Our Way

by T.L. Swan

“You can buy my lunch tomorrow.” He offers me a naughty wink. “That way, I have something to look forward to.”

“You’re… a doctor?” “Resident at this point, but yes. Why?” He smiles as he sips his drink from the bottle, as if he already knows what I’m going to say. “You’re too good-looking to be a doctor.” I scoff. “Tell me the truth. Are you a handyman or something?” He chuckles and holds his hands in the air. “You got me; I actually clean the toilets.”

I smile as I cut into my lasagne. “I’m simply saying that I would never have picked you out to be a doctor, that’s all.” “What would you think I would be?” He holds out his two hands so I can look at him and my eyes roam over his perfect physique. Stripper.

Hahaha SHUT UP HAHA

“Sorry to disappoint you.” “You should be,” I tease. “Don’t do it again.”

“I need more coffee.” “You’ve had two already.” I look at her, deadpan. “I need more.”

“Nice to see you, Dr. Morgan,” I say in a rush. Go away, now. “Henry,” he corrects me. “And do come quickly. The sooner you are under me, the better.” Nathan stares at him. “Working under me, I mean.” He chuckles. “That sounded wrong, didn’t it?” “Not to mention deluded,” Nathan replies dryly.

OOP

Thinking of her when I come is an out of this world experience. I can’t imagine what the real thing would feel like. Maybe I wouldn’t even survive it.

“Eliza has a friend that was a vegetarian.” Nathan smiles sweetly. “Recently converted to a carnivore and is apparently starving.”

I am absolutely howling

Nathan likes me putting it up or he says he wakes up in the middle of the night in some kind of Rapunzel nightmare.

She eyes Nathan. I can tell she’s thinking what a handsome bastard he is. For once, I can actually agree with someone. His bastardness really is eclipsing his handsomeness today.

“Why don’t you go and ask fucking Stephanie the answer to that question?

You don’t get to say this and throw that in his face every five minutes. I’m so annoyed at that… get your insecurity under wraps. Communicate before I scream.

His eyes bulge. “You’re an ostrich.” I go back to my phone. “What does that mean?” “It means”—I huff—“that you bury your head in the sand, and that your eyeball is bigger than your fucking brain.”

This book is too freaking heavy for there not to be more comedic relief like this

“She’s more myself than I am,” he replies softly.

I crrrrrryyyyy