ink
Unprofessional
Temptation
Insatiable Series
Insatiable
Booty Call
The Bet
About This Book
Why, yes, I am a doctor. Want me to kiss it better?
It’s always been an unacknowledged perk of the MD behind my name that it’s also a kitty magnet. I’ve got my pick of the litter. I only have one rule, and that’s to keep dating and work in different sandboxes. I learned that lesson the hard way once, and I wouldn’t have made it through med school if I needed to be told twice.
But everything about Mia makes me dumb.
Everything about the hot, bookish gynecologist makes me think NSFW thoughts that just won’t quit.
I try throwing myself into my work. Playing as much pickup soccer as I can handle. But it isn’t long before I’m breaking all my rules to get just one more taste of Mia.
We’re headed for a reckoning.
I’m about to earn a new degree: in love.
1
Colin
I’m the new guy.
I should probably be nervous. I should probably be anxious about what kind of first impression I’ll make. I should probably be worried about getting thrown in at the deep end.
But the truth is this: the only thing I feel is great.
Sure, I’m leaving a lot behind. A job at the best hospital in Los Angeles, a reputation that had billionaires flying out in their private jets to see me, and a paycheck that would make an accountant dizzy. But I’m leaving my demons behind as well. One demon in particular.
That’s the funny thing about being a pediatrician. You see enough snot-nosed brats turn into the sweetest angels over just a few summers, and you realize how much things can change, how quickly the time flies. You start to see how important it is that you seize the moment. The thing is, you can seize the wrong moment, too. And I should know. It’s the reason I have to start all over again.
Dunhill might be the kind of place that hired the best, but Santa Teresa is the place where doctors prove they are.
I park the car, an older Audi I’m more affectionate toward than impressed by, in my newly marked doctor’s parking spot, grab my duffel bag, and get out. The good feeling manifests in an easy swagger as I make for the front entrance of Santa Teresa Hospital. I’m early, though for a doctor there’s no such thing.
The place is smaller than my last. A little worse for wear. But then again, most hospitals are. Dunhill had a client list that read like the credits to an over-budgeted movie. A hospital with all the luxuries and fittings of a five-star resort. The kind of place patients got dressed up to visit. There’ll be none of that here. Thank God.
From the outside, Dunhill looked more like a piece of science-fiction concept art than a hospital. All glass and steel, with a complex series of jutting mirrors reflecting perfectly manicured gardens that looked equally architectural. Striking enough to be imposing, beautiful enough to make people feel like they’re getting their money’s worth.
Now I’m approaching a building that looks like a converted strip mall. The closest thing to gardens here are the sad patches of dry grass that line the parking spots, and a couple of shaggy palms bordering the entrance. Four stories—the same as Dunhill—but it’s still nowhere near as tall because the ceilings aren’t Malibu-mansion high. Sun-baked walls with cracks like the wrinkles of age, dotted with clunky air conditioning units.
It’s no architectural marvel, but then again, it wasn’t designed to look good in brochures. And Santa Teresa has one thing that Dunhill doesn’t: a sense of life.
The place might not have the cutting-edge equipment, abstract art pieces in the lobby, or the prestige of Dunhill, but in one area it outshines my old workplace—the number of patients. It’s nestled in a part of L.A. that encompasses all walks of life, from low-income families to new money singletons. Enough nightlife to fill the ER on a Saturday night, and more drama than a fifteen-season TV show could handle. If Santa Teresa has any kind of reputation, it’s as the toughest challenge a doctor in L.A. could take on.
It’s only six a.m., and already there’s a steady stream of people going in and out through the automatic doors. Already the air is filled with the siren of an ambulance whipping out from the side entrance, and shouts from orderlies as they maneuver a gurney into the ER. A young couple hugs each other tightly in the parking lot, a long-waited-for greeting or farewell. A man helps an elderly woman out to a car, his expression patient and calm, like he’s spent his whole life doing it. Two girls suddenly shriek with joy after seeing their friend emerge from the entrance with a bandaged head.
I reach the entrance just as a woman with a leg in a cast is heading out. She’s struggling with a bunch of discharge papers in one hand, her purse slipping off her shoulder as she manipulates her crutches.
“Can I help you with that?” I ask.
She looks up at me and immediately seems to forget her problems. She’s an older woman—old enough not to be shy as she scans me from head to toe—but she looks great for her age. I know a yoga body when I see it. When she’s done memorizing my build she flicks her blonde hair aside to reveal a pair of hungry blue eyes more appropriate for a bedroom.
“I’ll bet you could.”
I let out a laugh as I step forward to adjust her purse strap a little more securely. She uses the opportunity to lean into me.
“How about throwing me over your shoulder and taking me home,” she says, only partly in humor.
I s
tep back and nod at her casted leg. “I’m flattered, but you look like you’ve had enough excitement for a while.”
She grins. “What can I say? I like to live dangerously.” She swings her hips as much as she can with the cast, winces for a half second, then hides it quickly. “What are you here for?” she says through pouted lips. “You look pretty healthy to me.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“I should have known—I feel better just looking at you,” she says, sidling closer a little clumsily on her crutches.
I flash her another smile and step past her to go inside. “That’s a good start. Your job now is to keep on getting better. Take care of yourself.”
“I might just break my other leg,” she calls out behind me, and I let out another laugh as I step into the hospital lobby.
I’m allowed to flirt, I tell myself. Because there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to take it further. Not a chance I’m going to make the same mistakes again.
There’s plenty of bustle inside, people moving and chatting. Who needs interior design when there’s so much human life to take in?
A few teenage girls waiting in the lobby see me enter, and when I turn my smile to them, they start giggling. A nurse hurrying away from reception catches sight of me and doesn’t take her eyes away until she almost bumps into a hobbling patient.
I have to admit, I’ve always attracted plenty of attention, and the good vibes I’m feeling and giving off this morning probably make me impossible to ignore.
Nonetheless, I reach the hospital reception desk and the three women there don’t notice me at all. There’s a curvy girl with sweet eyes sitting in her chair, clutching something in her hands and staring at it. Over one of her shoulders a young, nervous-looking girl with a ponytail is peering at it too. Over her other shoulder is a tough but motherly looking woman with dyed red hair doing the same. They’re so engrossed that even when I get close enough to hear them, they don’t look up.
“Look at those lips,” the curvy one says. “Such pretty lips for a guy.”
“Do you think he’s strong?” the nervous girl asks.
“Of course he is,” answers the motherly woman. “Look at that jawline. Those bulging neck muscles.”
“Imagine those lips…”
“He’s strong, for sure… I’ll bet he works out.”
“What a mouth…”
They’re oblivious even as I dump my duffel bag on the floor and lean over the desk to look at what’s got them so hot and bothered.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Looks like he could do with a haircut.”
“No way! His hair is—” the tough one begins, then stops herself.
All three of them glance up at the same time and get immediately startled. The nervous one darts away to the other side of the desk, the tough one stands up straight and lifts her chin, while the girl with nice eyes goes a shade whiter than a doctor’s coat.
“Doctor Pierce!” she blurts. “Um… You’re early.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I say, holding my hand out. “And you are?”
“Jessie,” she says, shaking my hand.
“I’m Paula,” the tough woman says. “That’s Alison.”
I look over at the nervous girl, who seems torn between pretending to concentrate on some papers and acknowledging me.
I smile broadly, hoping to make them feel a little less embarrassed, and then say, “I was supposed to pick up my ID card from you.”
“Yes,” Jessie says quickly, holding out the exact same photo ID that they were just scrutinizing so carefully.
I take it from her and nod. “So what’s my intel for today?”
“Um… Alison has your schedule.”
I look over at the nervous girl, and she looks increasingly nervous for a moment. Some internal struggle playing out in fidgeting, unsure movements.
“How about you lay it out for me on the way to my office?” I ask, picking up my bag.
Alison nods, gathers up some papers clumsily, then rounds the desk to join me as I move off. We walk quickly through the hallways. I’ve been here before, so I know where my department is. Alison starts talking as we stride.
“You have a few appointments today, though only a few. We wanted to give you some time to settle in. The patient files are already on your desk and here’s the schedule.”
I take the sheet of paper from her and glance at it, though it’s only an automatic gesture, and my real attention is on the hospital itself. It’s busy and chaotic. Twice Alison and I have to step aside for speeding gurneys to pass by, and the other doctors and nurses move everywhere like they’re five minutes late. The sound of bored kids screaming and playing, hasty instructions being shouted, and couples arguing fill the halls with a sense of life. The walls are decorated with a mixture of badly designed public health messages and children’s art. We have to push through a crowd that’s congregated outside the X-ray department as a single nurse struggles to keep up.
Dunhill Hospital is only a half-hour drive from here, but it feels a million miles away. No more personal assistants. No more gentle piano music and lobby quiet enough to hear it. No more expensive artwork and golden plaques on the walls. My role may still be as a pediatrician, but this is a different job entirely. I feel like I’ve been demoted from the CEO’s office to the mailroom…
And I couldn’t be happier.
“Doctor Pierce,” Alison says, and I turn to see that she’s standing several paces behind me. She nods at a blank door. “This is your office.”
“Right,” I say, moving enthusiastically to the door and stepping inside.
I freeze as soon as I do—mainly because the office is so small that taking more than a few steps would mean hitting something. It’s the size of a prison cell, though even prison cells have windows. This has none, giving it the ambience of a stairway closet. There’s a doctor’s bed against one wall, the cheap, artificial fabric so worn away in places that the even cheaper foam is escaping. Atop a chipped laminate desk sits a computer big and old enough to send men to the moon, and above that a cork message board with so many old, curled notes it looks more artistic than practical. The filing cabinet was likely rescued from a dumpster.
“It’s a bit small…” Alison says apologetically.
“It’s great,” I say, dumping my bag and moving over to drop into the small office chair that only just keeps from crumbling under my weight.
“Those are the patient files,” she says, pointing at the pile beside the computer. “There are also some deliveries in the maternity ward this morning. If you want you can go check in once you’re settled. I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
“If there’s anything else you need, just let one of us at the desk know. Or any one of the nurses.”
I spin around in the chair to face her. “What about lunch?”
Alison stiffens at this, clutching papers to her cardigan like a lifebelt. I notice that she’s kinda cute. Her prim skirt and thick glasses make it seem like she was born sixty years too late, and there’s an innocent tenderness in her brown eyes that makes me think she’s new to L.A. If she was confident enough to stand taller, freed her chestnut hair from that ponytail, and released some of that shyness, she’d be a great catch…
Come on, Colin. Fresh start, remember?
“Oh… I’m… I’m… I don’t…” Alison stutters, her voice quavering, until I realize that she’s misinterpreted what I said.
I laugh it off and clarify, “I mean, what do the doctors usually do for lunch? They usually go to the commissary themselves or order in?”
“Oh! Right! Yes…” Alison says, life and color coming back into her cheeks. “Sure. I mean, if you want us to get you something you can just tell us. Do you want me—us—to get you something? You just have to say. And of course there’s a break room with coffee.”
“Actually, I could go for a bite.”
“What would you like?”
“
Surprise me.”
Alison nods nervously once more at me, then disappears like somebody just freed her.
I spin back toward my desk in the office chair, the damned thing wobbling all the way, and push the power button on the computer. It makes a sound like an old man getting out of a chair and then whirrs up like a jet engine. After two minutes of waiting with nothing but a blank screen, I start to appreciate the quaint charm of the paper files in front of me a little more, and idly sift through them, mentally building profiles for each new patient.
Eventually I get up, pull my doctor’s coat and stethoscope from my bag, put them on, pin my ID card over the breast pocket, and look around at the incredibly close walls. My last office had windows you could drive a truck through, and they looked out onto an expensively maintained garden bursting with Japanese cherry blossoms around a central fountain.
A giggle from outside draws my attention and I turn just quick enough to see two nurses in the hallway. One of them darts away, but the other one, a cute blonde who wears her uniform like she’s roleplaying, isn’t so quick at all. She flashes me a smile and then walks away slowly, twitching her hips all the while.
I’ve got plenty to look at here, as well, I think. But only look, Colin. Nothing more. You can’t afford to play with fire again.
2
Mia
Giving birth is really something special. Something earth-shattering. The biggest moment in most people’s lives—especially the first time.