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Summary
Ever since Dennis Whitaker left home, he'd always expected to be alone. He didn't count on abrasive, sharp-edged and sharper tongued Trinity Santos not knowing when to leave well enough alone. The last thing he expected was to be offered a rent-free room in her apartment as long as he changed his hair and accepted death penalty if he left the toilet seat up.
OR
The one in which Trinity adopts Dennis like an emotional support foster kitten, and he adopts her too she just doesn't know it. ft gay pining after attendings and emotionally unavailable surgeons
OR
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re a terrible liar, Huckleberry,” she said flatly.
“I’m not lying.”
The bus lurched again, and this time she didn’t move away when their shoulders knocked together. Neither did he.
“It’s okay if you are. Just have the decency to be good at it.”
“Colossians 3:9, ‘Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old nature with its practices’,” Dennis recited almost instinctively.
She just raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve had practice with all this fucking memorisation needed for med school. Maybe you could help me out with pharmacology.”