15-05-2021-052358It-Ends-with-Us

shower, put on makeup, and throw on clothes before I open the door,
he’ll pretty much have to deal with me as is.
I open the door and his immediate reaction confuses me.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, dropping his head against my door frame.
He’s panting like he’s been working out, and that’s when I notice that
he doesn’t look to be any more rested or clean than I am. He’s got a
couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face—something I’ve never
seen on him before—and his hair isn’t styled like it usually is. It’s a
little erratic, like the look in his eye. “Do you have any idea how many
doors I’ve knocked on to find you?”
I shake my head, because I don’t. But now that he mentions it—
how in the hell does he know where I live?
“Twenty-nine,” he says. Then he holds up his hands and repeats the
numbers with his fingers while he whispers, “Two . . . nine.”
I let my gaze drop down to his clothes. He’s in scrubs, and I
absolutely hate that he’s in scrubs right now. Holy hell. So much better
than the onesie and way better than the Burberry.
“Why did you knock on twenty-nine doors?” I ask with a tilt of my
head.
“You never told me which apartment was yours,” he says, matter-of-
factly. “You said you lived in this building, but I couldn’t remember if
you even said which floor. And for the record, I almost started with
the third floor. I would have been here an hour ago if I went with my
gut instinct.”
“Why are you here?”
He runs his hands down his face and then points over my shoulder.
“Can I come in?”
I glance over my shoulder and then open the door farther. “I guess.
If you tell me what you want.”
He walks inside and I close the door behind us. He glances around,
wearing his stupid hot scrubs, and puts his hands on his hips as he
faces me. He looks a little disappointed, but I’m not sure if it’s in me
or himself.
“There’s a really big naked truth coming, okay?” he says. “Brace
yourself.”
I fold my arms over my chest and watch as he inhales a breath,
preparing to speak.