Chapter 4
FOUR
JESSE
Okay, no. Because what the actual fuck?
Except… yes. Finn. Sinful-mouth, legs-for-days, ass-that-wouldn’t-quit Finn—here.
In the skills center, wearing Devon-issue scrubs and a resident badge, meeting my gaze with something halfway between defiance and guilt.
I held my breath through the roller-coaster stomach drop, exhaled, and snapped back to something like composure.
It fit like a coat shrunken in the wash.
Holy fucking shit. How?
Look away, keep moving. You’ve got a job to do.
Right. I waved the first suturing group through, checking off names that didn’t include his, handing out kits. Faking normal while my mind was spinning through thoughts that toppled like dominoes.
Finn, still asleep when I’d left. Escort price tags ran higher than a hundred bucks and a scribbled thanks, I owe you, didn’t they?
Yet he’d never texted for the balance. A flicker of heat in my belly—Finn on his knees, hands behind his back.
Stop. The simple suitcase in his hotel room, the lube and condom tucked into his toiletry bag rather than readily on hand.
The hotel itself, on the run-down side of the spectrum, certainly not a place that screamed high-class hooker with an assistant—although that might have been a joke.
No, let’s face it: The whole thing had been a joke to him. Probably, very likely. Unless it was his way of saving up before med school repayments hit? And was Finn even his actual name? Too far to read his badge.
Fuck. Either way, what it came down to? I’d paid a first-year resident for sex. Unknowingly, sure. But now—now I knew. So where did that leave us?
“Remember to square your knots,” I told a nervous resident at station three, kept circulating—adjusted lamp height, corrected needle angles, praised decent technique.
The first session passed in a haze, like sunshine filtered through frosted glass.
Jesus, I didn’t get this tied up over guys, especially not after just one night.
Not just any guy, though. No. This was a resident who’d be working with me, under me. I’d rate his performance in the competition on Friday, and at some point, he’d be rotating through my service. As the most senior fellow there, I’d be the one writing his evals. What a fucking mess.
So… disclose the conflict? “Yeah, see, I fucked him and then left a hundred bucks on the nightstand. What? Oh, was it worth it? Man, I’d have paid triple that.”
Awkward.
Maybe we could leave out the part about the money. Or maybe we could just not tell anyone—agree it was a freak coincidence we’d never mention again, one we sure as hell wouldn’t repeat. Also, though?
I deserved an explanation.
He approached me as if I were a ticking bomb. Not wrong.
“Morning,” he said. “Finn Hayes.”
Steady voice but slightly uncertain posture, jaw a shade too tight. I held his eyes for just a moment, then looked down and checked him off my list. The name was real, then. That was… something.
I reminded myself to breathe—normal, nothing to see here—and handed over his suture kit. He took it with careful fingers and a quiet thanks, then shuffled along. I turned to the next intern in line. Smile, nod, keep it moving.
We’d talk later.
The service stairwell dumped me onto a baking slice of roof, framed by a railing and humming air-conditioning units. Late-afternoon sun bounced off every metal surface, the river below a blinding rope of light. Sweat tickled my hairline before the door even thunked shut.
I’d found this lookout a couple of years ago, after a bad shift, and it had become my quiet place when I needed a breather, a moment to jot down thoughts that didn’t belong in a chart.
I’d never met another soul up here. With the heat beating down, I doubted anyone in their right state of mind would venture out today of all days and catch me with Finn.
Well. On that note, I clearly wasn’t in the right state of mind—pacing like a caged lynx in dark pants and sneakers, my shirt already sticking to my shoulder blades. I kept replaying the moment I’d spotted him in the crowd, interlaced with flashes of That Night like a surreal double exposure.
That Night. Yes. Capital letters.
Eyeliner like a dare. That’s all I’d put into my notebook the next day.
Not a journal, no, because I wasn’t a teenager.
Just… containment. A place to put the extra noise so I could function, things like Pigeons are just flying rats and Sometimes I miss quiet and Does hand sanitizer count as cologne?
Cautious footsteps sounded on metal stairs. The door inched open, and Finn emerged into the afternoon glare—navy scrubs and backpack slung over one shoulder, hesitation written into every line of his body. He squinted, found me, and offered a painfully tentative smile. “Hi.”
I’d had a plan: Establish the hard facts, confirm that neither of us wanted an HR circus, and agree that it could never happen again. Even though—no. Could never happen again. Full stop.
And then the cautious, almost guilty tilt to his smile punched the air from my lungs. Any anger I’d harbored? Melting away like ice in the sun, just like my resistance the moment he’d kissed me outside the bar. Dangerous.
I folded my arms. “So. Dr. Finn Hayes.” Testing it, like probing at a loose tooth.
He winced. A breeze ruffled his hair. He looked young, earnest, a little terrified—hardly even resembling the sexy, quick-witted stranger who’d caught my eye three nights ago. “Yeah, uh. That’s me. And you’re, um. Dr. Jesse Maddox.”
My frustration wobbled into confusion, a distant sense of disbelief trickling in. “Yeah. So, okay—awkward. But I’m gonna have to ask. Are you or are you not a sex worker?”
His eyes widened as if the question surprised him on some level—hearing it out loud, maybe. “No. I’m… God, no. Nothing of the sort.” He shoved a hand through his brown curls and glanced away. “The guy who came up to me just assumed somehow, must’ve been the eyeliner. And then I… rolled with it.”
“Rolled with it?” A faint hint of irritation sparked. “Interesting choice.”
“More like an idiot move.” He shot me a sheepish look, and Jesus, yes—even now, I could see why I’d bought whatever he’d been selling. Or not selling, actually.
“Why?” I asked.
He exhaled in a rush, then stepped closer, hands loose at his sides. “I got dumped. Two weeks ago. My boyfriend—well, ex—said I was married to my ambitions, that mediocre sex wasn’t worth a four-hour drive.”
“Mediocre?” I echoed, then realized that I’d honed in on the wrong detail. Still.
Finn rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck, a faint flush creeping up over his cheeks. “Yeah. ‘I’m not gonna drive four hours for medical rambling and some sloppy grinding.’ Direct quote.”
Wow. It might have been funny if not for the subtle trace of hurt shining through his tone.
“Okay,” I said. “First off, what a dick. Good riddance. Secondly…” I shouldn’t. But—fuck it. “Anything sloppy must’ve been him, not you. I can personally attest to that.”
No, I shouldn’t have. But the surprised, pleased tilt to Finn’s mouth made it worth it. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” I told him.
“See, but that’s kind of what I was doing—that night.” He raised one hand, fingers spread. “New city, a little lonely, maybe. And I wanted proof I wasn’t as boring as he thought. You were…” He paused, flush decidedly more pronounced now. “Evidence.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Because, yeah: recently dumped, liquid self-esteem, taking an accidental misunderstanding just a shade too far. Achingly human.
“I didn’t mean to trick you,” he pushed on.
“Not as such. I almost told you a few times, but you were just… really hot. And I thought you might leave, so I thought, you know, what’s the harm, I’ll just tell you after and we’ll laugh about it.
” He shook his head, the corners of his lips lifting into a wry smile that hinted at dimples.
“Only then we fell asleep. And when I woke up, you were gone, and there was money on the nightstand. I panicked. Figured texting would make it worse, so I didn’t. ”
Right. God, how fucking absurd.
“Because you didn’t think you’d see me again.” I chuckled, pretending it didn’t hurt my ego just the tiniest bit, and waved a lazy hand at the skyline. “Except, surprise. New York: eight million people and still a village.”
A laugh slipped out of him, mostly humor with a side of uncertainty. Sunlight cut across his face, and I tracked a bead of sweat that trailed down the side of his neck—then remembered why I shouldn’t. I looked away.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a beat, softer now. “For… lying, I guess. This is awkward. And I know it puts you in a shitty spot.”
It did, kind of. Teaching surgery boot camp—literally scoring the incoming surgery residents—was meant to bolster my attending application come winter. Fucking one of said residents would do the opposite.
“Not just me,” I said. Which I was sure had already occurred to him if the way he held himself was any indication.
“Doubt you’d want a reputation for… that.
” How had he put it that night, all teasing smile?
If you can’t say it, you probably shouldn’t do it—something along those lines.
“For hooking up with fellows in the program.”
“Yeah. Really not the kind of reputation I want.” He ducked his head. “So what do we do?”
I took him in—cheeks flushed and hair curling even more with the heat, eyes a forget-me-not shade of blue under the afternoon sun’s stark glare. He seemed misplaced here on this tarred roof, among vent pipes, with traffic humming far below. If any place could keep a secret, this was it.
“We erase it,” I said. “It was just one night. No witnesses, no paper trail—other than my note and a hundred bucks, I guess.”
“I’ll give it back.”
It made sense. Probably. But somehow, it didn’t sit right with me—as if wanting it back would make things more transactional, reinforce some imbalance between us and turn the night into a sordid mistake rather than a choice I’d made.
“Keep it,” I said.
Finn’s eyes flicked up to me, surprise flashing across his face. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s… I didn’t regret you when I woke up that morning. So, I don’t know. It’s the past, right? Let’s call it a relocation grant and move along. Clean slate.” Did that make sense outside my head? I wasn’t sure, but the way Finn watched me suggested he got it, maybe.
“Thank you,” he said, voice low. I didn’t think he meant the money.
A brief stretch of silence shimmered between us. I drew a slow, controlled breath, reaching for the kind of calm I knew from the OR, and broke the moment.
“Okay,” I said. “Ground rules. We keep our distance where we can—no solo mentoring, and I’ll stay out of evaluations where possible. I won’t sabotage you, but I won’t favor you either.”
He straightened, shoulders squaring just enough for me to notice. “Fair.”
Yeah. But God, did I really think I could be neutral when it came to him?
I’d have to try my damned hardest—because otherwise, chances were that I’d judge him too harshly in my effort to overcorrect any bias, and that wasn’t right either.
Good thing the first part of the end-of-week competition was scored blind.
“Secondly.” I cleared my throat, then wished I hadn’t. “No repeats. Obviously.”
“Obviously, yeah.” He nodded quickly, a little rushed and eager. No skin off my back, nope.
“And,” I continued, “we don’t tell anyone. HR would have a field day with this, even if it was… unplanned. And crazy odds. Don’t think either of us wants to be a headline in the next compliance slideshow, though.”
He twisted his mouth into an apprehensive grin. “Definitely not on my to-do list, no. So, yeah. Mutual silence. Omertà.”
I snorted, a breathy sound that eased the tension. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to full mafia protocol. No need for code names or burner phones. Just, you know. Professional distance.”
His laugh cracked out of him in a little burst of relief. “Sure. Just two strangers in scrubs, sir.”
I shook my head. “Sir?”
“Not your kink?” he asked, then winced. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That mouth is trouble,” I muttered even as I bit down on a smile. Afternoon heat crackled around us—almost physical in its weight, my shirt clinging to the small of my back.
“I’d like to point out,” he said with great dignity and a glint in his eyes, “that I could have made a quip and didn’t.”
“Amazing self-restraint.” My voice was dry, only for my brain to flash back to the hotel room—how he’d dropped to his knees, hands behind his back, Jesus. Not helpful.
“I’d like to think so.” He took a step back, hesitated. “So, I guess we’re done?”
I nodded. “We are. See you tomorrow, Dr. Hayes.”
He flashed me a half smile. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Wanting to move past this, I guess.” His throat worked. “And for the record, I really enjoyed that night.”
A knot tugged loose behind my sternum. “Perfectly irrelevant, but—yeah. Same.”
His mouth tugged up into something soft and wry, gone far too fast. Then he opened the stairwell door, shot me one last look, and left. I exhaled, adrenaline ebbing away in a rush.
Okay—crisis contained. We could be professional about this. Supervisor and intern, clean paper trail, no solo time.
Not a problem.