Page 42 of Good Girl’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #4)

“We had a very different college experience,” I say. “The only thing that tried to kill me were summer workouts.”

“But you didn’t start at Mississippi State, right? You transferred?”

“Did someone do their homework on me?”

Again with that shy shrug. It’s fucking adorable. “Yes. But in my defense, Mia also told me your entire bio, and my sister Stella is an unofficial FBI member. So I had help.”

I take the final bite of my ice cream cone and thank the heavens Ainsley remembered to grab napkins, as we find an empty bench looking at the river.

In the skyline is the Fury stadium, and right now, at night, with the reflection of the water in front of it, I don’t know if there’s a more beautiful sight.

Well, there is, and it’s the woman next to me. But I need to do a better job of keeping those thoughts at bay.

“I wasn’t the best student in high school,” I say, still not wanting to put a damper on the night with my sad sob story.

“Gram did the best she could, but even back then, I had a reputation of using my fists to talk, so I was in detention more than I was in class. When I discovered football, that helped me a little, but even then, I was doing just enough to stay eligible.”

Ainsley doesn’t push or ask more. Most people would if I left things open like that. But not this woman. No, she just turns to me, her toned legs bent slightly as she listens intently to every word I’m saying.

“Because my grades were barely Cs, I wasn’t getting college offers.

But there was nothing else I wanted to do.

Trades didn’t appeal to me, and I knew I didn’t have the grades, or the focus, to do well in college, so my coach suggested junior college.

He hoped that in a smaller setting I could figure out what was next, and also use the time to get grades up where I could maybe head to college and play big-time football.

God love that man for seeing a future in me that I never dreamed possible. ”

“The good teachers and coaches have that way about them,” she says. “They see things in us that we never could.”

“He did. I went to a JUCO, got decent enough grades—and more importantly, stayed out of trouble—and after two years I made it to Mississippi State. And the grades might’ve been better, and I technically have a degree, but even with all that, it was still pro football or bust.”

My throat starts to tighten just thinking about the next part of the story. If I’m not ready to talk about my parents, I’m definitely not ready to talk about the incident that nearly ruined my entire life.

I don’t know if Ainsley can tell that, which I don’t know how she could, but thank goodness she takes the reins of the conversation.

“I get that feeling, it was nurse or bust for me,” she says. “I never went through a phase as a child when some days I wanted to be a teacher and the next day I wanted to be a space cowgirl.”

“Space cowgirl?” I tease. “I feel like that’s the most un-Ainsley thing to do. Zero gravity and horses?”

She laughs as my arm goes across the back of the park bench, like it’s the most natural thing to do. I try to tell myself it’s for the photographers that could be following us that Katie set up, but I know it’s a lie.

“Exactly. I could never. But luckily I didn’t have to think about it because the first time I put on my toy stethoscope, I wanted to be a nurse.”

I remember that feeling, only it was the first time I put a football in my hand. “What made you want to be a children’s nurse?”

“That I’m not sure,” she says. “I just remember being fascinated by it. I used to beg my mom to take me to the doctor, just so I could see my nurses. I’d try and tag along with my siblings when they had appointments.

I was a volunteer at the local hospital the minute I was old enough.

Being a pediatric nurse was all I ever dreamed of. ”

“And look at you now. Living the dream.”

“Kind of,” she says. “It’s veered that now I’m in labor and delivery.”

“I still can’t believe you literally bring human life into the world,” I say. “I can’t be trusted to keep a plant alive. I’ve never even had a pet.”

“It’s amazing,” she says. “Though sometimes I do miss being in the units like the one I met you in.”

“You mean the one where you ran into me?”

She gives me another side eye, which I can’t deny is becoming one of my favorite looks on her. “Are you ever going to let me forget that?”

“Maybe, but not anytime soon.”

She playfully bumps her shoulder into me, and it takes all the willpower in the world in my body to not bring her into my side.

What is it about this woman? I know this is fake. My brain is saying it. No, screaming it. Yet, with every minute I spend with her, I can’t help but want to touch her. To get to know her.

Which is bad. So very, very bad.

“That day you came in, it actually reminded me of the reason I wanted to be a peds nurse. To give those kids hope and light when there are days that all they know is darkness.”

“I had to keep reminding myself of that,” I say. “I went through some shit as a kid, but them? Going through cancer or other sicknesses that run their lives? I can’t imagine dealing with that at such a young age.”

Ainsley’s eyes roam to look out over the river, which gives me a chance to sit here and take in just how fucking gorgeous she is.

There’s a slight breeze, pushing her hair back off her shoulders.

I don’t mean to, but my fingers can’t help it as they start slightly tracing lines along her back.

She has to feel them, but she doesn’t say anything, instead just keeping her focus ahead.

“Teachers and veteran nurses told us in school that there would be hard days,” she continues. “I knew some patients were going to come in and weren’t going to leave. But nothing can prepare you for the first time you lose a child.”

“I can’t fucking imagine.”

“I couldn’t do it,” she says. “I wanted to, but it hurt too much. So that, combined with a horrible ex-boyfriend doctor who worked on my floor, it was an easy enough to decision to ask for a floor transfer.”

“I didn’t realize he worked on your floor.”

“Used to. Though, he has made it a point to stop by labor and delivery every day this week.”

My blood pressure immediately spikes. “He has? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s fine,” she says, though I don’t think it’s fine at all. “He hasn’t bothered me. Really.”

“Really?” I say, my jaw ticking back and forth. “Ainsley. That’s why we’re doing this. For him to stay away from you.”

Her hand goes to my heart, and I don’t know what kind of voodoo this woman possesses, but her touch immediately begins to calm me.

“You have. It’s convenient that every time he comes up to the floor, I happen to get a phone call from you that one of my fellow nurses announces with absolute glee. You have impeccable timing.”

That makes me feel slightly better, but I think it’s about time that I reintroduce myself to Dr. Dipshit. “If he bothers you, I don’t care if I’m at practice, or even at a game, you call me. Deal?”

She nods and pats my heart before removing her hand. “Cross my heart.”

There it is again. A phrase so common, yet it’s somehow become ours.

Ours.

No. This isn’t an “ours.” This isn’t an “us.” We’re just two people helping each other out. A transaction. Nothing more, nothing less.

Even though it feels like more.

A lot more.

Every cell in my body is screaming to kiss her.

She’s so close. Her perfect pink lips are just inches from me.

It would be so easy just to lean in and take them into mine.

If cameras are around, they’d probably love getting that picture.

But I don’t want them to see that. No, if I did kiss her, I wouldn’t want the world to see. That would just be for us.

But that can’t happen. There can’t be an us.

If I’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that this woman is way too good for me.

She delivers babies. Her smile literally lights up a room.

In no way should she be with a former juvenile delinquent from Detroit turned last-chance football player who still has a reputation for fighting.

So I can’t kiss her. I can’t ruin her.

But God, I want to.