Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset)

by Gianna Gabriela

“They’d better not. I’ll have an entire football team sitting in their office if they do,” he says with a wink.

  “I’ll let you know so you’re ready to call for back-up.”

  “Would you be living on campus?” Jesse asks eagerly as I lead him in the direction of the front desk, where I know my parents are probably waiting for me.

  “One step at a time, Doc. I’ve gotta get my parents—mostly my dad—on board with letting me re-enroll. Then I can drop the living-on-campus part.”

  I’m sure that’s going to go well.

  “I’ll be living there too, remember. It’ll be like having a doctor on call.” I smile, but I can’t help wonder if we’ll still be friends when I start college. What if we return to school and he never talks to me again? I’ve gotten so used to having him around—so used to his friendship—that if it were to disappear, I don’t know how I’d feel.

  “Think you can talk to my parents for me?” I ask jokingly as I push away my thoughts.

  “If I’m honest, I’d rather not. I can help you move in though, when the time comes,” he says, playfully bumping into me.

  I shove him back. “Wuss.”

  “I can only imagine the things your dad would do to me.”

  “Stop! It’s not a good image to have.”

  “And your mom? She scares me. If I were to show up at your house, I’m sure she’d think I was getting ready to ask you to marry me.”

  I chuckle nervously at the idea of marriage. “You’re not wrong. It’s probably better stay away from her, otherwise she’ll hunt you down and give you the ring herself.” I’m babbling—I know I am—and I snap my mouth shut, trying to ignore the sudden tension in the air.

  When we arrive at reception, I find my mom waiting. “Anyway, I’ve got to head home. I’ll still have to come to the hospital twice a month, I think, and then it should be less once the semester starts.”

  “Text me if you need anything.”

  “I don’t have your number.”

  “I gave it to you a while ago.”

  “I may have tossed it out,” I lie. That piece of paper has been on top of my bureau, taunting me.

  “Ouch,” he says, his hand going to his chest as if I’ve wounded him. “Give me your phone.”

  I pretend to think about it. “Why?”

  “I’m putting my number somewhere permanent,” he says. Relenting, I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and hand it to him. He punches in a few numbers and then returns the device to me. When I look at the screen, I let out a loud laugh.

  “‘Good Doctor’? Really?” I ask, laughing at his choice of contact name.

  “You’ve been calling me that for weeks already. It’s time we make it official.”

  “I have not been calling you that. And you do know I can change it, right?”

  “You won’t,” he says confidently.

  “Want to try me?” I shoot back.

  “I hope you don’t.” His tone is different now—unsure. “When’s your next appointment?”

  I clear my throat. “Two weeks from now, but I could be wrong. After Dr. Roman said I could go back to school, I stopped listening.”

  “Tsk. Tsk. Do you ever listen?”

  “I take offense to that! I’ve been listening to your nonsense for weeks!”

  “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy having me around.”

  I do. More than he knows.

  “You’re okay, Falcon.”

  “You’re okay too, Evans.”

  11

  ZOE

  “So, you’re moving into which dorm again?” Jesse asks, sitting next to me in the hospital’s cafeteria.

  “I’m moving into the one by the quad. New Dorm?”

  He hands me an apple and grabs another for himself. “You’re aware it’s not called New Dorm, right?”

  “What’s it called, then?” When I’d started college a few years ago, the dorm had been newly built. The students took to naming it New Dorm, and by the time someone made a large enough donation to get their name on the front, we’d already gotten used to calling it by its nickname. “See, you don’t even know!” I mock when he doesn’t answer.

  “You’re right. I don’t know,” he says, laughing. “The incoming students will call it by its new name. Too late to fix the rest of us,” he reasons with a smile.

  “I thought it was never too late to fix things, Mr. Optimist.”

  His eyes connect with mine before he says, “Most things can be fixed, some things can’t.”

  “Anyway, if you’re going to continue being my friend, you’re going to have to accept the fact that I’m never wrong.” I point at his chest. “Anything—and everything— I say is gospel,” I tell him, pointing.

  “Really? Is that so?” he questions, his hand inching closer to my own on the table. I look directly at it, willing him to touch me.

  “Yes, sir,” I respond when I realize he’s waiting for me to answer.

  “We’ll see.”

  I take a bite of my apple. “Where are Thing 1 and Thing 2?” I cover my mouth when I realize I’ve said that out loud.

  “Who are Things 1 and 2?” he asks.

  “The two other interns.”

  He grins. “Jeez, what did they do to earn those nicknames?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know which one is which.”

  “Lilly is the blonde; Marissa is the brunette,” he explains. “I think,” he adds, and I laugh.

  “You don’t know which one is which either!” I celebrate silently the fact that I’m not the only one that can’t tell them apart. Or that’s what I tell myself. Really, I’m celebrating knowing that he hasn’t paid enough attention to tell them apart. Inside of me, the little girl with the silly school girl crush jumps up and down in excitement.

  “I don’t know where they are—and I don’t really care. When do you move in? That’s what’s more important,” he says, making my cheeks heat.

  “When does everyone move in?” I ask sarcastically.

  “You really are a smartass. You do know that, right? When I first met you, I thought you were going to be nice.” He throws his finished apple into the trash can and looks back at me. “Boy, was I wrong.”

  “When I first met you, I thought you were too young and good looking to be a doctor.”

  Shit!

  Did I just say that out loud?

  “I guess we were both wrong,” I add as a punchline.

  “You’re killing me, Evans. I’m not a doctor yet, but the young-and-good-looking thing? You’re right on the money,” he says with a wink.

  I laugh. “Nah, I was wrong about those things too.”

  “You don’t think I’m young?”

  “Okay,” I concede. “I was right about you being young.”

  “Oh, so it’s just the good looking part you have an issue with? Am I not handsome enough for you, Evans?” he asks, and I’ll be damned if I don’t agree with him.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “You’re okay-looking.” I take another bite of my apple. “You were wrong about me too.”

  “I know; you’re not nice.”

  “Nope, I’m a tough cookie. Some would even describe me as heartless.”

  “So, to prove you’re mean, you compare yourself to a cookie? Way to go, Evans.” He pauses, thinking for a moment before adding, “I think you’re nice, but I also think you’re a lot more than that.”

  “A lot more?” I say, suddenly breathless.

  “You’re fiery, energetic, rebellious, funny, and a definite pain in my ass!” He laughs. “I bet you could make a grown man cry if you wanted to.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a hunch.” His gaze is fixed on me, and I fidget uncomfortably in my seat. With a lazy grin, he says, “So, you’re moving in the weekend everyone else does?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you need some help? I’m available.”

  “I’m moving into a dorm the size of a box. I don’t think I’l
l have much to carry, so I’ll pass on the help. My parents are coming anyway...but I appreciate the offer.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I smile at his eagerness. “I think my parents and I can handle a few boxes. Thanks.”

  “Are you sure you want to miss out on seeing this young, good looking doctor lifting boxes and breaking a sweat?” he asks, flexing his arms. I stare unashamedly at his incredible muscles, then let out a raucous laugh.

  “I think I’ll survive.”

  He shrugs. “Your loss, Evans.”

  “I’ll recover, Falcon.”

  “Hey…ah…” He plays with invisible lint on his scrubs. “Do you think you’ll still want to be friends with me when you go back to college?” he asks, and I can hear the vulnerability in his voice.

  “God, no,” I say with a wide smile. “I can’t wait to get rid of you. I’ve had to deal with you here for almost the whole summer. I don’t think I can take any more.”

  He chuckles. “I’m literally the best thing to have happen to you this summer. Don’t pretend it isn’t true.”

  “I don’t know about all that,” I tell him, but his words hold some truth. He is one of the best things to come out of this summer. He’s helped me forget about my day-to-day battles, to look forward to the moment he walks through my door to say hello.

  “You know I have been,” he coaxes. “Don’t deny it.”

  Begrudgingly, I say, “You haven’t been the worst thing to happen to me this summer.”

  I’m grateful he still wants to stay in touch—be friends with me—even after all this is in the past.

  He takes in a dramatic breath and blows it out. “Phew, I was beginning to worry that you were going to shut down my friendship offer.”

  “When you say things like that, it makes me want to reconsider,” I joke.

  “Seriously though, I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

  “That’s because I’m not here all the time, and I’ll be here less and less.”

  “Three to four times a month from now on, right?”

  I dangle the core of my apple between my fingers. “Something like that.”

  “See, that’s why we’ve gotta start… hanging out outside of this place. Maybe a cafeteria out in the world somewhere?”

  “My parents are very cautious and don’t want me hanging outside too often,” I tell him honestly.

  “Well, maybe one day we can hang out in your living room.”

  “Maybe. You’ll have to endure my parents though.”

  “For the sake of our friendship, I’ll make the sacrifice.”

  “Cool.”

  “We can also hang out when school starts too.”

  “I haven’t even started school, and you’re already making plans for us?”

  “You’re going to be swarmed with guys the moment you step on campus. I just want to make sure I get ahead of the masses.”

  I stare at him, and he shrugs.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “That’s not going to happen. And in an alternate universe where that’s even a possibility, I’d still make room for you on my calendar.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  I nod. “I can give you that.”

  12

  ZOE

  I spend the whole day running—well, more like walking—around my room, picking up all the clothes I’ve left on the floor and repositioning anything that might be out of place. Jesse’s coming over to hang out today, and I’m terrified. I told Mom last night, and, together, we told Dad. A wordless conversation ensued, with him giving us raised eyebrows and a million unspoken questions, but when Mom gave him a long look of consternation, he conceded.

  Ding dong.

  “Door!” Mom yells from the kitchen.

  Like I didn’t hear the bell myself?

  Nervous beyond belief, I take slow, measured steps into the living room and open the door.

  “Hey,” Jesse says. But I don’t respond—I can’t. I look him up and down, mute. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without scrubs. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt—nothing too extravagant, but they complement his body.

  I look back up to find him watching me.

  “You’re not wearing scrubs,” I tell him.

  “I don’t think I’m allowed to wear them on off days,” he says with a teasing smile.

  I shake my head. Idiot. “Come in,” I tell him, taking a step back.

  As soon as he’s inside, I shut the door and let out a breath.

  “Come on,” I say, leading him to my room. Mom said it would be fine for us to hang up there as long as the door was left open.

  We enter my room, and he takes a seat on my reading chair while I sit on my bed. The room is as clean as it’s ever been, and I internally high-five myself.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes before Jesse says, “Tell me a little more about you, Red.” He stretches out his long legs, looking, oddly enough, like he’s been coming here forever.

  “I’m Red now? I thought we were on a last name basis,” I say, shifting around on my bed.

  “You need to have more than one nickname.”

  “What for?”

  He grins. “One is never enough.”

  “I guess two nicknames is fine, but at least make one of them original,” I joke.

  “Do other people call you Red?” he asks, feigning shock. “You mean my nickname for you isn’t unique?”

  “Is the sky blue?” I wait for the smile I know is going to appear on his face, and like clockwork, he gives it to me.

  Mom knocks on my already open door and walks in. “I’ve brought cookies and milk,” she announces, gesturing to the platter in her hand. A chocolatey smell invades every inch of the room, making my mouth water.

  “You didn’t have to, Ms. Evans,” Jesse tells my mother as she places the cookies and milk on the nightstand between us.

  “I’ve got to feed you to keep you coming back,” she responds, and I give her the look that will hopefully get her to stop embarrassing me. The woman is on a mission—and once she sets her mind on something, it’s hard to get her to give her up. The phrase “a dog with a bone” could not be a more apt description of my mom.

  Jesse blushes. “I’ll keep coming as long as Zoe wants me here,” he says, and I swear my mother smiles as if he’s given her the biggest compliment of her life.

  She pats him on the shoulder. “You can come over whenever you want. Will you stay for dinner, sweetheart?” she adds. I look to the window, finding the sun setting.

  How long have we been talking?

  “I’d love to,” he answers at the same time I say, “I’m sure he has better things to do, Mom.”

  “See, Z, he doesn’t have anything better to do than spend time with you.”

  Take me now, I silently beg. Rescue me from the mortification of sitting here and listening to my mother.

  Jesse grabs a chocolate chip cookie from the nightstand and stuffs it in his mouth.

  “This is delicious,” he exclaims, covering his mouth with his hand.

  “Good, but don’t eat too many. You don’t want to spoil your appetite,” my mother says, placing a kiss on my forehead and patting Jesse’s shoulder once again on her way out. I’m surprised when she closes the door fully behind her.

  Jesse moans in complete bliss after stuffing another cookie in his mouth. “Mmm, so good.”

  I feel a blush color my cheeks. I don’t even want to begin to explore what that sound does to me.

  “Good?” I ask a little breathlessly.

  He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch a stray crumb. “Amazing.”

  I need to distract myself from looking at his mouth. Clearing my throat, I ask, “So, can I have a different new nickname?”

  “Firecracker, Fire, Lit, Furnace,” he suggests, listing them on his fingers.

  I grab a cookie. “Those are literally all red-themed. I get it; I’m a redhead.”

  “You’re the second redhead I know
, and the other one, I call him by his last name.”

  “So just keep calling me by mine, and we can forget about the second nickname. I don’t have a second one for you.”

  “You could come up with one.”

  I take a bite of my cookie, chewing slowly before saying, “That’s a lot of work.”

  “Fine. I’ll just call you Evans… for now.”

  “You could even call me Zoe,” I say, trying to avoid the nicknames altogether.

  He shakes his head. “Nope, just Evans.”

  “Fine.”

  He grins. “Fine. What do you do for fun now that you’re at home?” he asks, grabbing one of the glasses of milk from the nightstand and taking a sip.

  I reposition myself on the bed, resting back against the headboard. “You mean while my parents loom over me?”

  “Beats being at the hospital,” he responds quickly.

  “I thought you liked hospitals, Doctor Jesse.”

  His expression becomes guarded. “Not particularly.”

  “Why not?” I press. I feel like I might be overstepping our friendship, but I won’t back down.

  “I mean, does anyone like hospitals—really like them?” he asks rhetorically. “People don’t go there because it’s fun. They go there because they’re sick, or to see someone who’s sick…” He takes a deep breath. “Doctors go there to serve. Patients go there seeking help,” he finishes, and I mull over his words.

  “I agree.” That’s all I add to his statement because every word he’s uttered is true. “Speaking of the hospital, how do you like your internship so far?” I ask.

  “It’s Saturday, and my day off. Do we have to talk about it?”

  “That bad?” I ask.

  “Not really. Just Things 1 and 2 need a lot of help figuring things out.”

  “Stealing my nickname for them, I see,” I say, only a little smugly. “And of course they need your help.”

  “I’ve grown to like it. And why do you say it like that?” he asks, taking yet another cookie.

  “Isn’t it obvious? They both like you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Like, actually like you. That’s why they follow you around like lost puppies.”