All Grown Up
Blurb
High school was hell for me.
I was always the big girl. The ugly one. The nerdy one, who wouldn’t ever actually amount to anything and couldn’t keep any friends.
Screw high school.
I’m large and in charge.
I’m a resident doctor at a prestigious city hospital. Men fall to their feet trying to get me to go out with them. Things aren’t just looking up for me, they’re already there.
But when Jody Banks is rushed to my office, a stab wound in his arm—and still having that annoyingly handsome smile—I’m transported back to when he made fun of me.
When he ignored me in the hallways.
When he pulled my hair and told me it wasn’t his fault.
When he spread photographs of me—photographs I thought were just for him.
When he pretended we weren’t dating.
And now he wants a piece of this, again?
Yeah. Thanks but no thanks.
No way am I ever hooking up with that guy again… no matter how good he looks, or how nice he smells… right?
ALL GROWN UP
LARISSA DE SILVA
© Larissa de Silva, 2020
All rights reserved
This book is intended only for adult audiences.
The events depicted within this work are fictitious. All and any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Unless you know of any men like the ones depicted in these books. If you know of any similarity to any living person, I urge you to email me. If not for me, then for science. Or medicine
CHAPTER ONE
2019
“You have to tell me how it was,” my best friend said.
She was staring at me. It had been a quiet night in the emergency room and we had kept each other entertained with our old boyfriend stories, including our classmates from medical school, when we weren’t updating charts or checking on patients. Not that either one of us had ever had much time to successfully date one of our classmates. They were busy and we were busy, and most of the time, we were too busy to even hook up or have one-night stands with our classmates.
Things weren’t quite as hectic after finally graduating, but it wasn’t like they got much easier. I was finally dating again and was finding it difficult to keep in touch with some of the men I was interested in. At least they seem interested in me, which was nice, but I could hardly remember their names. I didn’t particularly want anything serious—I didn’t have time for anything serious—but I did like to spend time with some of them.
Not that I had found any single one who I could remember that well.
She poked me on the shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “Are you going to tell me or what?”
I smirked at her. “That’s inappropriate, Dr. Comely.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s how we’re doing this?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No,” I replied. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much to report. He was nice and he made me laugh, but I don’t know, there was some spark missing.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper as she got slightly closer to me. “So you didn’t sleep with him?”
I widened my eyes in mock shock. “I didn’t,” I replied. “I wanted to, but then chickened out. I didn’t want to take him to my house, because what if he was a murderer or something?”
“But you didn’t worry about that before your date.”
“No, I did,” I said. “I just didn’t exactly think he was going to murder me in front of everyone else in a restaurant. That would definitely put people off their food.”
“And you think a murderer would care about that,” she said.
I laughed. We were sitting in the back of the ER and she had pulled the curtain up between us. The small consultation rooms we had were frequently overloaded and while the hospital had been talking about building a new ER wing for years, it just didn’t seem to ever happen for one reason or another. That was why we had these makeshift, antiquated, curtain bays. They didn’t provide a lot of privacy, but they were better than nothing in a crisis.
Thankfully, nothing like a crisis seemed to be happening on that quiet Wednesday night.
Cam looked down at her tablet and sighed. “Do you know what happened to Mr. Hysinger?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He got transferred to urology.”
“Huh, weird. I think there’s a problem with—”
She got interrupted by the loud footsteps of someone coming near us. We both turned around to see the senior nurse on shift, an older white woman jet black hair and thin eyebrows. Teri’s gaze darted between us before she decided that she didn’t care.
“A young male has just come in,” she said. “Vitals are fine, but he got stabbed in the arm and the knife is, uh… moving.”
I raised my eyebrows. “He’s moving it?”
“No,’ she said. “It’s wiggling, like, when he moves his body. I don’t think it’s deep in there but I don’t want to—”
“I got it,” I said. “Anything else?”
“Late twenties or thirties, he’s lucid, I think there’s some sort of other injuries because he must have gotten in a fight, but he wouldn’t let me examine him thoroughly,” she said. “I asked him to take his clothes off, but he wouldn’t do it.”
“Yikes,” I said. “Okay. Thanks, Teri.”
“You’re welcome, Dr. Meyer,” she said, flashing me a little smile, which was the most approval I was ever going to get from her. “He’s in room three.”
I nodded. I walked over to the room, looking down at my tablet to see the patient’s chart. My eyes skimmed over his name as I looked
