Page 61 of Hearts on the Table
“Is this a Cedar thing? Surgical dance parties?” Dr. West grinned, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. We all laughed. No. It wasn’t a Cedar thing. It was just a happy thing. I got into some serious finger guns and arm rolling with Sheila, one of our surgical assistants. Cameron and Mary started to hip bump. We were all making fools out of ourselves, dancing in thescrub room. Through it all, Sam and I rocked together back and forth, perfectly matched, step for step.
???
It should have been seamless. Sam and I had planned this all week: We’d hand off Mrs. Singh to a resident for post-op, finish our documentation, do any last-minute patient checks, and then hightail it out the door to his place.
My bag was packed. I’d anticipated his hands on my body all week long. The patient was recovering nicely and my notes were done.
The only issue: I was so exhausted, I could barely sit up straight.
Even for the most seasoned surgeon, seven hours in the OR was a lot. You couldn’t just sit around, either. You were on, mentally and physically, monitoring about seven different things at once. Oh, and also physically rearranging things underneath someone’s skin.
So, despite all the anticipation and immaculate planning, hour fourteen at the hospital found me posted up outside of a patient’s room. I was still on my feet, but barely. The wall was doing most of the work for me.
“Almost done. Give me one minute and we can go,” Sam said, ducking into the room. I didn’t have the energy to respond.
As much as I wanted to get up under his scrubs, I worried I wouldn’t have it in me tonight. I liked him so much, but I was fried. I needed food and sleep. Then, maybe, I’d think about getting into his pants.
“Nice work today. Heard it was a success.” The smile Jones gave me as he passed by probably qualified as more of a sneer. “Racking up those OR points just in time for your next interview.”
“Fuck off, Jones! For God’s sake, let her have her moment. There are plenty of scalpels to go around, you asshat.” Rija took in my weak smile as she chased Jones away from me. “Don’t let him get to you. You should be glowing. I heard the surgery went off without a hitch.”
“Rija, it was so amazing. Such a cool procedure and the patient is doing great. Just a long day.”
“Oof, I know. Long OR days are killer. You should go home and get some rest. Didn’t your shift end a few hours ago?”
I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “Have to talk with Dr. Reese about something before I head out.” Vagueness was my friend. I didn’t have the energy to come up with a lie right now.
Just then, Sam stepped out of the patient’s room, closing the door softly. Rija swatted at him with her clipboard. “Congrats, Reese. I’m already hearing good things about that surgery.”
He inclined his head to me. “Pays to have a good team. Dr. Carmichael handled the implant.”
Rija whistled. “Look at you, fancy pants! We’ll make a full surgeon out of you, yet!”
“Ah, he’s just—” I stopped short, nearly about to tell Rija that he was biased. Oh, God, I was tired. “Being nice,” I covered with a little shrug.
“Still. Big deal. We should celebrate. I’m off late tomorrow night?”
“Oh, ah, I can’t tomorrow. Next week?” Heat rose to my cheeks.
“Let’s do it! Great job again, you two. Have a good one!” She strode down the hall, leaving Reese and I to trudge towards the locker rooms. Together.
My sluggish mind raced, considering my dilemma from all angles. Maybe I could grab a Red Bull on the way out. Maybe I could power through and the sex would be great despite being nearly dead on my feet. Maybe I could just go home and meethim tomorrow, even though every fiber of my being insisted that I stay with him.
Caught up in my exhaustion, I didn’t notice for several minutes that he was dragging, too. His forearm propped on the locker next to mine, while he rubbed tired eyes.
“Lainey, I’m so sorry…” He trailed off, shaking his head. My breath caught. So sorry, what? So sorry but I’m exhausted and can’t hang out tonight? So sorry, but I’ll need to chug an energy drink before I ravish you? Honestly, I couldn’t decide which option I wanted more. “But I’m about to manipulate you.”
“Ma…What?”
He had the grace to look remorseful. “I’m about to manipulate you. Hard.”
Before I could ask him what, specifically, he meant by this (Physically? I’d let him manipulate me physically. I just needed that Red Bull first), a group of residents walked into the lockers. They made small talk, a few of them commenting on the surgery today. Sam accepted their praise and maneuvered us out the door at the same time.
The halls were empty. We had the elevator to ourselves, giving me ample space to corner him as the doors closed behind us. “I don’t think it counts as manipulation if you give me forewarning.”
He smiled. “You’re not even going to see it coming.”
“You’re literally telling me it’s—what do you want me to do with this?”
