Acknowledgments
This particular novel took me longer to write than practically all the others combined. Not continuously, to be fair, but it was a process of more than a year that was interrupted by, well, life.
First thanks must always go to my family, for putting up with my disappearing into my writing cave, then reappearing to babble about plot problems, then disappearing again, and all the other random oddities that come with living with a writer.
Thank you to Erin and Lindsey for your invaluable early feedback and reassurances that I had not, in fact, written something atrocious. And for generally being friends who, though we’ve never met in person, I know I can always count on.
To that end, thank you to the Instagram writing community in general. For a bunch of people I’ve never met, the support I’ve gotten has been a game changer. I will be forever grateful for the knowledge, encouragement, and friendship I’ve found in that community.
Thank you to Jenny, my OG source of support in this whole author business, my editor and friend of more than half of my life, and just generally one of the best people I know.
Thank you to my readers, for whom I write, hoping my love of storytelling will help you escape, if only for a little while.
Never Date a Doctor Teaser
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CHAPTER 1
“So what’s it going to take, Sasha?” Becca asks pointedly before taking another sip of coffee.
I shoot her a pointed grimace. “I’m not asking for fucking Henry Cavill,” I grouse. “Is it really too much to want a good, steady guy who treats me well but also makes my toes curl and my lady bits swoon when I see him?”
She arches an eyebrow and thinks about that as she continues to drink her coffee. Way too slowly for the small break we’re allotted. I tap my fingers impatiently next to my empty coffee cup. Finally, she finishes and sets hers on the peeling laminate tabletop.
“Yes,” she says flatly, rising to rinse her cup. “Because the type of guy who curls your toes is going to know he’s hot shit. And that doesn’t exactly translate to boyfriend material.”
“Oh? And what exactly is my type?” I rise from my chair, setting my coffee mug back in its usual spot without rinsing it. Lord knows I’m going to be back in here for another cup soon anyway.
“‘Henry Cavill’ says it all, my dear,” she replies airily as she heads back into the main office. “Tall, dark, handsome, blue eyes, rockin’ bod. Your type. You set your standards too damn high and you’re stuck in a no-dating rut.”
I frown deeply as I approach the intake station and grab the chart slotted into my cubby. I’m not exactly in a position to argue, as she’s not wrong. But having it pointed out so bluntly is beyond annoying. Just because I hold out for my “type” doesn’t mean I’m hopelessly stuck.
“It’s called having standards,” I respond drily. “I can define that if it’s unclear.”
“So are you ever going to tell me why that’s a type you can’t seem to break away from?” she teases, totally ignoring my not-so-subtle dig as she settles in at the nurses’ station. Her eyes suddenly widen. “Oh god, that’s not what your dad looks like, is it?”
My eyes flick up from the chart in my hands.
“Becca, that’s disgusting.” I gesture to my dark blond hair. “Besides, where do you think I got this?”
She shrugs and grins mischievously. “Good. Because daddy issues are a whole other ballgame. So who was it? First boyfriend? First lay? Both?” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively.
This time I slam the folder closed. “Christ, Becks, keep your voice down.” My eyes dart around, hoping nobody else heard her.
“Oh, this must be good, you little prude, you,” she says, greedily rubbing her hands together.
“I’m not a prude,” I protest. “I just don’t talk about my sex life at work. Or jump into bed with every guy I date.” I shoot her a meaningful, if not teasing, stare.
“Maybe you should give it a try sometime. It’s every bit as fun as it sounds,” she retorts with a wink. “Fine, have it your way. Go to your ten a.m., but we’re having drinks after work, and I am getting this story.”
“Have it your way,” I reply mockingly, “just so long as you’re buying.”
“I think I will have it my way, thank you very much,” she replies airily. But then her eyes go wide as she looks over my shoulder.
I turn to see the chief of our unit headed at us, a stern frown on his grey-bearded face. He’s always in a shit mood, and I know I need to get in to see my patient before I become his next target.
“Dr. MacDougall is all you, Becks,” I whisper with a sly grin before shooting into exam room seven. I just catch her annoyed glare as I close the door behind me.
* * *
“I swear. I love my job, but if one more old man tries to feel me up while I’m doing an echo, I’m going to respond with violence.” I take a huge gulp of the martini in front of me, knowing even that won’t wash away the memory of his wrinkled paw squeezing my ass.
Becca shoots me a sympathetic look from across the small table we’re perched at. It barely fits our drinks, and the place is packed, but I guess I should’ve realized that, as it’s a Friday night. I just don’t pay much attention to the days of the week anymore, unless it’s a school night. The hazards of working at a cardiac unit that’s open seven days a week while going to school to graduate from nurse to nurse-practitioner. My days have two classifications: non-school days that are just long and difficult, and school days which are so grueling they could be considered a form of torture. Christ, I’m such a masochist.
“Been there,” Becca agrees. “But honestly, I wouldn’t have even minded. It’s been way too long since I’ve had any action.”
I laugh incredulously. “I find that hard to believe.”
She shrugs. “Oh, believe it. Even I go through dry spells. And you know what they say about desperate times …” She looks around at the crowds wistfully before her eyes wander back to mine. “If only there were anyone here worth going after. But we have other business to get to anyway. Now. About Henry Cavill.”
“What about him? Did you want to go see a movie after this?” I dodge jokingly.
One of Becca’s perfectly shaped eyebrows lifts. I throw up my hands in defeat.
“Fine. But you’re going to make fun of me.”
“Moi? I would never.” The evil glint in her eye belies her innocent tone. “Seriously, though, out with it. I’m on a mission here to get us both laid.”
“Getting laid isn’t really an issue,” I reply with a shrug. At five-and-a-half feet, with blond hair and curves in all the right places, attracting male attention has never been a problem. The opposite, in fact, especially working in the medical profession. Though frankly I think just being female is enough, since I know most of the other nurses and MAs at work have to deal with the same crap. You’d think it was still 1950, not 2020, the way some of these old bastards behave. And in a facility that deals exclusively with heart problems, we pretty much get mostly elderly patients.