Page 14 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Sam hesitated, her breath hitching. For a moment, she considered addressing the kiss, confronting Roz about it, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she shook her head. “No. That’s all.”
Roz nodded, her expression unreadable, and stepped past her, the faint scent of antiseptic and something distinctly Roz trailing in her wake. Sam stood frozen, her body taut with tension as she watched Roz walk away.
Her hands clenched at her sides, and she exhaled shakily, her mind racing. The tension between them hadn’t just lingered, it had intensified, and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer she could ignore it.
Sam slouched on her couch, the TV flickering in the background, the volume low enough to fade into white noise. A glass of whiskey sat on the coffee table, untouched except for the condensation pooling around its base. She leaned back, rubbing her temple with one hand, trying and failing to focus on the game highlights playing on the screen.
Her phone buzzed, lighting up the room in a soft glow. Sam’s hand hovered over it for a second before she picked it up. Her stomach tightened when she saw the name on the screen.
Roz Harrington.
She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the notification. Finally, she opened the message.
Roz:“How’s Ben?”
Sam blinked, her pulse quickening. It was a simple question, professional on the surface, but Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it. She stared at the screen for a moment, debating how to respond. Finally, she typed:
Sam:“He’s doing fine. Stable and complaining about hospital food, so I’d say he’s on the mend.”
The reply came almost immediately.
Roz:“Sounds like a good sign. Though I’d argue that hospital food is part of the healing process. Builds character.”
Sam smirked despite herself, shaking her head as she typed.
Sam:“Is that the official Harrington Memorial stance? Torture them into recovery?”
Roz:“Absolutely. It’s highly effective. I should put it in a journal somewhere.”
Sam huffed a laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. Roz had a way of disarming her, even when she didn’t want to be disarmed. She stared at the screen, debating whether to end the conversation or let it continue. Before she could decide, another message buzzed through.
Roz:“How about you? Surviving your day of barking orders? Or are you always this intense?”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. She reread the message, her lips curving into a faint smile. There was something in Roz’s tone, teasing, but sharper, more deliberate. Sam leaned forward, her thumbs moving across the keyboard.
Sam:“Someone’s got to keep people in line. Or is that too ‘intense’ for you?”
This time, the pause was longer, and Sam found herself staring at the screen, waiting. When Roz’s reply finally came, her breath caught.
Roz:“Oh, I’m fine with intense. I just wonder if you ever loosen your grip.”
Sam stared at the words, her heart hammering. It wasn’t blatant, but the implication was clear. Roz was testing her, pushing boundaries in a way that sent a thrill racing down Sam’s spine. She typed slowly, choosing her words carefully.
Sam:“Maybe. But only if the situation calls for it.”
The reply came almost immediately, and this time, there was no mistaking Roz’s intent.
Roz:“You’re always so in control. I wonder what it takes to make you lose it.”
Sam’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the phone. She reread the message, her pulse quickening with each pass. Her first instinct was to brush it off, to redirect, but something stopped her. Instead, she let herself feel the heat behind Roz’s words and the challenge they carried.
Sam:“I think you’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”
The reply was instantaneous.
Roz:“I would.”
Sam stared at the screen, her body humming with tension. She took a long breath, trying to steady herself, but her hands moved almost on their own as she typed her next message.
