Jocelyn
The basement of the hospital is where they relegate the broken gurneys, the janky vending machines with unwanted snacks like
apple fruit pie and Bugles, and the HR department. Here is where the dreams of excited new doctors go to die.
Because this is where LEGENDARY training takes place.
I spend ten minutes begging the photographer in HR to please take another picture. The one on my new hospital badge looks as if my blond hair spiraled through a wind tunnel prior to
snapping the photo, and my chin is tucked just enough to double it. The photographer refuses, stating I’ll need to pay twenty
dollars to replace it.
Twenty dollars!
What new doctor can afford such extravagant prices?
Thanks to this fiasco, I’m running late, so I abandon the battle for another day. After muttering a few choice insults under my breath, I spin away from the unreasonable man and fly through the gurney graveyard toward my last stop of hospital orientation:
LEGENDARY training.
Six hours of instruction on an EMR I know better than the instructor. I’ve been using three different versions of LEGENDARY
in three separate hospital systems since my first day as a peasant intern. Now, four years later, I’ve graduated from residency
and I’m a pro.
The teacher has already started her spiel in the classroom when I slip in the back door. The projector at the front of the
room displays a LEGENDARY login screen—complete with a UFO abducting a cow. Who comes up with their login page art?
I’m taking it as an alignment of fate that an open computer glows in the back row. I’m even more stoked that the man to my
left is about my age and has a nice smile. Not to mention his physique, which is . . . distracting.
He leans close, grinning. “Well, lucky me.”
Oh, great. He’s a creep. Cringing internally, I turn toward him, prepared for a cheesy pickup line. Despite my misgivings,
I whisper, “Lucky?” Because who can resist knowing the punch line?
“I really didn’t want to be in this row alone with that guy.” He subtly points to a wire-thin man at the computer on his other
side. The guy is practically bouncing with excitement.
What kind of demon is excited about LEGENDARY training? It’s like being jazzed to learn Excel.
My gaze drifts back to the cute man.
Not a pickup line, then.
A relieved truth.
I want to laugh, but I hold back, still unsure whether I’m being played in some way.
He smiles again. It’s a really nice smile. “You look normal,” he whispers. “And by normal, I mean you look properly peeved at having to spend six hours in the jaws of LEGENDARY hell.”
Despite my inner giggle, I try to pay attention when the teacher instructs us to open the training folders in front of us.
The man complies, scanning over user instructions. He leans in again. “Why so late?”
“Because the HR douche wouldn’t let me take a new ID photo.”
At that, his attention drops to the badge clipped to the collar of my white button-up, where the unflattering picture flaunts
for all to see. I fight the urge to cover it. Humor gleams in his eyes, and that nice, nice smile turns devious. “Why on earth
would you want to replace that masterpiece?”
I point aggressively at the photo. “Because this girl looks like she’s trying to hold in a fart.”
The man chokes out a laugh awkward enough that the teacher asks if he’s okay. He nods and clears his throat with a sip of
Mountain Dew Kickstart, murmuring apologies. When the instructor turns back to the projector, he side-eyes me. “It’s not that
bad.”
I shove the entire badge in his face. “She is the ugliest I have ever been.”
“Have you disconnected your identity from the picture?”
“I claim no ties to her. She’s exiled like the heretic she is.”
“You should be nice to her. She’s a friend of mine.” He lifts his gaze, a half smile even prettier than the full thing gracing
his stupid face. The man is disarming. Is he single? There’s no ring on his left hand . . .
I fall into the bare hints of deep green in his eyes. “I doubt that.”
“No, really. Best friends for life. I’m offended you’re so rude to her.”
Okay. So he’s charming, too. Where’s the catch? “She deserves it,” I say.
“How dare you?” He winks. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about.”
Definitely single, then. Or else in a very doomed relationship.
“Oh, yeah?” Begrudgingly enchanted, I point to my badge again. “This girl? This is the monster you’re going to marry?”
He pastes on a playful expression. “Yeah. I’m going to marry that girl.”
“Too bad for you she’s not the marrying kind.”
His grin doesn’t abate in the slightest. “Pity.”
Frustrations of the day forgotten, I can’t help but laugh. This guy is uber cute. A fantastic surprise in the midst of the
shit show that is this day.
But I definitely found the catch.
This pull toward another human doesn’t occur often for me. Usually, I run from it, but I sense zero danger from him. A guy
this fun-loving will never breach my barriers. The laugh lines around his eyes make me think he’s never been serious a day
in his life. He’s the perfect combination of fun and safe, and I need a friend in this new city. Plus, he’s far too interesting
to waste on a one-night stand.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He holds up his badge. That inordinately attractive face shines out.
Asher Foley, MD. OB-GYN.
Asher points to my name on the ugly badge. “And this is Jocelyn Mattox, MD. Anesthesiology.”
“It is.”
“Future wife.”
“Right up until I find twenty dollars to shred and replace her.”
He bends closer and motions me to do the same. “You can destroy the evidence, but she’ll live forever—” he taps his temple
and smiles “—right here.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re going to be annoying about this, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so.”
Before I can stop him, he pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of my badge.
My mouth falls open, and I subtly try to wrestle the phone from his hands without drawing the attention of the teacher.
To no avail. It’s already in his pocket. He will own that picture for the rest of time.
I lower my voice. “You will suffer forever for this, Asher Foley.”
He shrugs and turns back to his computer. “We’ll see, sweetheart. I’ve got blackmail fodder now.”