It's good. It’s all so damn good. I can’t fight it any longer. With a shudder and groan starting deep in the core of my body, I let go, releasing all over the tile of my shower and breathing hard.
Jesus Christ. I am in so, so far over my head. At this point, getting buried might be inevitable. Based on this shower, there isn’t a Goddamn thing I can do about it except ride it out and see where it, and she, carries me.
Twenty-Three
Nate
Between April being up my ass day in and day out at work, my surgery and on-call schedule being outrageous, and Dee being busy all the time, I haven’t gotten a single moment to see and talk to her. We’ve texted, we’ve flirted, and we’ve even sexted, but we haven’t broached the subject of us, of the night we spent together, or even our work relationship.
We’ve managed to navigate the hospital waters pretty smoothly, all things considered. But there’s been an underlying current of awkwardness every time we have encountered each other that threatens to wrap us up and drag us under anytime things get a little tense or we disagree.
Tonight will be the night that changes. Neither of us has work tomorrow. Neither of us has to set an alarm or go home at the crack of dawn to get cleaned up, and I get to have her all to myself. I’d love to say we will talk endlessly and delve deeper into trusting each other, but I really just want to bury myself in her and get lost, forget every other thing from the week and day.
“Nathan—”
I look up and glare at April over the computer I’m seated at. After the other day, I’m strictly enforcing our need to be professional with each other. If there is any chance her reaction toward Dee was due to her feelings for me, I can’t risk her thinking there’s more between us again. I can’t allow her to feel so comfortable with me she thinks she has the right to behave as my superior or Dee’s, either.
“Um, I mean, Dr. Alexander,” she amends, frowning. “I was wondering if we could grab a bite to eat after work. I feel like I’m still trying to play catchup after my three weeks off, and I’d love to go over some cases with you.” She sounds so hopeful, too hopeful.
What the fuck does she think she’s doing? The nurses whispering to themselves a few feet away cut their chatter and glance our way, undoubtedly waiting for my answer. “I’m sorry, Miss Johnson, but I have plans tonight. And I keep my work at work; I don’t see colleagues outside of the hospital privately. You can email me any questions you have when you go through files again this weekend to get caught up.”
“Oh, uh, okay. I’ll do that.”
I look up in time to see the smirks of the two nurses watching before they quickly avert their gazes and start to whisper again. I’m sure this will make for great hospital gossip. But I don’t give a fuck. It may even earn me some points with Dee.
“I look forward to receiving your email and helping in any way I can.” I effectively dismiss her when I look back down at the computer and start typing away in the notes section of this chart. I really need today to end quickly. Shit is getting weird and suffocating around here, and a night out with Dee, followed by a night in, sounds exactly like what the doctor ordered.
After April walks away, I finished my charts and came down to the cafeteria. I have a long surgery this afternoon and I need sustenance. And a break from patients and working for a few moments before I have to refocus and get into a serious headspace.
It’s how I do my best work.
I shut my brain off before a surgery, let my mind and body relax as much as possible, so I don’t get too sore or too tense in a surgery before I’m through.
It’s a great day outside, and the warmth is a nice change to the cold temperature of the operating room. The birds are chirping, families sit at tables with patients in some cases, and discussing patients in other cases. It’s the exact calm I needed, until Storm Cassidee Parker graces me with her ferocious presence.
“What are you doing, changing my therapy protocol without discussing it with me first?” She stops behind the chair across from me, standing with her hands to her hips, head angled down and a look of fighting anger on her face. “Who do you think you are?”
“Last I checked, I’m his doctor. In case you missed it, that gives me the right to change plans and determine course of treatment and recovery.”
“He has been in my care, and he’s making progress, why would you cut my legs out from under me like this? Do you think I’m incapable of my own job?” Her attitude is everything I needed today, and I didn’t even know it.
I very slowly wipe my face and hands with my napkin and smirk up at her. “In case you have forgotten this little detail too—let me remind you—I don’t have to approve my decisions over my patients with anyone, Miss Parker. Especially not with you.”
Her jaw clenches tightly and her eyes blaze holes through me. She’s picking her words carefully and I’m excited to hear them. “You do realize changing notes in the system without discussing them with me could have resulted in my overworking him and hurting him? Professional courtesy, as well as the little do no harm oath you took, should’ve dictated you giving me a heads-up.”
“Now now, Cassidee,” I whisper lowly, making sure nobody is close enough to hear before continuing. “As much as your feisty attitude turns me on, you’re overstepping your bounds here. It is your job to check the charts for any change in diagnosis and prognosis before you begin therapy. And as a probationary employee, you have to double-check. Are we on the same page?”
She opens her mouth to argue, thinks better of it then closes it again, giving into my dominating, authoritative tone and position.
“You could have given me a heads-up. I do check the charts, but the note was buried. I could have hurt him and not even known it. All you had to do was tell me new images showed deterioration.” Her words are softer now, more reasonable and even.
“I was interrupted, or I would have called to inform Miranda and you.” I extend my leg beneath the table and toe the chair in front of her out a little, silently inviting her to take a seat. “I’m glad you caught the note though.”
“Me too.” She pulls the chair out and drops down into it, rubbing the heels of her hands over her makeup-free eyes. She looks beautiful this way, but it’s also a first for her. She has never once shown up here without makeup on.
I lean forward, closing the space between us as much as I can and ask quietly, “You doing okay?”
Her head moves left and right as her only answer.
“I’m going to need more than that, Gorgeous. I can’t help you otherwise.”
Her head snaps up, shock written all over her face.
I’m surprised too. But this frustrating, beautiful woman, who occupies my mind at least ninety-five percent of the time, seems out of sorts, and it’s unusual for her.
“What’s wrong?” I want to reach across the table and take her hand, but I can’t. No, I could, but I won’t. Work and personal life can’t mix anymore than they already are.
She leans in too and clasps her fingers together, laying them over the table beneath her chin. “I woke up late today, was late getting in, had a patient vomit all over me—yay for spare pairs of clothes in the locker—and I’m honestly just done with everything.”
“Then you barely caught my note?”
“Exactly.” Her eyes close and she tilts her head back in the sun, letting its heat warm her face and offer some much-needed calm.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And I’m sorry you’re having such a shit day. Mine has been… Weird.”
“I heard,” she says up toward the sky. “The maybe gay, cold, mean Dr. Alexander shut his assistant down with a wall of freezing cold words.”
Christ the gossips around here are insane.
“People don’t miss a thing, do they?” I raise my bottle of water to my lips, watching her bask until she decides she’s ready to answer.
“Not when people are obvious, no. Did you really wordlessly dismiss her?” She rights her head agai
n and grins at me.
“I don’t date colleagues. My personal life is just that, mine.” I shrug, fighting the grin and wink I want to offer her. But she’s right; people don’t miss obvious clues. “Have you been working with Emily?” I really don’t want to talk shop with her right now, but if we don’t change topics, we may become obvious to any coworkers that happen to be out here.
“Not today yet. She has some scans to do this afternoon, so she’ll be my last stop today. She’s really struggling, and it’s taking a toll on all aspects of her recovery.”
“I’ve noticed that. Does she work with you and do what you ask when you go in?” I read the therapy notes before rounds every day, but there are some things that don’t get put in notes, like a professional’s gut instincts.
“Yes, she does. But…” she stops and rubs her eyes again, “she’s only going through the motions. She does it all right, but I can tell she doesn’t believe it will do anything. Her heart isn’t really in it. She’s giving up on herself.”
“That’s what I was worried about.” I knew she would struggle. She doesn’t have her family here yet and nurses report her coach has only dropped by a few times to check in on her. She’s here all alone, her college softball dreams could potentially be over before they start, and she has a lot of recovery time ahead of her. “I’ll have someone talk to her again.”
“It’s a good idea in theory, but she doesn’t want to talk to a shrink. She has vehemently opposed it, and since she is technically working the program—halfheartedly—she isn’t showing any concerning signs that would require them to step in. She only shuts down more with them in. And she’s adamant she isn’t a child. So Child Life has been refused.”
Patients like her are the most frustrating to have. Not because of them, but because of the situation they’re in and how little you can do without their wanting it. “Do you think you could talk to her, young woman to young woman?”
“I’ll do you one better; I’ll talk to her college athlete to college athlete.” She pushes up from her seat and smiles.
“That’s right, a gymnast at heart.” I start piling my napkins on my tray, knowing I have to head up to prep for surgery and meet with the patient and family in pre-op.
“Exactly.” She gives me the first genuine smile I’ve seen on her today and takes a step, then pauses to look back at me, “I’ll let you know how my time with her went, later…” With the word and implication hanging between us, Cassidee walks away, leaving me fighting off my own genuine grin and thinking about our night to come.
Twenty-Four
Nate
It is my goal to introduce Dee to all of the best places to eat around here, the places that are small, hole-in-the-wall, mom-and-pop restaurants with the best food, the best service, and off the beaten path. Sure, we could go to the big, fancy restaurants. And one day I’ll take her to those, but first she has to know the best, most delicious options.
This date is no exception.
I picked her up at her apartment this time, with the nontraditional gift of Snickers and a card, and have zero intention of taking her home before tomorrow. She looks incredible tonight. Her hair is in waves down her back and her makeup is subtle, but enough to make her eyes pop and dazzle, and her lips look plump and kissable.
Her black dress hugs her body and every curve in the most enticing, revealing—yet fully covered—way. It’s not modest by any means. The low-cut neck shows just the perfect amount of cleavage, and the length is perfectly suited for a night out on the town, but also appropriate for a morning at church. She has balance and thoughtfulness in every bit of her appearance tonight; it’s more than I could’ve even hoped for when I told her what type of outfit to wear.
Tonight’s restaurant is possibly the best steak house in the state. It’s not big or glitzy, it’s off the beaten path—and only the true locals and foodies know it—which is how I found out about it. Thank God for patients who have lived here their whole life and know the best places where you can eat in quiet privacy.
Luke’s Steakhouse is reservation only, business casual or nicer dress code, in a small building decorated with dimmed, mood setting lighting, deep reds coating the walls, and black and white paintings and décor spread throughout.
Since I did his rotator cuff surgery last year, after I’d already been dining here for months, Luke made sure I knew I was always welcome here. I even have a special table he makes sure is always open for me when I make a reservation.
“This place is incredible,” Dee says, once we are seated and she can really look around and take it all in. “How did you find it?” She slides her fingers gently over the black tablecloth and repositions her white napkin-bundled-silverware.
“It’s the best kept secret in town as far as steak houses. Around a year and a half ago, I had a patient who was well-off, a professional athlete, who told me about it. I started coming in for the privacy and the quiet, and then I got to know Luke.”
She glances down at the menu, then back up to me. “Luke as in the owner of this place?”
“The one and only,” I confirm. “He noticed I kept coming back and came out to introduce himself to me one night. We started talking and built a bit of a relationship. We don’t do the buddy-buddy go out for drinks thing, but I did a rotator cuff surgery for him last year, and he makes sure I always get this table and my choice of all the best cuts and bottles when I come in.”
“Wow.” She takes in the room again, focusing more on the artwork adorning the walls than the whole aesthetic. “You’re special. So, I guess that makes me special tonight, too.” She shifts her attention back to me and looks pleased, even excited.
“You’re always special.” Our waitress appears as quietly as possible, filling water glasses for us, then informs us Luke is having his best bottle of sweet white—courtesy of my calling ahead about our date—and his best scotch opened for us.
“You’re too sweet. Did you do all this? The wine, the scotch, all of the extra actions by the waitstaff?” She crooks an eye up and almost glares me down.
“I told Luke I was bringing a date, a very special woman, in tonight. He asked a few questions and did the rest of this based on my answers. He’s good people, and he takes care of his best customers.” I raise a shoulder nonchalantly. “Luke also knows I don’t bring dates with me often.”
“I thought you only kept your personal life personal at the hospital? Do you not share with anyone, ever?”
“I share, but I don’t bring just anyone here. It’s not a place I want everyone knowing about. I like the quiet seclusion it offers. And believe me, Luke is doing very well with his clientele in here; he doesn’t need the masses coming in and changing his place either. So I’m not being selfish and backhandedly wishing harm on him.”
“I really am special?” Her smile brightens up the whole damn table and warms from the space between us straight through to my heart.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“So you trusting me, defending me the other day… You really do feel that way and weren’t just saying it because we had spent the night together?”
I can see where she would think sex was clouding my judgment, but I wouldn’t let it when it comes to my patients. They are innocent parties who should never be affected by or subjected to any backlash from my personal life. “Not at all. And I never will. Like I told you on day one, if you fuck up, I will report you. It’s not spite, nor arrogance. It’s not being cruel nor using this, us, to control you. I just won’t ever tolerate my patients being put through harm or being mistreated.”
“I understand and respect that.” She reaches over the table, taking initiative and making the first move of the night, and covers my hand with hers. “I won’t hurt your patients. Never out of negligence or carelessness. Accidents happen, to everyone, but I take all precautions I can to ensure they are minimized.”
I flip my hand beneath hers and tickle my fingers lightly along her wrist. “I know.
That’s why I trust you. You’ve proven in the little time you’ve been here you know what you’re doing, and you’re damn good at it. Who am I to question the clear evidence that’s been shown to me and every other doc you’ve worked with?”
“You’re a good doctor who won’t rest on the past alone. It’s enough to earn your trust now, but I need to continue proving to you who I am, in and out of the hospital, for you to continue to build trust in me in both areas.”
Her words are pointed and can’t be confused for anything else. It’s clear what she wants. What she doesn’t know, though, is I’m already falling into the hole of no return. There is no tangible evidence for me to trust her, but I do. “You know, I think you’ve already garnered more trust—in and out—than you think.”
“How did I manage that?” She thanks our waitress politely for our drinks and asks for another few minutes to look over the menu, then looks back to me to answer her. She’s an amazing woman. Her attention is on our date. Her phone is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t speak down to waitstaff, or anyone. Everyone is treated with the highest respect in her encounters. I’ve seen it at the hospital, at the carnival with the little kids, at the restaurants we’ve been to. She is the most genuine person.
“By being you.” I can’t explain it all to her, but based on the quizzical expression on her face, I’m going to need to try. “I’ve watched you, Dee. I watch you at the hospital when you don’t think I’m around. I watched you at the carnival when you interacted with every parent, child, coworker, and everyone in between with the most respect and kindness imaginable. I see you talking to waitstaff here, at the last restaurant. And you have yet to ask me a single question about Xavier. Not one. At least, not one where we weren’t already talking about my family as a whole. You’ve shown genuine interest and never once have gotten excited or carried away by my famous hockey playing brother or anything else.”
Doctor Desirable: A Hero Club Novel Page 18
