Chapter 29
twenty-nine
SOPHIE
My reflection in the bathroom mirror looks ready to face a firing squad rather than attend a nursing school mixer.
“It’s just dancing,” I tell her. “In front of professors who determine clinical placements and might judge your ability to interact with humans…”
She doesn’t look convinced.
The dress Maya insisted I buy hangs on the back of my door—navy blue, professional enough for faculty, with a neckline that acknowledges I possess a pulse. I’ve changed my mind about wearing it seventeen times in the last hour, but my phone buzzing saves me from another.
Mike:
Five minutes out. Should I bring a sword to fight off your admirers?
I type back:
The only fighting will be between me and my desire to fake a medical emergency.
His reply arrives instantly:
Please don’t. I already told Maine I’d bring him leftovers from the fancy catering.
The fact that he’s already planning post-mixer snack distribution for his teammates sends warmth spreading through my chest. Most guys would complain about attending their girlfriend’s work function. Mike treats it as an adventure.
Girlfriend.
The word still surprises me sometimes. A gift I’m not sure I’ve earned.
I pull on the dress before overthinking derails me completely.
The fabric skims over curves Mike has recently memorized with his hands, and my skin prickles at the memory of last night.
How he’d pressed me against my apartment door the moment we got inside, how his fingers had traced paths that still burn…
Focus, Sophie. Professional event. Professors. Networking.
The doorbell saves me from that particular spiral. When I open the door, my brain stalls. Mike in jeans and a Henley devastates me daily, but seeing Mike wearing a charcoal blazer over a crisp white button-down should be illegal in at least thirty-seven states.
“Hi.” The word emerges embarrassingly breathy.
His eyes travel slowly from my heels to my face. “You look…”
“Like someone who owns an iron?”
“Incredible. Though your iron skills are also notable.” He steps inside. “I brought you something.”
I eye the small bag in his hand. “If it’s alcohol to help me survive tonight, I’ll marry you.”
“Better.” He pulls out a pack of multicolored pens, the expensive kind with precise tips that I covet every time I pass the campus bookstore.
I stare at them. They’re exactly what I need but would never buy because the bookstore charges criminal prices. “Mike…”
“Too nerdy? I can exchange them for flowers or?—”
I kiss him. Hard. What starts as gratitude quickly ignites into something else as his hand finds my waist and suddenly I’m pressed against him, the pens forgotten. My hands slide under his blazer, searching for skin, desperate for more contact, and?—
“Sophie.” He pulls back, breathing hard. “We’ll be late.”
“Would that be terrible?”
He laughs. “Yes, because you’d spend the entire night feeling guilty.”
He knows me too well already. “Fine. But you owe me.”
“I’ll collect on that debt later.”
He offers his arm, and we head into the crisp October evening.
The Student Union building stands only a ten-minute walk away, but Mike insists on driving because of my heels.
He opens my door, waits until I’m settled, then circles to the driver’s side.
Such a small gesture, but it loosens something tight in my chest.
“So what exactly happens at a nursing school mixer?” he asks as we drive. “Blood typing competitions? IV insertion races?”
“Mostly we stand around discussing our favorite gauze brands while pretending the punch isn’t spiked with disappointment.”
“Riveting.”
“Oh, it is. Last year someone suggested charades using only medical terminology. The party nearly rioted.”
“Rebels.” He glances at me. “How many of these have you attended since you got here, anyway?”
“This is my third. I skipped one because…” Because Mom was having a bad day and needed me.
Mike’s hand finds mine across the console. “Because you had other priorities. That’s not a crime.”
“Isn’t it though? Everyone else manages to balance?—”
“They’re better at hiding their struggles.” His thumb strokes my knuckles. “Maine hasn’t done laundry in three weeks because between hockey and his new job, he literally doesn’t have time. Rook failed his stats midterm because he was helping his mom move. We all drop balls, Sophie.”
I study his profile in the passing streetlights—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair curls slightly at his collar. “When did you become so wise?”
“Somewhere between my spectacular mental breakdown last year and my third pottery class disaster.” He pulls into the Student Union lot. “Fair warning—I will definitely embarrass you tonight, but is there anything specific I should avoid?”
“Maya will interrogate you. Extensively. She’s been collecting questions since karaoke night.”
“I can handle Maya.”
Famous last words, but his confidence charms me anyway. And, as we exit the car, I wobble on unfamiliar heels. Mike’s palm immediately finds the small of my back, steadying me. The heat of his touch through thin fabric makes every nerve ending spark to attention.
The Student Union ballroom has been transformed with navy and silver streamers, round tables sporting centerpieces that definitely represent the circulatory system if you have consumed enough punch. Faculty members cluster near the bar while undergrads huddle in corners, poorly concealing flasks.
“Sophie!” Maya materializes in a red dress that would make anyone else look like a fire hydrant but that she owns completely. “And the famous Mike!”
Mike extends his hand. “Good to see you again.”
Maya bypasses the handshake for a hug. “Any man who can extract Sophie from her study cave deserves more than a handshake.”
I shoot her a look she cheerfully ignores.
“Come on, everyone’s dying to meet you.” She links her arm through mine, effectively dragging us toward a cluster of my classmates.
The next twenty minutes blur into introductions. Mike handles them with surprising grace, asking genuine questions about specialties and rotations. When Priya mentions her pediatric placement, he shares a story about his sister breaking her arm at age seven.
“You remember your sister’s nurse from sixteen years ago?” Priya asks, dumbfounded.
“She made origami butterflies out of tongue depressors while we waited for the orthopedic surgeon.” His smile turns fond. “Andy still has one somewhere.”
I watch him charm my classmates and something shifts inside me.
He’s genuinely interested in my world, asking follow-up questions and remembering names.
The guilt I’d pushed down earlier resurfaces; I should make more effort to understand his world, to learn the rules of hockey beyond “puck goes in net.”
Then his world crashes into mine.
“ALTMAN!” Maine’s voice booms across the ballroom. “Fancy seeing you here of all places!”
Mike groans. “Please tell me Rook isn’t?—”
“Sorry, can’t confirm or deny.” I bite back a smile as both hockey players approach.
“We were just passing by,” Maine announces to our group, “and thought we’d check out the nursing scene. I’m considering a career change.”
“You faint at the sight of blood,” Mike points out.
“Details.” Maine’s attention shifts to the women. “Ladies, I’m Maine. You might remember my vocal stylings from karaoke night.”
“Oh my God, that was you singing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’?” Keiko laughs. “That was terrible!”
“Memorably terrible,” Maine corrects with a wink. “It’s an important distinction.”
Meanwhile, Rook sidles up to Maya. “Your dress is very… red.”
“Your blazer appears to be shedding glitter,” Maya observes, rolling her eyes.
“It’s a conversation starter.” He plucks at a sequin. “Is it working?”
I drag Mike toward the bar. “You invited them?”
“Absolutely not. But Maine has a sixth sense for free food and potential chaos.”
“Your friends are…”
“Ridiculous? Embarrassing? Likely to steal medical equipment?”
“I was going to say refreshing.”
He looks genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“Mike, I spend most nights with people who can recite drug interactions for entertainment. Your friends are wonderfully normal in their abnormality.”
“No one’s ever called Maine wonderful anything.” He ladles punch into two cups. “Fair warning, though, he’s going to hit on everyone with a pulse.”
“Maya can handle him. She once made a guy cry using only medical terminology.”
Mike’s laugh draws Professor Mahoney’s attention. She approaches with the determined stride of someone who’s cornered fresh prey. My chest tightens, because she assigned the MS case study that triggered my panic attack and has been a little weird to me ever since.
“Ms. Pearson!” Her smile sharpens. “Lovely to see you here!”
“Professor Mahoney.” I force my lips into a smile. “This is Mike Altman.”
Her eyebrows climb. “I didn’t know you followed sports, Sophie…”
“I don’t.” The admission stings with that now-familiar guilt. “But I follow Mike.”
The words escape before I can censor them. Mike squeezes my hand gently while Professor Mahoney studies us with clinical intensity.
“You seem different lately, Sophie.”
My pulse accelerates. “I’ve been trying new stress management techniques.”
“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Your last case analysis showed real insight.”
She glides away to terrorize other students. I exhale slowly, not realizing I’d been holding my breath.
Mike’s thumb traces circles on my wrist. “You OK?”
“She noticed. That I’m different.”
“Good different.”
The DJ shifts from elevator music to something with an actual beat. Maine immediately begins what can only be described as aggressive flailing near the dance floor, drawing stares from everyone within a twenty-foot radius.
“Is he having a medical emergency?” I ask.
“That’s his mating dance. We should probably?—”
“Sophie!” Maya appears. “They’re playing actual music!”