Dr. Off Limits #2
I sighed. Parker was right—I should enjoy my last weekend of freedom before exhaustion and shift patterns meant that weekends didn’t exist for me anymore.
“I’m going to have to crawl across this net backwards, I think.
You’ve seen enough of my arse today.” I crouched down and dangled my legs over the edge of the platform, trying to find a foothold on the net.
“Fantastic technique,” the instructor called over at me. He was kidding, right?
“You see? You get it right without trying,” Parker said.
“I’m trying to spare you the sight of my bottom, not be a ropes-course whiz.”
“You surprise yourself. It will be the same on Saturday night when you come to the end of the dinner and realize you’ve had a wonderful evening and haven’t thought about Monday at all.”
I groaned. “Stop trying to convince me.” She knew better than to take any notice of what I was saying.
I wanted to be convinced. The problem was, when I wasn’t working or studying, I felt guilty.
Like downtime, fun, or relaxation wasn’t something I deserved.
Parker was the person in my life who reminded me that I was allowed to be human sometimes.
“It might be the last time you have sex for two years if you’re so intent on being relationship-free while you’re at the hospital.”
Maybe I should reach out to a guy in another hospital who was also just starting out and we could have an arrangement of no-strings hook-ups for the next two years.
At least that would be entirely consistent with my dating history so far.
I’d never found time to indulge in relationships when I was trying to keep a roof over my head. I had to keep focused on my future.
“I thought you said Saturday night was dinner. Not sex.”
“It might turn into sex. I mean, this guy is seriously hot.”
“If you showed me his picture, maybe I’d change my mind.”
“No,” she called after me. I could tell by the strain in her voice that she was lowering herself onto the net. “It’s a blind date. That way it takes up more of your headspace as you think about what he might be like. It’s more distracting. What have you got to lose? It’s one night of your life.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ve got to lose—a night in with Nick and Vanessa Lachey and a bunch of Instagram-influencer wannabes. God I’m going to miss Netflix.”
“Exactly. You’ll have much more fun with a hot doctor you never have to see again.”
I had to admire her persistence. She was genuinely trying to do what she thought was best for me.
As always. Now she was so happy with her fiancé, Tristan, she felt my life needed a little man-injection.
I couldn’t blame her for that. It was just delightful to see her so in love.
And she’d put so much effort into this week of distraction, I felt bad saying no to her.
“Tell you what, if we get to the end of the day without ending up in hospital and we can work in a mimosa at some point, I’ll go on the date with your mystery man.
” Truth be told, I was a little curious to meet someone who was going to do Doctors Without Borders.
Though I couldn’t imagine doing it myself, I liked the idea of spending time with someone who hadn’t taken the traditional route.
Maybe this ex-hairdresser would find something in common with another doctor. For a change.
Jacob
If an hour went by without one of my four little brothers calling or texting, it was a good day.
Anyone would think I sat in a darkened room, just waiting for one of them to need me, rather than held down a demanding job at the Royal Free, one of the best hospitals in the country.
I ignored the call from Beau and stuffed my phone back into my pocket.
“Good evening, Dr. Cove,” Dina, one of the receptionists from A&E, said as I passed her in the corridor.
I smiled, nodded, and then thanked heaven that when she’d told me she’d like to suck my cock at last year’s Christmas party, I’d politely declined.
Not because she wasn’t gorgeous. And not because I hated blow jobs—was that even a thing?
No, it was because I didn’t want to pass a line of women who’d had my dick in their mouth in the hospital corridors, sober and under the glare of the fluorescent hospital lights as my shoes squeaked on the freshly-mopped linoleum floor.
Call me old fashioned.
“Keep your private life private.” It was almost a mantra in our house growing up.
My father wasn’t around much when I was a kid, but he was quick to bark out pieces of advice here and there.
I could always count on him for a could be better or why wasn’t it one hundred percent, whenever I presented him with an imperfect test score.
He didn’t seem to be so easy with the advice with my other brothers, but the one thing he’d said to all of us was, “Keep your private life private.” He’d said it when each of us had gotten into med school, every time any of us got a job, and if any of us got into trouble—no matter whether it was relevant.
There was a lot of my father’s advice I didn’t agree with, but I’d always lived by his private life mantra.
A friend I’d gone to school with ended up leaving the Royal Free last year because he’d fucked too many nurses and junior doctors.
He’d gone for a promotion and was told he had too much baggage.
There was no rule about fraternization in the hospital.
Or maybe there was and everyone ignored it.
The medical staff spent far too much of their lives in the place for sex and even romance not to happen.
Hooking up with someone at work was easy.
And when you were exhausted from the long hours and demanding work, and wanted to blow off some steam or have some human contact with a person who wasn’t sick or dying, it made sense that you’d reach for someone close.
But not me.
Partly because of my dad’s advice and partly because .
. . well, because of my last name. I was a Cove.
First-born son of doctors Carole and John Cove.
That last name brought a profile. I was never just “Jacob” or “Dr. Cove.” I was always “Jacob Cove, yes that Cove,” or “Dr. Cove’s son” or “Cove—was your mother Carole Cove?” It was a label I was used to and not one I wanted to swap for Jacob Cove, the guy who’d dated everyone in pediatric medicine.
Or Jacob Cove, the disappointing son of the Coves.
I didn’t want people I had to see every day and give instructions to and take instructions from, to know intimate details about me and my sex life.
I didn’t want the Cove name associated with anything other than being game-changing doctors.
I was ambitious and I wanted to be a groundbreaking doctor in pediatric cardiology or even the advisor to the government on child health.
I never wanted to be denied a promotion because I’d slept with the wrong person or too many people.
It wasn’t worth it. When people heard my name, the association should be with excellence. Not sex.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. A message from Beau.
Pick up. I need a favor.
Nothing new about that. Before I had the chance to reply, his name flashed up on my screen.
I answered as I strode through the exit doors to the stairs and started to head down. Beau was the most tenacious of us all and that was saying something. “The answer’s no,” I barked into the phone.
“You haven’t even heard me out. It’s not even that bad.”
“I beg to differ. If I’m helping you, it’s bound to be bad.” Beau was mischievous. A stint doing Medecins Sans Frontieres would do him good.
“I’m serious. All I need you to do is eat some mouth-watering food and drink some wine that might even be good enough for your sophisticated palate.” He must really need my help if he was dishing out compliments.
“Out with it. What do you need?”
“I need you to go on a date for me. It’s just dinner and drinks. No big thing.”
“A date? Are you my pimp now?”
“I’m not setting you up. A friend set me up—gorgeous girl apparently. I’m totally pissed off I’m missing it. I don’t want to let anyone down at the last minute.”
I paused at the door to the ground floor so I could finish our call in privacy. “This sounds suspiciously like a pity date. Why—”
“No, seriously, it’s not at all. She’s really pretty by all accounts.
And she’s a doctor. You can talk shop. She’s at Tommy’s, I think.
New to London or something. Her friend said something about it.
I can’t quite remember. I can’t go because .
. .” He started to laugh. “You’re not going to believe it, but I’m in hospital. I think I’ve broken my nose.”
“What?” Why was he laughing?
“Had rugby practice this afternoon. Took an elbow to the face.”
Only Beau could laugh about getting his nose broken.
“Is it going to affect your trip?” He was due to fly out in a week.
“No idea,” he said. “I guess we’ll have to see if it’s broken first. But no way I’m going to be out of hospital in time to make the date.”
“The date is tonight?”
“Yes, why do you think I’ve been calling you non-stop for an hour?”
Shit, I had just finished my shift. I was exhausted. I just wanted to check in on one patient then head home and go to bed. “Can’t you ask Zach?”
“He’s in Norfolk.”
I’d forgotten he was spending the weekend with our parents.
“One of your mates then?”
“Like I’d trust any of them.”
It was a good point. I sighed, finally accepting I wasn’t going to get the early night I’d been hoping for. “You’re going to owe me big for this.”
“You’re the best big brother I could wish for.
You’re meeting her at the top of the NatWest Tower.
Her name’s Sutton. Eight forty-five. Anyway, it’s all on me.
I’ve given the restaurant my credit card.
If it were any other brother, I’d tell them not to do anything I wouldn’t do, but for you that’s a given. Go wild.”
Before I had a chance to ask for Sutton’s last name, he hung up. I’d kill him when I next saw him.
“You heading home?” a woman asked from behind me.
Dina appeared from nowhere and I pulled my mouth into a smile. “No such luck.”
She tilted her head. “Shame. I need a lift.”
“Good luck. I have to see a patient.”
I hated being late but there was no way I wasn’t going to stop to see Barnaby. He’d been an inpatient for nearly two months now and was the oldest of five children. His parents didn’t have time for daily visits.
I turned into ward six and saw Barnaby staring out the window. I leaned across the nurses’ desk. “Anyone been in to see Barnaby today?”
Annette, the nurse in charge, shook her head and scrunched up her nose. No one liked it when the kids didn’t have visitors.
He wasn’t my patient, but Barnaby had been on the ward for so long that it was impossible not to notice him as I came in to check on my own patients.
From my back pocket, I pulled out a credit token for the vending machine. I’d put twenty quid on it before I’d picked up the call from Beau.
“Barnaby, mate,” I said, striding over to the end bed. “I found something with your name on it.” I wafted the credit token in his direction.
Barnaby scowled back at me. “What is it?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Try it in the vending machine.”
“It can’t be mine. I didn’t have one.” I was pretty sure Barnaby’s parents didn’t have much money.
“You’re right. It’s mine, but I need to give up junk food—you know how it is, old man that I am. So . . . have it.”
He glanced at me and then the card. I tossed it on his table.
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“What have you been watching?” I nodded toward the TV.
“Nothing,” he said.
I glanced at the clock over the nurses’ station. It would probably take me over half an hour to get to Tower 42 and it was nearly ten past eight now. Why did Beau have to choose a restaurant in the City to take his date when the West End was so much closer?
“Don’t tell anyone I told you, but Peaky Blinders is on BBC iPlayer and it’s good. Trust me.”
“I don’t have any headphones,” he said. “I couldn’t watch it if I wanted to.”
Poor kid.
“Oh, let me get you some. We have plenty of spares.” I turned.
I wasn’t sure where I’d find any headphones at all, especially not in the forty seconds I had before I needed to leave.
I sped down the corridor toward the supplies cupboard.
Maybe there’d be some lost property. Angie, a healthcare assistant coming off shift overtook me.
She smiled and waved her hand, the tinny tick, tick, tick from the earbud waving loosely by her waist catching my attention.
“Hey, Angie?” She stopped and turned around. “Can I buy your headphones?”
She pulled out the ear bud that was in her ear. “What?”
“Your headphones. How much?” I grabbed my wallet from my back pocket.
Angie frowned at me. “They’re not special. They cost me about five pounds. Why do you want them?”
I didn’t have time to explain. Pulling out a twenty-pound note, I said. “Would you give them up for twenty pounds?”
She shrugged, handed them over but didn’t take the money. “Just give them back to me tomorrow.” Angie earned minimum wage.
“Please let me buy them from you.”
“You can have them,” she said.
I stuffed the purple note into her hand and she handed them over.
“You’re strange, Dr. Cove,” she said in a tone that told me she didn’t really care—she was just going with it.
“Thanks so much,” I said and raced back to Barnaby.
Maybe I’d make it to the restaurant on time after all.
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