My Doctor’s My Old Crush, I Lied

Chapter 4

Of course I was just talking tough.

Back at my apartment, I tossed the bag of meds on the table and collapsed onto the couch.

That damn face wouldn’t leave my head.

Seven years.

I’d transferred to another state, finished undergrad, then somehow ended up back in this city for grad school after circling the country.

I’d changed cities, changed my entire social circle, and had two lukewarm relationships.

I thought I’d ripped Elliott Shaw out by the roots.

But both relationships ended for the same reason—

Every time I kissed or hugged someone else, his face would pop into my mind.

The second guy left with red eyes and asked, “Is there someone else in your heart?”

I denied it.

But I could fool everyone except myself.

And today, one sentence from him—“who the hell have you been sleeping with”—smashed through the wall I’d spent seven years building.

The most ironic part?

There was no “someone.”

I’d lied.

No boyfriend, no wild s*x, nothing.

Who would believe that? Twenty-five, not bad-looking, yet living like this—having to lie just to save face.

All I had was myself and that little pink toy in the back of the nightstand.

Late at night, even though I was still sore and swollen, the craving burned through me.

I closed my eyes, gripped the warm, soft pink toy, and slowly pressed it against my sensitive, swollen entrance.

My mind was full of Elliott—the lean wrist under his rolled-up white coat sleeve, the slight furrow between his brows when he focused, his low voice…

Thinking of him, I turned it on, letting the strong vibrations slam into me.

It hurt at first. The swollen area stretched and shook, aching and throbbing, but the pain only made it feel better.

That mix of pain and pleasure shot through me like electricity. I bit my lip, breathing hard as I moved faster.

The toy kept hitting deep inside. Pain and ecstasy pushed me higher. I trembled from the hurt while my legs went weak from the pleasure, Elliott’s image filling my head. I thrust against it harder until my whole body convulsed in an intense, painful, mind-blowing orgasm.

When I came back to myself, the room was dark. I lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling empty and aching.

Using a cold toy while fantasizing about someone who was never mine.

Probably the loneliest thing in the world.

That’s me—greedy and cowardly.

I’ve wanted him for seven years and been scared for seven years.

I hate him enough to grind my teeth, yet I can’t forget him or quit him. He’s an addiction.

Every time I think I’m finally over him, one look from him resets seven years of effort to zero.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

“Take the medication on time. Use the topical twice daily, don’t skip. —E.S.”

My heart skipped a beat.

He’d gotten my number from the chart.

Openly, under the excuse of “follow-up.”

I stared at the number, mind in knots.

Half of me wanted to curse him for having no shame. The other half secretly felt a pathetic little spark of happiness.

Fine, Elliott Shaw. You’re really good at mixing business with personal.

My finger hovered over the screen. Delete, type, delete again.

I even opened my chat with Brooke to vent, then quietly closed it.

This was too embarrassing to tell even my best friend.

After hesitating forever, I spitefully replied:

“Dr. Shaw, aren’t you busy? Maybe see a couple more patients.”

I regretted it the second I sent it.

Too aggressive.

He’d probably think I was still hung up on him.

Which was true, but I’d die before letting him know.

He replied almost instantly.

“Not busy.”

A few seconds later, another message:

“You’re the only patient I can’t stop worrying about.”

I read those few words over and over, more than ten times.

My heart raced wildly.

I pressed the phone hard against my chest, face burning hot enough to fry an egg.

Liar.

But this time, I stared at that unknown number for a long, long time.

In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to block him.