Page 2 of Pucking Around

I type out a quick reply in our group chat.

RACHEL (8:31AM): Not dead. Can’t come bc I gotta work. But good luck *kiss face emoji*

Spotlight glare is literally the last thing I need right now because, two months ago, my own career rocket crashed out of the sky. I was in Seattle for Harrison’s wedding when I got the news that I lost out on the Barkley Fellowship. The top sports medicine fellowship in the industry, it pairs early career doctors and physical therapists with professional sports teams. The last three residents Doctor Halla put up for it all won. After their ten-month rotations ended, they were all offered permanent positions.

I was supposed to be lucky number four. Doctor Halla was so sure I would win that he confidently started interviewing for my replacement in the residency program. I had to crawl back from Seattle with my tail between my legs and beg him not to give my spot away. He was kind about it, righteously indignant, swearing he’d never recommend a doctor to their sham of a program again.

So that’s where I’ve been for the last two months, back in Cincinnati, going through the motions day to day. When I’m not putting in my residency hours at the hip and knee clinic, I’m working out or hiding out…until Tess gets fed up and drags me out.

My therapist might be ready to prescribe Prozac, but Tess has a whole other kind of therapy in mind. Dick therapy. Since I got back from Seattle, she’s been on a mission to get me laid. She thinks a wild night with a guy will cure me of my funk. But just the thought of touching another guy has me cringing.

I go still, my phone balanced in my hand.

Anotherguy. God, I’m such a mess. As if I already have a guy and Mr. Random Hookup would be theotherguy. I don’t have a guy. Not even close. But hey, a girl can dream, right?

In my case, my nightly dreams are full of only one guy.Theguy. My Mystery Boy. I haven’t told anyone about him. Not even Tess. We met on my last night in Seattle. It was the best one-night stand of my life. I’ve never felt so dialed in to another human soul before. But that’s all it could be for me. One perfect night. No names. No numbers. I woke in the morning and quietly packed my bags, leaving him naked in my bed looking like my every dream.

I regret not telling him my name. He asked me to stay. He wanted me like I wanted him…wanthim.

I groan, dragging my hand through my messy hair again. I can’t think about Mystery Boy right now. I’ve got to deal with Doctor Halla.

DR. HALLA (8:08AM): Price, call me ASAP

DR. HALLA (8:15AM): MISSED CALL

Taking a deep breath, I lift the phone to my ear and tap the little green call button. The dial tone chirps three times before it connects. “Dr. Halla, sorry I missed your call—”

“Price, are you here? Come to my office,” he says in that posh, slightly accented voice.

“I—no, sir. I’m not scheduled to come in until this afternoon.”

“Damn. Well, I didn’t want to do this over the phone…”

I do a quick inventory. A shower is pretty much nonnegotiable. And I have to put some food in my stomach. And coffee. Lots of coffee. “Umm…I can be there in thirty minutes—”

“No. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Them?Why do I feel suddenly on edge? “Sir, what—”

“You got it.”

My mind cranks like a pair of rusty gears as I try to puzzle out his meaning. “I—what?”

“The Barkley Fellowship. You got it,” he repeats. His delivery is so deadpan that I’m not sure what to say. Is he joking? Because it’s not funny. “Price? Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” My heart is racing a mile a minute. “I don’t understand—”

“I just got off the phone with Dr. Ahmed from the selection committee at the Foundation,” he explains. “Apparently, you were first on the waitlist.”

“Oh my god.” I shove off the bed and stand on wobbly legs, looking helplessly around my room.

“Apparently, one of the fellows made the genius decision to go whitewater rafting and his raft flipped,” Dr. Halla goes on. “Broke both his tibia and dislocated his shoulder, so he’s out.”

“Ohmygod,” I gasp, pacing from the bed to the window. “So, what does that—”

“It means you’re in,” he replies, cutting right to the chase. “Dr. Ahmed called me as a favor. She knows you’re my resident. She wanted to make sure you’d be serious about accepting. I told her you were. I hope I didn’t overstep,” he adds quickly.

“No, sir, I—” I hardly have words to speak. This can’t be happening.