It Ends with Us

What is he doing here?
Ryle knocks again, and I try to brush my hair out of my
face and smooth it down with my hands, but it’s a lost
cause. I worked my ass off today and I look like shit, so
unless I have half an hour to take a 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.
“These next couple of months are the most important
months in my entire career. I have to be focused. I’m
closing in on the end of my residency, and then I’ll have
to sit for my exams.” He’s pacing my living room, talking
frantically with his hands. “But for the past week, I haven’t
been able to get you out of my head. I don’t know why. At
work, at home. All I can think about is how crazy it feels
when I’m near you, and I need you to make it stop, Lily.”
He stops pacing and faces me. “Please make it stop. Just
once—that’s all it’ll take. I swear.”
My fingers are digging into the skin of my arms as I
watch him. He’s still panting a little, and his eyes are still
frantic, but he’s looking at me pleadingly.
“When is the last time you’ve had sleep?” I ask him.
He rolls his eyes like he’s frustrated that I’m not
getting it. “I just got off a forty-eight-hour shift,” he says
dismissively. “Focus, Lily.”
I nod and replay his words in my head. If I didn’t know
better . . . I’d almost think he was . . .

---

I inhale a calming breath. “Ryle,” I say carefully. “Did
you seriously just knock on twenty-nine doors so you
could tell me that the thought of me is making your life
hell and I should have sex with you so that you’ll never
have to think of me again? Are you kidding me right
now?”
He folds his lips together and, after about five seconds
of thought, he slowly nods his head. “Well . . . yeah,
but . . . it sounds way worse when you say it.”
I release an exasperated laugh. “That’s because it’s
ridiculous, Ryle.”
He bites his bottom lip and looks around the room,
like he suddenly wants to escape. I open the door and
motion for him to walk out. He doesn’t. His eyes fall to
my foot. “Your ankle looks good,” he says. “How does it
feel?”
I roll my eyes. “Better. I was able to help Allysa at the
store for the first time today.”
He nods and then makes like he’s walking toward the
door to leave. But as soon as he reaches me, he spins
toward me and slaps his palms against the door on either
side of my head. I gasp at both his proximity and his
persistence. “Please?” he says.
I shake my head, even though my body is starting to
trade sides and beg my mind to cave to him.
“I’m really good at it, Lily,” he says with a grin. “You’ll
barely even have to do any work.”
I try not to laugh, but his determination is as
endearing as it is annoying. “Goodnight, Ryle.”
His head drops between his shoulders and he shakes it
back and forth. He pushes off the door and stands up
straight. He half-turns, heading for the hallway, but then
suddenly drops to his knees in front of me. He wraps his
arms around my waist. “Please, Lily,” he says through self-
deprecating laughter. “Please have sex with me.” He’s

---

looking up at me with puppy dog eyes and a pathetic,
hopeful grin. “I want you so, so bad and I swear, once you
have sex with me you’ll never hear from me again. I
promise.”
There’s something about a neurosurgeon literally on
his knees begging for sex that does me in. That’s pretty