Once? Not enough

Chapter 18: How does it hurt?

The man, clothed in a white coat, sat brusquely on the stairs, his slender fingers clasping a smartphone, the intermittent light shimmering upon his face.

He lifted his gaze, staring at her nonchalantly.

"Looking for me?"

His voice was cool and distant, laced with the languor of fatigue, not showing the slightest trace of surprise at her sudden appearance in such a place.

Amy shook her head quickly, summoning the courage to greet him: "What a coincidence, Dr. Evan, I'm here for work, my internship project happens to be at this hospital."

To prove her point, she deliberately shook the measuring tool in her hand, indicating she wasn't there to bother him unnecessarily.

In her perception, someone like him would despise being hassled by women.

Evan's eyes rested on the tool in her hand for a moment, then extinguished his cigarette before relinquishing his spot in the stairwell to her.

"Go ahead."

He dropped these two words succinctly.

Amy took the hint, thanked him briefly, and proceeded into the stairwell with her tool.

Just then, Grayson followed behind her. He glanced at Evan, a quizzical arch forming in his handsome brows.

"Yo, Dr. Evan, not in the clinic at this hour? Taking a lazy break here?" he inquired.

Evan massaged his temples, his usual cool voice responded: "Just finished a surgery, needed some air."

Grayson conveyed understanding: "I get that. You doctors have a lot of mental stress, it's right to relax and vent now and then."

Amy worked in the background, ears perked, listening in.

So, even a calm and composed doctor like him feels the pressure; no wonder he's so wild in bed—it must all be a release...

Grayson's attention turned momentarily towards Amy, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them.

More than just seeing; they had shared an intimate encounter...

"Amy is quite diligent, she'll be coming to the hospital often for measurements. Please look out for her," Grayson winked at Evan, making introductions.

Evan's gaze momentarily hardened, he nodded lightly, his voice even: "Understood. Time for me to get back to the clinic."

As he attempted to exit, Grayson suddenly smacked his forehead, turning to Amy:

"Right, Amy, aren't you experiencing stomach pain? Have Dr. Evan take a look; he's about to start his clinic anyway."

Amy's stomach pain was an old issue, accidentally discovered by Grayson that morning when he noticed her clutching her abdomen sporadically.

But with Evan's renowned medical skills, it was worth it to have him give her a diagnosis.

Amy immediately felt a chill, hastily declining: "No need, Mr. Grayson, it's an old problem of mine, no need to disturb the doctor."

But before she could finish, she saw Evan lift his gaze, asking offhandedly:

"Oh? What kind of pain is it?"

Those familiar words, he had asked the same way before.

Embarrassed, her ears reddened, Amy softly admitted: "Just some gastric pain, an old issue."

"You should still get it treated. Let Dr. Evan prescribe some medicine for proper care," Grayson insisted.

"Alright then, come to my office," Evan stated.

Amy, with no chance left to decline, found herself being cordially escorted to Evan's office by Grayson.

Back in the same consulting room, only days had passed, yet two more appreciation banners hung on the wall, gifts of gratitude from patient families.

In silent reverence, Amy observed the words on those banners, her respect for his expertise growing.

His skill was undeniable; last time, the medicine he prescribed—cheap and effective—brought about a significant improvement after just one dose.

"Sit down and extend your arm," he instructed.

Following his direction, Amy sat and offered her wrist.

Evan reached out, his fingers pressing firmly on her pulse, not lightly, carrying a tangible heaviness—a palpable pressure.

Amy held her breath instinctively, still as stone.

Surprised to find that he knew pulse diagnosis—a domain she thought exclusive to traditional Chinese medicine—her respect for him grew. Looking at his sharply defined features, fixated in concentration, combined with the warmth emanating from his fingertips, her face warmed.

Evan listened intently to her pulse, his eyes inadvertently drifting to her wrist.

She was slim, pale almost to the point of translucence, her veins a visible blue under the delicate skin. Her wrist was soft and fragile, it seemed he could snap it with a single hand—if this were the setting of a bedroom, he could easily pin both her wrists with just one hand.

His gaze darkened subtly as he continued, the pressure of his touch imperceptibly increasing.