Page 89 of Clinically Awkward

“I’m serious. Fitz could make a colonoscopy sound romantic.”

“Please never say that sentence again.”

“‘Darling, I’m afraid we must part ways. It’s not you. It’s me. Well, actually, it is you. You’re a wanker,’” I said in my best award-winning British voice.

She was laughing now. Really laughing. The kind of laugh that made her eyes crinkle at the corners and her whole face light up.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Okay, you’ve made your point.”

“Have I?”

“Fitz would be terrible at breaking up with someone.”

“He’d be amazing at it. He’d probably get Colton’s number and take him out for a pint afterward.”

“That’s... actually possible.”

We sat there for a moment, the laughter fading into something softer. Holding her closer, I kissed the top of her head and muttered, “In the meantime, for the next week, I have you all to myself, and I plan to take advantage of every minute.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Quinton

It was Friday, and only an hour before the clinic closed.

The last patient for the day had already left, and everyone was going over their charts, making notes, and getting ready for the weekend. Vivian was in the stockroom ensuring everything was good to go for Monday, while Winnie was clicking away at her computer, making scheduling changes for next week.

So far, everything had been going according to Julien’s well-devised, color-coded plan.

I should have known it was too good to be true. Because as I was handing Winnie my files, the clinic door opened and revealed a walking cautionary tale for steroid use, dressed in an expensively tailored suit.

The man had a good three inches on me, maybe more if I were being honest. He actually paused mid-stride to check his reflection, adjusting his collar just so, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. I knew exactly who he was. He had that self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face, the kind that said he thought he was God’s gift to humanity. The way he stood there, soaking in his own image like Narcissus at the pond, told me everything I needed to know about his character before he even opened his mouth.

He was the boyfriend.

I felt my jaw clench.

“May I help you?” Winnie asked, looking up from her computer before I could utter a word.

The fucker smiled a megawatt grin, licked his lips as he leaned against the receptionist desk, and said, “Wow. You’re gorgeous.”

I growled.

Actually growled like some kind of territorial animal watching a predator circle his mate.

Winnie blushed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you. Are you looking for someone?”

“Not anymore.” The man winked, extending his hand. “I’m Colton Whitcomb.”

“Oh, you’re Vivian’s boyfriend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Vivian’s boyfriend. Right. Because she was still technically dating this spray-tanned, mirror-obsessed, protein-shake-chugging, selfie-taking, gym-rat excuse for a human being. The guy who spent more time flexing in front of every reflective surface than he did having an actual conversation. The guy who probably knew his macros better than he knew Vivian’s middle name. The guy who unironically referred to himself as an “alpha male” and posted motivational quotes over pictures of himself doing bicep curls.

“So she says,” Colton replied with a laugh that made me want to commit a felony. “Is she around?”

Winnie turned to me with a smile that was far too innocent for what she was about to do. “Dr. Wesley, would you please go find Vivian and tell her she has a guest waiting to see her?”