Hotshot Doc(33)

I chuckle and open the back door to toss in her backpack. “Get in. Traffic is going to be hell.”

We buckle up in silence, back up and leave the parking garage in silence, pull out into traffic in silence.

Finally, I ask, “Where do you live?”

“On the west side. Right across from Franklin Park.”

“Good. I have an errand I need to run that’s right by there. Mind if I do that before I drop you off?”

“Well seeing as how you stole my backpack and forced me into your car, I don’t really think it matters what I want.”

I see. She’s still pouting. That’s fine. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

She doesn’t think I’m funny.

I drum my thumb against the steering wheel and try to keep my attention on the road and off of her.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone in this car besides me, a longer time since it was someone I found as interesting as I find Bailey Jennings. I try to study her surreptitiously. She seems smaller now when she’s sitting still. I could fit two of her on that seat. I look down and smirk when I see there’s no phone in her lap. Doesn’t she need to text Cooper and let him know about her day? She ought to tell him she’s currently in hell being driven home by her crotchety boss—the boss who made her cry.

I loosen my tie, uncomfortable with how tight it feels all of sudden.

We’re a few miles away from the hospital by the time she finally works up the courage to speak. “Not including what happened today, have I done something to offend you?” Oh good, deep conversation. “You’ve seemed annoyed with me over the last few weeks and I haven’t been able to work out why.”

“You know, actually, I was hoping we could just sit in amiable silence for the entire trip.” Her gaze tries to bore through my skull, so I relent. “Have you considered that it has nothing to do with you?”

“Yes,” she replies right away, “but that doesn’t make sense because you seem to only get snappy and aggravated with me. It’s not like you’re shouting at Kendra when she takes more than one second to get you something in the OR. You practically snarl when you look at me.”

Truly, that can’t be the case. If it is, I haven’t noticed.

“I have a few things going on right now,” I admit, giving her an inch.

“Work related?” she presses.

“Some of it is, yes. I’m supposed to have heard back about a grant proposal but the committee is delayed.”

“Patricia mentioned something about it.”

“It’s been stressful, not to mention I’ve taken on more cases recently. With more cases comes more consults, paperwork, pre-ops, post-ops.”

“I get it, you’re a busy guy—but that still doesn’t quite explain why you seem to want to take your stress and anger out on me. Can’t you go to the gym or something? Punch a beanbag?”

I smile. “I think you mean a punching bag.”

“That’s what I said. Now, what else? You said some of your stress is work related. Is the other stuff personal?”

I put my blinker on and change lanes, not sure I want to go down this path with her. A part of me wants to admit I’m annoyed she’s texting and flirting with my brother, except she doesn’t know Cooper’s my brother. I asked him about it the other day and he said it hasn’t come up organically in conversation. What the hell does that mean? I told him to work it into conversation artificially. Simple as that. He said he’d do it soon but didn’t want to scare her off. Like being my sibling means he’s tainted by association. Honestly, his logic made absolutely no sense to me, but I’ve kept my word not to bring it up with Bailey. Besides, there’s never been a chance to talk about it. I only ever see her in the operating room.

Until now. Until I put her in the passenger seat of my car and pretended like it was normal. I can smell her perfume. I notice every time she shifts in her seat, trying to get comfortable—or is she trying to get as far away from me as possible?

Her cheek is about to be squashed against the window.

It shouldn’t bother me that they’re texting, so I tell myself it doesn’t, as if I’ll change my stance on the subject by sheer willpower alone.

Cooper can do whatever the hell he wants and I’ll carry on with my life as normal. That’s been my plan, except I guess it hasn’t really been working. Apparently, I’ve been a real asshole to work with. Imagine that.

“Let’s change the subject,” I say, reaching forward and turning on the radio as if that will help matters. This is nothing today’s top hits can’t solve.

She swats my hand away and turns it down. “No, we’re going to get down to the real reason you hate me.”

I scowl. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh, okay, I’m sorry, you just don’t like me. What’s the difference?”

I don’t say anything and the car is filled with tense silence. I change lanes and exit the freeway as the song ends and another one starts up. She crosses her arms on a heavy sigh.

“I think I should just quit. This isn’t working out.”

It feels like someone just sucker-punched me.

“What? Why?” I flick quick glances in her direction while also trying to keep my eyes on the road. I don’t want to miss my turn. “Because of what happened in the OR today?”