Page 52 of Dr. Attending

I stop in front of the double door that leads to the OR and study her. “You already know how to scrub and suture as an M2?”

Most students don’t learn surgical skills until their second or third year of school. I definitely didn’t know shit until I got to clerkship, but I guess things could have changed in the past ten years.

Caroline shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “What? You really think Parker would go this long without teaching me his life’s passion?”

Her tone is sarcastic and unamused, but her deep-blue eyes are no longer lifeless like they were when I ran into her this afternoon. They’re glimmering with a hint of curiosity that makes me grin.

“Dude has no chill,” I snort as I lean back against the wall and pull out my phone.

I shoot off a text to the circulating nurse, letting her know that we’re ready to start the case. A response comes through almost immediately that anesthesia is running late—shocker.

“Christ,” I mutter under my breath, glancing at the time.

This should be a thirty-minute case, and it’s my last of the day. I'm not exactly in the mood to loiter around the hospital for hours on end, especially since I want this to be a good experience for Caroline.

A snide comment about my colleague is on the tip of my tongue as I send off a barrage of frustrated texts to the anesthesiologist on the case. When I finally glance up, I expect Caroline to be focused on something else. But she isn’t. She’s still watching me, now with a half-smile on her plump lips.

“What?” I swallow, feeling my stomach churn in a way that is wholly inappropriate.

The edges of her mouth tilt down like she’s trying to force her expression into neutrality, but it doesn’t last long because, after a short beat of silence, she lets out a sly laugh.

“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like this before.”

My attention drops to the polished floor, suddenly self-conscious that I have toilet paper on my shoe, or something. Once I confirm that I’m in the clear, I straighten and arch a brow.

“Look like what?”

“Serious,” she responds.

“Yeah, well . . . it doesn’t happen often.”

I get where she’s coming from because I can let pretty much anything roll off my back without getting flustered—it’s one of the reasons I’ve turned into a decent surgeon. But for some reason, when it comes to Caroline, the only word to describe how I feel is serious.

Caroline stifles a laugh again, and I feel myself relax a little bit because I like hearing the sound—it’s better than the alternative by a mile.

“What?” I prod again when she doesn’t say anything.

She snickers and leans back against the wall, staring out the window across from us. “Just thinking about how if Morgan were here, she would totally call you a stern brunch Daddy right now.”

Her remark comes out so casually, like she has no idea how sexy she sounds, and I have to cough to focus on something other than my impending boner.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s some romance book term,” she answers, pausing to smile at a custodian as they walk by. “Morgan’s always trying to label everyone. The other day, she called my brother an alpha-hole in our group text.”

I want to laugh and tell her that Morgan isn’t wrong, but I’m not interested in what our pint-sized friend thinks about me—or anyone else for that matter. The only opinion I seem to care about these days is the one of the woman standing beside me.

I glance down the hallway to make sure we’re alone before I take a single sidestep closer to her. If someone were to walk by, it would simply look like we’re waiting for our case to begin. Which we are . . . but it also feels like a hell of a lot more is happening between us when I lean in and our shoulders brush.

“And what about you, princess?” I ask, lowering my voice to barely a whisper. “Would you call me a stern brunch Daddy? Or just a Daddy?”

Caroline’s breath catches, but she doesn’t respond. She keeps her midnight-blue eyes glued directly ahead as she curls her fingers around the handrail attached to the wall behind us, almost like she’s grounding herself.

“Neither.”

Her comment would feel like a roundhouse kick to the gut if I didn’t feel the intensity of the energy flowing between us—if I didn’t know that she felt it too by the way the apples of her cheeks have flushed bright red.

“Is that so?”

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