WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

But I am running low on gauze. That’s the only reason I end up going to the pharmacy after all when I’m done with my shift.

And yes, I do happen to wander down the aisle with the condoms. But that’s just because that’s also where the tampons are kept. I have a period coming up next week, and I’m running low.

But I’m not going to buy any condoms. I’m just going to stare at them for a really, really long time before deciding to do the right thing and walk away.

“Would you like a ride home?”

I jump when a familiar voice asks me that question. “Jonathan, what are you doing here?”

“I saw you walk in, and I waited outside the pharmacy to offer you a ride. But when it took so long for you to come out, I figured I should come in here to offer assistance. I know how indecisive you can be.”

It’s true. I have major problems making decisions. It once took me over twenty minutes to decide what kind of grass smoothie I wanted at some juice bar Jonathan took me to Philadelphia to try. That’s one of the reasons I liked being a nurse—the decision tree was clear, especially when it came to matters of life and death.

In other situations—not so much. For example, after going back and forth with myself on buying condoms, my brain pretty much stalls out when confronted with my ex offering me a ride home.

He never wears scrubs home like I do. He prides himself on taking the extra time to change before leaving, so today, he’s dressed in his usual pressed trousers and button-up shirt ensemble underneath a light blazer. He’s also gotten a haircut since I saw him last, so he looks particularly clean-cut. Not for the first time, I understand why so many other nurses call him Dr. America behind his back.

Jonathan’s eyes swing to the row of condoms I’ve been staring at for who knows how long. “So, what are you trying to buy here?”

Several awkward beats, then I finally make a quick decision…to grab a one-day pack of Monistat. No, I don’t currently have a yeast infection, but it’s better than the only other options on the vertical shelf: anti-vaginal itch medicine, lube, and the condoms I shouldn’t have been considering in the first place.

To Jonathan’s credit, he doesn’t act squeamish about my choice, just offers to wait outside until I’m done checking out.

I’m unable to come up with a plausible excuse for not accepting the ride home, especially because it’s only a five-minute drive. So, we spend most of it talking about a surgery Jonathan got to assist on, but I feel vaguely uncomfortable for some reason. Like I’m doing something wrong.

“Thanks,” I say as soon as we pull up outside my building. My hand’s already on the door handle, and I make quick moves to get out of the car.

But just as I’m about to go into the building without looking back, Jonathan calls, “Wait, Mimi.”

I turn around to find him out of his BMW 8-series and jogging to catch up with me.

“Wait,” he says again, then he pauses and looks to the side like a 90s-era Hugh Grant movie. “What’s this I hear about you hooking up with the Angolan resident from Oncology after meeting him at a bar?”

If anybody but Jonathan had asked me that, I might have laughed. Hospital Telephone is the worst.

But as it is, his accusation brings up another hospital rumor I heard, like, two days after he asked me for a pause.

“What’s this I hear about you dating Lyndsey from Radiology?”

Jonathan shifts uncomfortably and shoves his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “We went out to coffee. It was nothing special. Not like you.”

The regretful look he gives me causes some of my prickliness to fade. But I have to ask, “Then why did you put us on pause?”

“I don’t know. I guess I got scared.” Jonathan pushes a hand through his blond hair. “I like you so much, even if we weren’t quite clicking in the bedroom. And meeting my family was a big next step. I guess I got cold feet.”

Weirdly, I understand exactly where he’s coming from. I think of last night—how many times I nearly backed out because I was uncomfortable and scared.

How I snuck out this morning for my shift without a word because I didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, it’s been a very confusing time,” I agree, shifting my eyes away right along with him.

“So, you are dating Dr. Afonso?” Jonathan asks, mistaking the reason for my sudden inability to look at him.

“No,” I answer. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Technically true. What I shared with Waylon wasn’t a relationship. It was just…a few lessons. But a pang of weird guilt tightens my throat after I tell Jonathan that.