I let my gaze drop down to his clothes. He’s in scrubs, and I absolutely hate that he’s in scrubs right now. Holy hell. So much better than the onesie and way better than the Burberry.
“Why did you knock on twenty-nine doors?” I ask with a tilt of my head.
“You never told me which apartment was yours,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You said you lived in this building, but I couldn’t remember if you even said which floor. And for the record, I almost started with the third floor. I would have been here an hour ago if I went with my gut instinct.”
“Why are you here?”
He runs his hands down his face and then points over my shoulder. “Can I come in?”
I glance over my shoulder and then open the door farther. “I guess. If you tell me what you want.”
He walks inside and I close the door behind us. He glances around, wearing his stupid hot scrubs, and puts his hands on his hips as he faces me. He looks a little disappointed, but I’m not sure if it’s in me or himself.
“There’s a really big naked truth coming, okay?” he says. “Brace yourself.”
I fold my arms over my chest and watch as he inhales a breath, preparing to speak.
“These next couple of months are the most important months in my entire career. I have to be focused. I’m closing in on the end of my residency, and then I’ll have to sit for my exams.” He’s pacing my living room, talking frantically with his hands. “But for the past week, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I don’t know why. At work, at home. All I can think about is how crazy it feels when I’m near you, and I need you to make it stop, Lily.” He stops pacing and faces me. “Please make it stop. Just once—that’s all it’ll take. I swear.”
My fingers are digging into the skin of my arms as I watch him. He’s still panting a little, and his eyes are still frantic, but he’s looking at me pleadingly.
“When is the last time you’ve had sleep?” I ask him.
He rolls his eyes like he’s frustrated that I’m not getting it. “I just got off a forty-eight-hour shift,” he says dismissively. “Focus, Lily.”
I nod and replay his words in my head. If I didn’t know better . . . I’d almost think he was . . .
I inhale a calming breath. “Ryle,” I say carefully. “Did you seriously just knock on twenty-nine doors so you could tell me that the thought of me is making your life hell and I should have sex with you so that you’ll never have to think of me again? Are you kidding me right now?”
He folds his lips together and, after about five seconds of thought, he slowly nods his head. “Well . . . yeah, but . . . it sounds way worse when you say it.”
I release an exasperated laugh. “That’s because it’s ridiculous, Ryle.”
He bites his bottom lip and looks around the room, like he suddenly wants to escape. I open the door and motion for him to walk out. He doesn’t. His eyes fall to my foot. “Your ankle looks good,” he says. “How does it feel?”
I roll my eyes. “Better. I was able to help Allysa at the store for the first time today.”
He nods and then makes like he’s walking toward the door to leave. But as soon as he reaches me, he spins toward me and slaps his palms against the door on either side of my head. I gasp at both his proximity and his persistence. “Please?” he says.
I shake my head, even though my body is starting to trade sides and beg my mind to cave to him.
“I’m really good at it, Lily,” he says with a grin. “You’ll barely even have to do any work.”
I try not to laugh, but his determination is as endearing as it is annoying. “Goodnight, Ryle.”
His head drops between his shoulders and he shakes it back and forth. He pushes off the door and stands up straight. He half-turns, heading for the hallway, but then suddenly drops to his knees in front of me. He wraps his arms around my waist. “Please, Lily,” he says through self-deprecating laughter. “Please have sex with me.” He’s looking up at me with puppy dog eyes and a pathetic, hopeful grin. “I want you so, so bad and I swear, once you have sex with me you’ll never hear from me again. I promise.”
There’s something about a neurosurgeon literally on his knees begging for sex that does me in. That’s pretty pathetic.
“Get up,” I say, pushing his arms away from me. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
He slowly stands up, dragging his hands up the door on either side of me until he has me caged in between his arms. “Is that a yes?” His chest is barely touching mine and I hate how good it feels to be wanted this much. I should be turned off by it, but I can hardly breathe when I look at him. Especially when he has this suggestive smile on his face.
“I don’t feel sexy right now, Ryle. I worked all day, I’m exhausted, I smell like sweat and probably taste like dust. If you give me a little while to shower first, I might feel sexy enough to have sex with you.”
He’s nodding feverishly before I’m even finished speaking. “Shower. Take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”
I push him away from me and close the front door. He follows me to the bedroom and I tell him to wait on the bed for me.
Luckily, I cleaned my bedroom last night. Normally I have clothes lying around everywhere, books piled up on my nightstand, shoes and bras that don’t quite make it to my closet. But tonight it’s clean. My bed is even made up, complete with the ugly, quilted throw pillows my grandmother passed down to every person in our family.