It Ends with Us

Chapter Five
Ryle was correct. It only took a few days for my ankle to feel good enough
that I could walk on it again. I waited a full week before attempting to
leave my apartment, though. The last thing I need is to reinjure it.
Of course the first place I went was to my floral shop. Allysa was there
when I arrived today, and to say I was shocked when I walked through the
front doors is an understatement. It looked like a totally different building
than the one I bought. There’s still a ton of work that needs to be done,
but she and Marshall had gotten rid of all the stuff we marked as trash.
Everything else had been organized into piles. The windows had been
washed, the floors had been mopped. She even had the area where I plan
to put an office cleaned out.
I helped her for a few hours today, but she wouldn’t let me do much
that required walking at first, so I mostly drew out plans for the store. We
picked out paint colors and set a goal date to open the store that’s
approximately fifty-four days from now. After she left, I spent the next few
hours doing all the stuff she wouldn’t let me do while she was there. It felt
good to be back. But 
Jesus Christ
, I’m tired.
Which is why I’m debating on whether or not to get up from the couch
and answer the knock at my front door. Lucy is at Alex’s again tonight and
I just spoke to my mother five minutes ago on the phone, so I know it isn’t
either of them.
I walk to the door and check the peephole before opening it. I don’t
recognize him at first, because his head is down, but then he looks up and
to the right and my heart freaks the hell out!
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