Hotshot Doc(56)

It’s Monday and we’re in the middle of operating and I’m trying very hard to keep my focus on the procedure, but it’s not easy. Today’s case is more routine than most. I could assist him with my eyes closed, which means my mind is wandering in ways it shouldn’t be. I want to know how Matt spent his weekend. He’s a handsome guy. His scrubs do nothing to dull the rugged, masculine strength pluming off him like smoke. In this setting, he’s a god. I wonder what women think of him out in the normal world. If he went to a bar, there’s no way he’d go home alone. The thought makes my stomach turn. I wonder if he ever visits Smooth Tony’s. It’s right across the street. I bet he goes there to unwind after a long day. After all, that’s where he was going to meet Cooper all those weeks ago.

If he sat alone at the bar, women would flock to him. He’d have to beat them off with a stick.

I feel queasy and suddenly I need answers.

“Did you have a good weekend, Dr. Russell?” I ask, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

He eyes flick up to mine. The surgical glasses do nothing to temper his piercing blue gaze. “It was fine. Productive.”

Productive?! What does that mean? Did he sleep with more than one woman? I feel faint.

“Oh yeah?” I persist. “Did you get a lot of work done?”

“Yes.” One word. I hate him. “Can you pass me that Bovie?”

I do as he asks, but I still continue my quest because now I’m a dog with a bone.

“Ah, well, that’s good. I bet you had plenty of time to unwind too…outside of the office.”

His dark brow arches, but he continues to focus his attention on the patient. “It seems like you’re dancing around a question, so just ask it.”

I shake my head. “No, no. Just trying to get a better sense for how you spend your free time. Y’know, trying to make pleasant conversation.”

He follows that with a disinterested hum and nothing more.

By the end of the surgery, I’m a ball of anxiety and repressed rage. If he spent his weekend with another woman, I want to know about it. NO. I don’t, I tell myself. I’m going crazy. I made him sign a contract outlining all the ways he could not touch or flirt or kiss me, and now I’m the one outraged at the idea of him touching, flirting, or kissing another woman. I’m aware that I’ve done this to myself, but what does that matter because when I finish scrubbing out and walk into the hallway, I spot him chatting with a pretty nurse.

Oh god. I’m going to throw up.

I really am. She’s put together in a way I’ll never be for a standard work day—curled hair, loads of mascara. I self-consciously tighten my ponytail as I continue toward them. I wish I could turn in the opposite direction, but they’re right by the elevators and the stairwell is creepy as hell, so I steel myself, square my shoulders, and continue walking.

She steps closer to him and drops her voice to say something, and my gaze flicks over in time to see Matt smile down at her. Considering how few smiles he’s aimed at me in all our time together, I want to punch a hole in the wall.

I had no idea this hallway was so long. I can’t speed up because it’ll look too obvious, but I swear I’m walking on a treadmill going nowhere. Maybe I could just sort of half-sprint, half-skip and no one would notice?

The nurse’s hand touches his forearm and where is his white coat?! Usually he’s in a suit or his surgical gown. Now, he’s just wearing those navy scrubs and she could drag her hand up and down his tan arm if she wanted to. Maybe she already has. My face is a mask of horror at the thought.

I get within earshot and hear her say in a coy, flirty voice, “I was so surprised to see you there.”

His response is inaudible.

My hands fist and I march right up to the elevators and press that button so hard my thumb aches. For good measure, I push it another dozen times.

“C’mon, c’mon,” I murmur under my breath.

An imposing presence comes to stand beside me. Matt’s scent makes my chest tighten. He’s just a teensy bit closer than he should be. I stare straight ahead at the brushed steel reflecting our distorted images back at us. He stays perfectly still. There’s nothing but silence. I wonder if he can sense how worked up I am. I have to force my fists to unclench. The numbers on the elevator blink in slow descension, and finally, the doors slide open.

I step inside and he follows. When the doors swoop closed, there’s not an ounce of oxygen left in the small space.

We’re the only two people in here. I press the button for the seventh floor and he presses nothing. I hole up in the corner, cross my arms, and stare straight ahead.

Matt turns as well so I’m only granted a view of his back. He’s as cool as a cucumber. I wonder what he’s thinking about—her, no doubt.

I’m shaking with jealous rage. I’ve never felt like this. I didn’t know it was possible to be so worked up over something so little, and that only makes me angrier. I hate that I’ve turned into this person over a man who’s clearly so uninterested he won’t even turn around and address me.

I clench my teeth and snarky, antagonistic words fall out of me. “Honestly, if you’re going to flirt with hospital staff, can you do it somewhere a little more private? Anyone could have seen you. It’s just not really that professional.”