“Yes.” One word. I hate him. “Can you pass me that Bovie?”
I do as he asks, but I still continue my quest because now I’m a dog with a bone.
“Ah, well, that’s good. I bet you had plenty of time to unwind too…outside of the office.”
His dark brow arches, but he continues to focus his attention on the patient. “It seems like you’re dancing around a question, so just ask it.”
I shake my head. “No, no. Just trying to get a better sense for how you spend your free time. Y’know, trying to make pleasant conversation.”
He follows that with a disinterested hum and nothing more.
By the end of the surgery, I’m a ball of anxiety and repressed rage. If he spent his weekend with another woman, I want to know about it. NO. I don’t, I tell myself. I’m going crazy. I made him sign a contract outlining all the ways he could not touch or flirt or kiss me, and now I’m the one outraged at the idea of him touching, flirting, or kissing another woman. I’m aware that I’ve done this to myself, but what does that matter because when I finish scrubbing out and walk into the hallway, I spot him chatting with a pretty nurse.
Oh god. I’m going to throw up.
I really am. She’s put together in a way I’ll never be for a standard work day—curled hair, loads of mascara. I self-consciously tighten my ponytail as I continue toward them. I wish I could turn in the opposite direction, but they’re right by the elevators and the stairwell is creepy as hell, so I steel myself, square my shoulders, and continue walking.
She steps closer to him and drops her voice to say something, and my gaze flicks over in time to see Matt smile down at her. Considering how few smiles he’s aimed at me in all our time together, I want to punch a hole in the wall.
I had no idea this hallway was so long. I can’t speed up because it’ll look too obvious, but I swear I’m walking on a treadmill going nowhere. Maybe I could just sort of half-sprint, half-skip and no one would notice?
The nurse’s hand touches his forearm and where is his white coat?! Usually he’s in a suit or his surgical gown. Now, he’s just wearing those navy scrubs and she could drag her hand up and down his tan arm if she wanted to. Maybe she already has. My face is a mask of horror at the thought.
I get within earshot and hear her say in a coy, flirty voice, “I was so surprised to see you there.”
His response is inaudible.
My hands fist and I march right up to the elevators and press that button so hard my thumb aches. For good measure, I push it another dozen times.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I murmur under my breath.
An imposing presence comes to stand beside me. Matt’s scent makes my chest tighten. He’s just a teensy bit closer than he should be. I stare straight ahead at the brushed steel reflecting our distorted images back at us. He stays perfectly still. There’s nothing but silence. I wonder if he can sense how worked up I am. I have to force my fists to unclench. The numbers on the elevator blink in slow descension, and finally, the doors slide open.
I step inside and he follows. When the doors swoop closed, there’s not an ounce of oxygen left in the small space.
We’re the only two people in here. I press the button for the seventh floor and he presses nothing. I hole up in the corner, cross my arms, and stare straight ahead.
Matt turns as well so I’m only granted a view of his back. He’s as cool as a cucumber. I wonder what he’s thinking about—her, no doubt.
I’m shaking with jealous rage. I’ve never felt like this. I didn’t know it was possible to be so worked up over something so little, and that only makes me angrier. I hate that I’ve turned into this person over a man who’s clearly so uninterested he won’t even turn around and address me.
I clench my teeth and snarky, antagonistic words fall out of me. “Honestly, if you’re going to flirt with hospital staff, can you do it somewhere a little more private? Anyone could have seen you. It’s just not really that professional.”
He emits a little chuckle and shakes his head. His gaze stays pinned straight ahead.
Apparently, my remark isn’t even worth a response.
“Where was she surprised to see you?” I ask, trying to engage him again.
The elevator dings, halts, and the doors slide open. A few people step in, and we’re not at our floor yet, but our privacy is gone. My question lingers in the air between us, and now I have no hope of an answer. My heart is racing and there’s no doubt everyone in the small space feels the tension simmering between us. I catch sight of a woman watching me, and I wonder if she can tell I’m currently in the throes of a jealous rage.
The elevator can’t arrive on the seventh floor fast enough and when those doors slide open, I nearly tumble out, anxious for freedom. I gulp in a breath of air as if someone’s been holding my head under water. A hand hits my elbow and I’m tugged painfully to the side of the hall, dragged inside what looks to be a supply closet. The door slams closed behind us. A mop gets wedged carefully beneath the door handle so no one can come in…and no one can get out.
Matt turns to me and I take a hesitant step back. With only a little light filtering in from the hallway, his hard jaw and sharp features seem menacing and cruel. I’m standing in front of a ruthless surgeon—the man who makes grown men cry, the man who terrifies everyone who crosses his path.
“You made me sign that contract, Bailey,” he says, stepping closer. “You insisted you wanted nothing from me, so why are you acting like this? Like you’re jealous?”
My eyes widen. “I’m not!”
It’s the most pathetic, transparent lie I’ve ever told. I’m a toddler with scissors and choppy bangs proclaiming she has no idea who cut her hair.
“You asked me what I did this weekend. Why do you want to know?”
I look away. “I already told you—I was making small talk.”
“You’re lying.” I’ve never heard his voice quite so hard and challenging. “I ran into that nurse at the grocery store. She was shopping with her husband and daughter.”
My cheeks burn and I desperately hope it’s too dark in this tiny room for him to notice.
He takes another step forward and I hold up my hands as if to block him.
“I thought maybe you two were flirting,” I admit, though it seems a bit too late for honesty.
“And if we were?” he asks, his tone as unyielding as it was a moment ago.
He has me wedged against a hard metal shelf. It digs into my back. Any moment now someone will need to get into this supply closet and notice that the door is jammed. The handle will shake and my heart will leap into my throat.
“Matt,” I plead, suddenly genial and forgiving. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let myself get so worked up over nothing. It was immature. I realize that. Now let me by and I promise I won’t do it again.”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a menacing smirk.
My insides liquify.
“Bailey,” he says, reaching out to hook his finger underneath my chin. He tips my head up just a bit so my mouth is lifted to his.
I’m a shaking ball of anxiety at what he’s about to do. He can’t kiss me again. I’m still coming apart at the seams after the first one.
“I’d kiss you right now if I could.” My chest is heaving as he continues speaking. No amount of air is enough air. “I’d bend down, just like this—”
His mouth hovers over mine. I feel the barest touch of his lips. Every hair on my body stands on end. My hands reach back and grip the metal shelf because without it, I feel like I’ll float away.
“You want a kiss as badly as I do, and that’s why you’re wetting your bottom lip right now. That’s why you’re brushing your hips against mine.” I immediately stop doing both of those things. “Your every desire is written across your face. This face…”
I stand perfectly still as he leans back and drags a finger around the edge of my forehead, down the curve of my cheek and chin, until he reaches the nape of my neck, and then lower…right to the V neckline of my scrub top. If he flattened his palm, my heart would corroborate his every word.
I do as he asks, but I still continue my quest because now I’m a dog with a bone.
“Ah, well, that’s good. I bet you had plenty of time to unwind too…outside of the office.”
His dark brow arches, but he continues to focus his attention on the patient. “It seems like you’re dancing around a question, so just ask it.”
I shake my head. “No, no. Just trying to get a better sense for how you spend your free time. Y’know, trying to make pleasant conversation.”
He follows that with a disinterested hum and nothing more.
By the end of the surgery, I’m a ball of anxiety and repressed rage. If he spent his weekend with another woman, I want to know about it. NO. I don’t, I tell myself. I’m going crazy. I made him sign a contract outlining all the ways he could not touch or flirt or kiss me, and now I’m the one outraged at the idea of him touching, flirting, or kissing another woman. I’m aware that I’ve done this to myself, but what does that matter because when I finish scrubbing out and walk into the hallway, I spot him chatting with a pretty nurse.
Oh god. I’m going to throw up.
I really am. She’s put together in a way I’ll never be for a standard work day—curled hair, loads of mascara. I self-consciously tighten my ponytail as I continue toward them. I wish I could turn in the opposite direction, but they’re right by the elevators and the stairwell is creepy as hell, so I steel myself, square my shoulders, and continue walking.
She steps closer to him and drops her voice to say something, and my gaze flicks over in time to see Matt smile down at her. Considering how few smiles he’s aimed at me in all our time together, I want to punch a hole in the wall.
I had no idea this hallway was so long. I can’t speed up because it’ll look too obvious, but I swear I’m walking on a treadmill going nowhere. Maybe I could just sort of half-sprint, half-skip and no one would notice?
The nurse’s hand touches his forearm and where is his white coat?! Usually he’s in a suit or his surgical gown. Now, he’s just wearing those navy scrubs and she could drag her hand up and down his tan arm if she wanted to. Maybe she already has. My face is a mask of horror at the thought.
I get within earshot and hear her say in a coy, flirty voice, “I was so surprised to see you there.”
His response is inaudible.
My hands fist and I march right up to the elevators and press that button so hard my thumb aches. For good measure, I push it another dozen times.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I murmur under my breath.
An imposing presence comes to stand beside me. Matt’s scent makes my chest tighten. He’s just a teensy bit closer than he should be. I stare straight ahead at the brushed steel reflecting our distorted images back at us. He stays perfectly still. There’s nothing but silence. I wonder if he can sense how worked up I am. I have to force my fists to unclench. The numbers on the elevator blink in slow descension, and finally, the doors slide open.
I step inside and he follows. When the doors swoop closed, there’s not an ounce of oxygen left in the small space.
We’re the only two people in here. I press the button for the seventh floor and he presses nothing. I hole up in the corner, cross my arms, and stare straight ahead.
Matt turns as well so I’m only granted a view of his back. He’s as cool as a cucumber. I wonder what he’s thinking about—her, no doubt.
I’m shaking with jealous rage. I’ve never felt like this. I didn’t know it was possible to be so worked up over something so little, and that only makes me angrier. I hate that I’ve turned into this person over a man who’s clearly so uninterested he won’t even turn around and address me.
I clench my teeth and snarky, antagonistic words fall out of me. “Honestly, if you’re going to flirt with hospital staff, can you do it somewhere a little more private? Anyone could have seen you. It’s just not really that professional.”
He emits a little chuckle and shakes his head. His gaze stays pinned straight ahead.
Apparently, my remark isn’t even worth a response.
“Where was she surprised to see you?” I ask, trying to engage him again.
The elevator dings, halts, and the doors slide open. A few people step in, and we’re not at our floor yet, but our privacy is gone. My question lingers in the air between us, and now I have no hope of an answer. My heart is racing and there’s no doubt everyone in the small space feels the tension simmering between us. I catch sight of a woman watching me, and I wonder if she can tell I’m currently in the throes of a jealous rage.
The elevator can’t arrive on the seventh floor fast enough and when those doors slide open, I nearly tumble out, anxious for freedom. I gulp in a breath of air as if someone’s been holding my head under water. A hand hits my elbow and I’m tugged painfully to the side of the hall, dragged inside what looks to be a supply closet. The door slams closed behind us. A mop gets wedged carefully beneath the door handle so no one can come in…and no one can get out.
Matt turns to me and I take a hesitant step back. With only a little light filtering in from the hallway, his hard jaw and sharp features seem menacing and cruel. I’m standing in front of a ruthless surgeon—the man who makes grown men cry, the man who terrifies everyone who crosses his path.
“You made me sign that contract, Bailey,” he says, stepping closer. “You insisted you wanted nothing from me, so why are you acting like this? Like you’re jealous?”
My eyes widen. “I’m not!”
It’s the most pathetic, transparent lie I’ve ever told. I’m a toddler with scissors and choppy bangs proclaiming she has no idea who cut her hair.
“You asked me what I did this weekend. Why do you want to know?”
I look away. “I already told you—I was making small talk.”
“You’re lying.” I’ve never heard his voice quite so hard and challenging. “I ran into that nurse at the grocery store. She was shopping with her husband and daughter.”
My cheeks burn and I desperately hope it’s too dark in this tiny room for him to notice.
He takes another step forward and I hold up my hands as if to block him.
“I thought maybe you two were flirting,” I admit, though it seems a bit too late for honesty.
“And if we were?” he asks, his tone as unyielding as it was a moment ago.
He has me wedged against a hard metal shelf. It digs into my back. Any moment now someone will need to get into this supply closet and notice that the door is jammed. The handle will shake and my heart will leap into my throat.
“Matt,” I plead, suddenly genial and forgiving. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let myself get so worked up over nothing. It was immature. I realize that. Now let me by and I promise I won’t do it again.”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a menacing smirk.
My insides liquify.
“Bailey,” he says, reaching out to hook his finger underneath my chin. He tips my head up just a bit so my mouth is lifted to his.
I’m a shaking ball of anxiety at what he’s about to do. He can’t kiss me again. I’m still coming apart at the seams after the first one.
“I’d kiss you right now if I could.” My chest is heaving as he continues speaking. No amount of air is enough air. “I’d bend down, just like this—”
His mouth hovers over mine. I feel the barest touch of his lips. Every hair on my body stands on end. My hands reach back and grip the metal shelf because without it, I feel like I’ll float away.
“You want a kiss as badly as I do, and that’s why you’re wetting your bottom lip right now. That’s why you’re brushing your hips against mine.” I immediately stop doing both of those things. “Your every desire is written across your face. This face…”
I stand perfectly still as he leans back and drags a finger around the edge of my forehead, down the curve of my cheek and chin, until he reaches the nape of my neck, and then lower…right to the V neckline of my scrub top. If he flattened his palm, my heart would corroborate his every word.
