The Doctor's Damsel (Men of the Capital Book 3) by Cara Nelson Page A

modern, independent thing to say,” she confided, “but I absolutely hate being alone, especially at night. I hear all these noises. You probably think I’m crazy, but I always think someone’s going to break in and kill me.”
    “In this city, that’s not exactly paranoia,” Abe said, taking her hand in his. “Your hand looks good.”
    “No, it looks terrible. I lost a job because of it today.”
    “What kind of job? Hand model?”
    “No way. Hand models have to wear gloves all the time—it’s really insane. I was up for a commercial, and when I pretended to hold up the product, the director saw my stitches and said no way.”
    “What product?”
    “Feminine itch cream.”
    “That stuff doesn’t work. You need a prescription if it’s a yeast infection or the more common but less publicized bacterial vaginosis.”
    “Ew. I didn’t say I need an itch cream, I just wanted to be paid to advertise one.”
    “Well, don’t shill crap that isn’t effective. It’s unethical.”
    “So is dating your patients.”
    “I think it’s safe to say I’ve left ethics behind, so who am I to judge?” He relented. “I have to work tomorrow, and basically, forever. So I can’t do a relationship now or in the near future. But I like you. This has been fun.”
    “Has been? As in you’re through with me? One salad and that’s it?” she joked, an edge of real distress creeping into her voice.
    “Not through with you so much as unavailable. I work all the time. You’re juggling a job and an acting career. It’s not a good mix, scheduling-wise. That’s all I’m saying.”
    “Does that mean I can’t see you when you do have time?”
    Becca wished she could just go ahead an offer to vacate Hannah’s and move in with him so she’d see him every time he got home from work. She sensed it was too soon to mention it. Just because she was sure of her feelings for Abe—more certain every second she spent with him—didn’t mean she should scare him off. He looked skittish, as though he would spook easily.
    “I’m not sure when that will be.”
    She waggled the stump of her pickle at him scoldingly. “You’re brushing me off. Choose your next words carefully, doctor. Remember, I have a musical dildo in my purse and I am not afraid to use it.”
    He raked his hand through his unruly hair with a sheepish grin. “Bec, I’m not trying to brush you off, I swear. I just have—“
    “The weight of all the world’s problems on your shoulders?”
    “Sort of. Yeah. I have this job, I mean I chose it, it’s not like it was forced on me—but it consumes most of my time and energy. I still think about it, worry about it even when I’m not physically at the hospital. I’m not very good company. My schedule’s crazy, and it’s possible that I’m a little crazy in the bargain.”
    “You know, you’re right. There is no possible way I could relate to that. I have no understanding of crazy whatsoever. It’s not like I told you that I can’t sleep because I imagine someone’s rattling the doorknob trying to break in all the time. Or that I let my ex’s new girlfriend use my shampoo and keep my magazine.”
    “You what? Why would you give her your stuff? I mean, she already has your ex-boyfriend...does she want your bone marrow, too?”
    “I doubt it. She’s very young and sweet. I didn’t want to be a bitch and take away the magazine because she was already looking at it.”
    “So you let her have something that was rightfully your own because you didn’t want to hurt her feelings? Who even does that?” He shook his head. “Becca, you have to stand up for yourself. No one else is going to look out for your interests if you don’t.”
    “You’re ruining my pickle buzz. I was indulging in a yummy salty pickle, and you’re preaching assertiveness training to me. I demand that you exert yourself to be more amusing.”
    “Fine. I just think you’re too nice.”
    “Is nice a bad thing? Do we live in such