Page 101 of Love Sick

“But don’t think I won’t chase you.”

Backing away, I meet his gaze, the darkness alight with desire. “Yeah?”

The no-smile comes to life, and he stares at my mouth. “I’ll chase until you tell me to stop. Present me with a challenge and I shall rise.” The hand in my hair slides out, then holds it back so he can study my neck. He brushes the pad of his thumb over it. “Oops.”

I turn toward the mirror on the wall to find a darkening patch of skin where his mouth had been. I cover it with my hand, and return my attention to his satisfied expression, eyes wide.

He marked me. Like a marauder.

This be mine.

Hoist the colors.

“Thanks for the pep talk.” He brushes a kiss over my lips and steps away. “I have a cold shower to get to.”

DECEMBER, YEAR 2

The story of the four-day placenta becomes instant residency legend. Julian recounts the case in didactics later that week. By then, he’s bottled up his external grief, but in private, he’s still shook.

About a week after the incident, we meet to study at my apartment, creeping closer and closer to each other on my couch as the night progresses.

He caves after an hour and pulls me into his lap, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Are you feeling better about last week?” I flatten my palm against his chest and nibble on my lip as I study his face, searching for the hurt I know is still in there.

He shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel better about that. But I’ll get over it. Someday.” His lips move to my neck, and my breath hitches. Pleasure illuminates and sparkles over me before he pulls away to meet my eyes. His desire is written all over his face, open and hungry. I peck a quick kiss on his mouth and scoot off his lap.

Distance. I need distance.

His half smile snags my heart. The life-giving organ skips a beat, then trips over the next several. These ectopic beats disturb me. He’s buried an electrode in my chest. My own personal defibrillator.

“Not ready?” He lifts an eyebrow.

I shiver, heat blazing across my cheeks, and pull my lip between my teeth.

He reaches toward the coffee table where we’ve left our study materials, dark eyes roaming my face. “Could I seduce you with flashcards?” His long fingers curl around the stack of cards.

A wave of heat crashes and settles low in my stomach, but I cover it with a laugh. “How on earth did you manage to make that sexy?”

He lowers his voice, the half smile growing into a full smile. “Because studying gets you hot.”

I smack his shoulder.

He laughs and sobers. “All right. Teach me about cervical cancer staging.”

* * *

Dr. Chen hovers over my shoulder in the doctor’s OR lounge where I chart at the computer. We had two C-sections today, and I’m glowing. I made no wrong moves, and I finished in a reasonable amount of time. The smile on my face cannot be quelled.

“You did good today, Dr. Rose.”

Chen must be an awful snorer because his CPAP lines have survived the entire morning, leaving indentations over his full cheeks. Glasses still fogged from surgery, he gazes through the mist with kind brown eyes. His salt-and-pepper mustache twitches with a smile.

My throat tightens. “Really?”

“I can tell you’re practicing. Good work.”

A flare spikes my blood, a torrential flood of exhilaration. Julian did this. His help brought me to this moment.

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