Your friend reaches over and touches your shoulder. “I hope the doctor’s hot,” she says.
As if on cue, in comes a tall, blonde, attractive young man in a white lab coat, stethoscope relaxed across his shoulders, clipboard in hand.
"Y/N?" He looks up and smiles. You nearly gasp at the beauty of his vibrant blue eyes, his perfect teeth. He even has a lip ring. Strange thing for a doctor. You nod, feeling a little dizzy from the booze and from the doctor’s crystal clear gaze. You glance over at your friend. She gives you a look, even wiggles her eye brows.
"Oh, shut up, Y/F/N," You say, knowing it’s a mistake as you’re saying it, but because of the alcohol you continue. "Yeah he’s hot, whatever."
The doctor laughs, glancing back down at his clip board. “Anyway, I’m Dr. Hemmings. You think you broke your ankle?”
"Yeah," you respond, totally regretting what you said out loud earlier. You know your face is burning up and you glare at Y/F/N, as if it were her fault.
"I’m gonna go get her a water," She says, standing up and patting you on the shoulder. Dr. Hemmings nods and she waltzes at the door, winking at you before she’s gone.
"Let’s check out your ankle, shall we?" He says before kneeling down to look at your ankle. He feels around, making you hiss or groan sometimes, the pain shooting up your leg.
"Sorry about what I said earlier," you say between winces. "I’m a little drunk. I don’t know what I’m saying."
"I figured," he chuckles, biting his lip ring and stepping back to look at you. "By the way, how’d you do this?" He asks, gesturing to your ankle.
"When I have a few drinks I tend to think I’m invincible."
He throws his head back and laughs. He shakes his head, writing on his clip board. “Don’t we all?” You laugh a response. “Anyway. I’m gonna send you for some x-rays, and then we’ll talk again about how we’re going to treat this ankle of yours.”
"Okay," you say as your friend comes back, a water in her hand.
"Till then, I have other invincible drunks to see. I hope to see you soon, Y/N."
"And you, too, Dr. Hemmings," you flirt back.
"Please," He smiles, turning back to you before heading out the door. "Call me Luke."
Michael: "So, Y/N." says your chiropractor. You’d been seeing him for a while now. After a minor car accident you’d been in, you’ve been getting physio on your back for a few months. Dr. Clifford - or Michael, as he insisted you call him - has treated you excellently over the past little while. "This is our last appointment together."
"It is," you nod, laying back onto the bed-like-thing that he used for cracking your back and neck.
"It’s been good," he smiles before going on with the usual treatment.
Once he’s finished, you sit up. He sits and smiles at you for a moment, rather than dismissing you for his next patient. You have to admit that you liked Michael a lot, for him only being your doctor. You two had a good few months, some small talk here and there about common interests, music, movies, whatever.
You actually kind of consider him your friend. And if you’re going to be completely honest, he’s totally cute. His hair is always a different colour, always messy and misplaced, his puffy pink lips, his eye brow piercing. He didn’t look like a doctor. Not one bit.
"Well," he clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. "I’m pretty sure I’ve brought up before that I never date my patients. It’s kind of a rule."
Doctors
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