Page 33 of Good Girl’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #4)

I’ll get you a box of tissues. You’re going to need them.

There is so much sex in this hospital. Is there that much sex that happens at hospitals? I know we haven’t talked about sex, but I need to make sure you’re not having sex in hospitals.

No. But there is some. Ask Mia the next time you see her. And trust me, there’s no sex for me in hospitals.

Hard pass. And thank God.

That was my window. That was the window that I could easily say “Hey, Linc. So…you know…sex…do you plan on us having it?”

I told myself I wasn’t going to overthink things with Linc, but this one I am. And not only that, I’m going to chicken out on this conversation entirely.

How far in are you?

A few episodes into season two. Because we open on Thursday night, our practice schedule is a bit out of the norm. I had to go in for some walkthroughs today, and we have a long day tomorrow.

Then I suggest you stop for now. It’s getting late.

It’s 7 p.m.

I know, but you’re getting into the good stuff, and I don’t want you up all night. You’ve probably already gone too far.

It’s just a television show, Ainsley. I can turn it off whenever I want.

Famous last words…

What the actual fuck just happened!

Code Black?

How’d you know?

Just a feeling. Also, have you slept? It’s six in the morning.

Not important. Does this show have some sort of drug in it? You know, I get drug tested. And for the woman I’m asking to help keep me out of trouble, this feels very much like you trying to get me *into* trouble.

LOL. Yes. Consider me your dealer.

Also, I’m going to have to go to practice today, exhausted as hell, and when the guys ask me why I look like shit, I’m going to have to blame you. Because I can’t tell them the real reason and since this is mostly your fault, you’re getting the blame.

Me?! I did nothing wrong here!

Do you think I’d be watching this show if you hadn’t come into my life?

Oh…sorry?

Now I need to get you back. Maybe our first real date will be to a karaoke bar. Repeat performance?

You wouldn’t.

I have the song list already in my head…

I’m mad at you.

I try not to laugh, but it’s useless. Oh, the poor man. He wasn’t ready. And frankly, none of us were the first time we watched it.

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to spoil anything.

It just…This fucking show!

I know. Though I must say, I kind of wish I was watching with you. I’ve never seen anyone else watch it for the first time. I’m sure the reactions are priceless. Especially for things that are going to come up.

You know you can, right?

I stare at my phone for a minimum of thirty-six seconds, give or take three, not sure how to respond.

Is he asking me to come over? Does he want me to? Or is he being nice? That’s probably what it is. Maybe.

Oh God I’m so bad at this…

Oh. No. I didn’t. But yeah… well…if you’d ever like company…and if you wanted me to come, I could probably do that. But only if you want me to.

Overthinking over text is a different kind of skill, Ainsley Mae.

It’s my superpower.

Well, I want you to know that you have an open invitation.

Oh, that won’t do. I’ll never use it because I’ll assume you’re just being nice to me, and I don’t want to inconvenience you. I’m already thinking that anyway.

You really do overthink everything, don’t you?

It’s a gift and a curse.

Speaking of invitations, what are you doing Thursday night?

Working. Last day of the week for me. Why?

Katie was seeing if you were planning on coming to the game. But no worries.

My heart sinks at the mention of his publicist wanting to know, and not him.

Which is silly. This isn’t real. Him putting boyfriend as his name in my phone is part of the bit.

And frankly, him mentioning that she wanted me there and not him is another reminder that this is all for show.

Because frankly, all this texting this week has me forgetting sometimes that this isn’t real.

It’s been nonstop. The only time we’re not texting is when he’s at practice.

I rarely check my phone during work hours, but I’ve found myself doing it more and more this week to see if he’s messaged.

I also apparently have a “Linc smile,” according to my coworkers.

Which is good for this charade, but bad for my heart.

Because I can already tell what’s going to happen. I’m going to fall for this man and forget that it was never real to begin with.

I can’t forget. I won’t let myself. Linc is a great guy, but he’s been nothing but honest that he’s not a forever guy. And I’m a forever girl.

I need to do something to remind me that this is fake when it’s feeling too real. Or when he invites me to his apartment. Or when he FaceTimes me shirtless. Oh! Maybe I need to do that rubber band trick and snap myself every time I start getting a little too smiley. Yes, that’s what I need to do.

Yeah, I get off work right when the game starts. And Lord knows because I’d have to leave on time, or maybe early, that a baby will start to be born right then and there. I’m sorry. Sunday games will be easier for me.

No worries. How about Friday? I have the night off since we played the night before. Can I take you to dinner? Our first official date?

I reach across the desk at the nurses’ station and grab a rubber band and slip it on my wrist before answering. At least it’s pink and matches my scrubs.

Sounds good. Where are you thinking?

Are you asking because you need to look at the menu before we go?

You already know me so well.

I’ve got a few places in mind. I’ll send them after my position meetings.

Sounds good. Do good at practice today. Catch all the balls!

Did you just make football sound dirty?

Not on purpose.

You really are something, aren’t you, Ainsley Mae?

“Drat,” I whisper to myself before snapping the rubber band on my wrist. “I’m doomed.”