He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I wanted to apologize for showing up at your door so early this morning. I worked most of the night and lost track of time.”
“It was fine,” I assure him. “I’m usually up extra early to study.”
“Ah.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re one of those.”
Tilting my head a touch, I manage a smile. “I’m one of what?”
“A do-gooder.” He laughs. “You probably ace every assignment and test.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“When it comes time to apply for medical school, it’s not.” His expression softens. “I remember the commitment it took to get through all those science courses.”
“It’s all-consuming,” I admit. “But I love it. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor.”
His eyes lock on mine. “I get it. You’ll sacrifice almost anything to study. Friends, fun, food.”
I nod three times. “I have almost zero time for any of that.”
“Make some time for all three right now.” He drops his gaze to the watch on his wrist before he looks at me again. “Have dinner with me.”
“Dinner with you?” I repeat back slowly, unsure if I heard him correctly.
I had to have misunderstood him. There’s no way he just asked me out for dinner.
“Spare an hour or two to have dinner with me.” He smiles. “We met this morning, so I consider us friends. I promise the conversation will be fun, and pizza is food.”
I stare at him, unable to form a response because this is the last way I thought my day would end.
“When I was in college, someone stepped in and gave me a break from the grind,” he explains. “She had already been through it, so she understood the pressure on me. She suggested we go for pizza one night, and it was the break I needed.”
Before I can say anything, he continues, “It was Erin Stein. In a way, this is a full-circle moment for me. She stepped in to show me that there’s no shame in taking a break from studying. Now, I’m doing the same for one of her students.”
Maybe Gwynn is right after all. Maybe he is fucking Professor Stein, and he thinks buying me a slice of pizza will gain points with her.
Something deflates inside of me.
“There’s a hole in the wall place a couple of blocks from here that serves incredible pizza.” He gestures to the lobby doors. “We’ll share a pie, and I promise to have you home with more than enough time to study before the night is over.”
I have nothing to lose at this point, so I nod. “Count me in.”
Chapter Ten
Faith
Watching a man eat shouldn’t make my breathing staggered or my panties wet, yet here I am.
Is this a curse only set upon virgins as they sit across a worn wooden table from the man who has invaded their dreams for a year?
What is it about his throat and his Adam’s apple and the way it bobs when he talks and bounces when he swallows?
I cast my gaze down to the empty plate in front of me. Needing to busy myself with something other than staring at Matthew, I run a fingertip over the crispy pizza crust crumbs.
“What’s your end goal?” he asks in a tone that is so gruff I feel those familiar goose bumps trail over my skin.
Thankfully, I’m still wearing the same big-heart sweatshirt I’ve been snuggled in all day. He has no idea what his voice is doing to me. He can’t see my body’s reaction.
“I want to work in emergency medicine.”
That lures his gaze from the slice of pizza on his plate. “Really?”
Nodding, I smile. “Really.”
“That’s a hard life,” he says curtly. “I have a friend who is always pulling extra shifts in the ER. It consumes him.”
I take a sip of the lemon water I ordered when we sat down. “But he loves it. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
He lets out a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure he used those exact words to describe his job at some point. I guess all you ER types feel the same way.”
“Now, I’m an ER type?” I question boldly. “Earlier, I was a do-gooder.”
He rests an elbow on the table. “You’re both, and before you ask, that’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s not?”
“How can wanting to do good in the world be a bad thing?” he asks. “I may not treat human beings, but I understand the need to help. My patients just happen to have four legs and enjoy giving me tongue kisses.”
What I wouldn’t give to have the chance to give him a kiss, tongue or no tongue.
Raising his water glass in the air, he drops his chin toward my glass. “Let’s toast to that.”
I pick up my glass of water and raise it too. “Toast to what?”
“To medicine.” He clinks the glass in his hand to the side of mine. “And tongue kisses from patients.”