The Playmaker 3: The Good Luck Charm

“I cannot believe you’re only twenty-four! I mean, you must’ve skipped like, what? Four grades?”

I fight to contain my eye roll at my annoying coworker sitting across from me.

We’re into our second year of residency, and while I was able to keep a low profile and remain isolated from the other three residents as a first-year intern, I know that my introverted personality is starting to become a problem.

The other residents don’t trust me, they don’t want to hang out with me, and while I may have wanted that at first, I quickly realized that being a complete snob isn’t going to do anything for my job.

I have to work with these people for at least the next four years, and labeling myself as the stuck-up bitch of the group, coupled with the fact that I’m nearly four to six years younger than everyone else, isn’t going to do me any favors.

I wasn’t always this way. In fact, in undergrad, I’d tried to make friends, become more social, and even date. But that had proved to be a torrential disaster.

I was always too young to hang out with girls I went to school with, and the fact that they couldn’t drink with me, club with me, or hell, at the very least use me as a designated driver, made me a less-than-appealing option for a friend.

And dating? Forget about it.

My sophomore year in college, I fell head over heels in love with the one man I thought saw me for me, but he’d stomped on my heart and tossed it to the side.

Even if I did make friends here at my job, there is no way in hell I’m ever going to let myself love anyone like that again.

As far as I’m concerned, I’d be perfectly content living out the rest of my days as an asexual being.

In fact, I’ve wondered more than once if reverse conversion therapy exists for straight women who want to become lesbians. That’s how bad I had my heart broken.

However, it’s been almost nine years since then and I’m a different person. I’m not the same young, naïve sixteen-year-old girl. I’m a grown woman and a doctor, damn it!

A doctor who needs to start making nice with my coworkers and becoming a better person to be around.

So, I suck up my agitated disposition and flash a smile at Dr. Karter Alexander.

We’re sitting at the chairs in the main courtyard outside of the large office building that houses Dr. Wilson and Dr. Anderson’s pediatric practice where we work.

“Um, yeah. But it’s not as impressive as it sounds. I went to my junior prom at thirteen and spent practically all of undergrad alone in a dorm room, watching Star Trek because I was too underage to do much else.”

He laughs, and I offer him a polite smile.

I guess he’s handsome. He’s got sandy brown hair that is far too long and is in need of a haircut. But he also has kind, light brown eyes and a wide smile.

“Let me guess...Harvard? Although, I probably would’ve seen you...” I have to fight another eyeroll. Of course, he has to be one of those.

“Um...Barding University for undergrad, UCLA for grad school. Then Brown for med school, actually.” I feel my blush creep over my cheeks. I hate talking about myself. It only opens me up for more questions.

He whistles. “Are you like a super genius or something?”

This time I actually laugh. “Not exactly. I just have an eidetic memory and I love science,” I shrug.

I feel my pager beep against my thigh, and I have to fight to hold in my sigh of relief.

I stand from the table and toss my half-eaten chicken salad sandwich into the trashcan, then make my way back into the building.

The rest of my day goes pretty easily. I enjoy being here, and I’ve always known that I wanted to be a pediatrician.

Part of it has to do with the fact that I lost my little sister Max to leukemia when she was just six years old. However, most of it stems from my love of children.

Although I’m not very popular with people my own age, I’ve always been able to relate better to kids—and not to brag, but they love me.

My therapist thinks that the reason I prefer to spend time with younger kids rather than other adults is because throughout my own childhood, I was never able to relate to my peers.

I know that there is some truth to that, because, well, I was ten when I started high school, and fourteen when I went off to university.

I’ve never been around anyone who was my own age, and I had to go through puberty smack in the middle of high school.

Yes. My therapist might be right, but so what? I love my job and I can’t wait to be a pediatric doctor.

I open the door to exam room four and smile when I’m greeted by the most adorable little girl. She’s no more than four or five and has a mop of curly, dark hair.

Her piercing blue eyes and dimpled cheeks nearly take me out. She’s the prettiest child I’ve ever seen, and I meet different kids daily!

I glance down at her chart and then look back to her.

“Hi Melody, I’m Dr. Marsailles. It says here you’re in for a checkup. Do you have your mommy or daddy here with you?” I ask when I notice for the first time that she has no one waiting in the exam room with her.

“My daddy is here. He had to go talk on his cell phone for his work,” she says, shrugging.

“Okay, well I need your Daddy here before I can begin your checkup. Okay?”

I’m slightly annoyed. I get a lot of busy parents in here, but seriously? This guy cannot take one break away from work so his daughter can get a simple checkup?

Before I can scoff in disgust, the door to exam room four opens and a very tall man in joggers and a matching hoodie walks in.

He’s wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses but moves to remove them after he’s closed the door behind him.

I look down at my chart for just a second, but when I glance up, I am stopped in my tracks.

I’m paralyzed where I stand, and I can’t even say anything. All I can do is just stare at Miles Aaron. My first love, my first everything. Including my first heartbreak.