Samson

by Marie James

  “He’s a child,” I tell her when I can still feel her eyes burning into the side of my face.

  I refuse to look at her. Doing so would only add fuel to her fire, and that’s the last thing she needs. She’s more than capable of stoking her own damn fires without any help from me.

  “So you weren’t walking with that extra sway in your hips for him?”

  I finally meet her eyes, finding them shining with humor as she teases me.

  “I didn’t have an extra sway in my hips,” I counter, but when I think back to a mere few seconds ago, I know that she’s right.

  Reacting that way to him is weird for me. Men aren’t on my radar, especially boys who think they can drop a few cheesy lines and make women swoon over them. Swooning is stupid. Swooning is for girls who have nothing better to do with their time. I’m a third-year resident, specializing in obstetrics with the goal of eventually going into obstetrical oncology. I don’t have time for boys and their stupid pick-up lines. It doesn’t matter if they’re said with a grin so sexy that dimples pop out on both of his cheeks. I have better things to do.

  “Yes, you did,” she challenges.

  “Can we focus on today’s work?” I’m impatient, and I know she can tell. We’ve been friends since pre-med at Columbia, and some days I wish she would’ve gotten a residency on the east coast instead of lucking out and getting one back home with me.

  “Go ahead and pretend that man didn’t get you revved up. Tonight’s margarita night, and once you’re a little sauced, I know you’ll talk then.” She places emphasis on the word man, which I know is another jab and reminder that although most of my memories of Samson Donovan are from when he was a little boy, there’s nothing childish about his salacious grin or the cords of muscles that were pulling his t-shirt ridiculously tight. I shake my head in an attempt to rid it of everything Samson Donovan.

  “Update me on Mrs. Hendricks,” I urge, attempting to change the subject back to work. When distracted, my friend will go on and on about absolutely nothing.

  Charli is getting off shift and will no doubt head home and get a nap in before making sure the margaritas are fresh when I get off shift in twelve hours.

  “The Terbutaline seems to have stopped the pre-term labor, but Dr. Hunter wants to keep her here for another day to make sure it passes. He’s concerned since her heart rate dipped when we first administered the meds.”

  I nod, following along with the notes on the tablet.

  “Mrs. Epstein is a different story.”

  It takes another twenty minutes for Charli to update me on the other patients on the floor, and by the time she’s done, Dr. Hunter strolls up and expects me to update him. Although Samson and those stupid dimples are trapped in my head, I manage to regurgitate all the information he’s looking for without looking like an idiot. I owe it all to working well under pressure and the long, unrelenting hours in medical school. The constant lack of sleep has become second nature.

  “It’s margarita night, right?” Dr. Hunter asks as he types in a few notes after rounding on the patients.

  “Huh?” I heard the question, but I’m floored that the attending doctor knows that Charli and I celebrate each week we successfully complete in our residency with a pitcher or two of margaritas.

  “Margarita night,” he repeats, not once looking up from the tablet he’s holding.

  “Yes,” I answer, looking down at my own tablet so I don’t have to look up at him.

  The man is brilliant, gorgeous, and so far out of my league. I know the little crush I have on him has more to do with what he’s able to teach me rather than chemical or sexual attraction. I can appreciate his external beauty, but it’s the experience and educational potential that really makes him irresistible.

  Is he flirting with me?

  I chance a glance up from my tablet to find that he has completed his notes, and he’s grinning down at me. Plush lips peek out from his neatly trimmed beard, but it’s the gray speckling the dark hair that makes me remember that he’s as old as my father. He’s all man — the complete opposite of the boy who tried to flirt his way into a conversation with me earlier.

  “Dr. Davison?” His eyebrows lift, and I immediately know he’s asked something or said my name more than once.

  I feel like an idiot, standing in front of this amazing man while thinking about Samson.

  “What?” Heat races up my neck, and I pray I can get away from him before the blush reaches my cheeks. I hate being so fair-skinned. Everyone knows exactly what I’m feeling.

  “I asked when I was going to get an invite to margarita night.”

  I swallow thickly, my mind racing to come up with an excuse. He can’t be flirting with me. The man is usually stoic, polite, but very professional. Maybe since he’s such good friends with my dad, he’s more comfortable around me? I sure hope not, because other than working with him, I have no desire to cross any lines with him. I’ve seen it happen more than once. Residents getting tangled up with their superiors never ends well. At least it didn’t with Annette. She was another friend from college that finished medical school and was in a surgeon’s bed by the end of her first rotation. She was in love; he wasn’t. He’s still a surgeon bedding every woman he can, and she never made it through her first year of residency.

  “We, uh…” I shift on my feet as I try to think of an excuse to shoot him down. “We drink really crappy tequila. You’re probably used to top-shelf. It’s not that we can’t afford top-shelf, but we decided that we won’t drink good margaritas until we finish our residency. So it’s another eighteen months of horrible tequi—”

  I pause my rambling when I feel his hand on my lab coat covered arm.

  “Camryn.” His eyes are alight with humor and a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

  He pulls his hand back immediately when I look down at the contact on my arm. I’m not trying to issue a warning, but that doesn’t keep him from taking a full step back before he continues speaking.

  “I was joking. Drinking margaritas with my students, even if they were made with top-shelf tequila, would be a bad idea.”

  “I agree.” I nod, but relief isn’t so quick to calm my nerves.

  This day has gone from strange to weird to oh my God what’s going on. First, Samson Donovan riled me up with his ridiculous attempts at flirting. Dr. Hunter has never had a conversation with me about anything other than medicine yet, now he’s talking about margarita night and touching me on the arm? Am I in the twilight zone, because none of this is normal.

  I’m seconds away from making excuses to distance myself from this entire situation when Dr. Hunter’s phone chirps from his pocket. Something akin to relief washes over his own face when he reaches to check the message.

  “I was afraid of that,” Dr. Hunter says after reading the message. “Mrs. Hendricks is having arrhythmias. Let’s get to work, Dr. Davison.”

  And just like that, he’s back on his professional game. Now if Samson would stay away from the hospital, things could go back to normal.

  Chapter 3

  Samson

  “Appreciate it,” Tug says when I hand him a beer.

  There are several Cerberus guys hanging around the clubhouse this afternoon, but Tug, the newest guy to come on board, seems more laid back than the others. I can’t imagine what they do when they go on missions, but it normally leaves all of them incredibly serious and introspective when they get back.

  “No problem,” I tell him as I take a seat on the couch and tilt my own beer to my lips.

  Hanging out in the clubhouse is new for me, but Hound and Gigi live here with their little girl Amelia, so it’s a little more welcoming for those of us that only entered the building as kids when we were having large family get-togethers or holiday parties.

  “How’s the baby?” I ask Gigi when she enters the room.

  She places a baby monitor on the side table before climbing into Hound’s lap.

  “She’s good. She’s getti
ng a better schedule now that Jameson is home.”

  I nod, pretending like I have a clue about baby schedules and the needs of an infant.

  My sister Delilah looks up at Lawson with a soft smile, and I wonder how long it will be before those two have children. If I’m being honest, I thought it would’ve happened by now. They are stupid in love, and babies just seem like the next step, even though they aren’t married yet.

  “Where’s Ivy?” I ask after realizing I’ve been back from the hospital for over an hour. Griffin went straight back to his house, which I expected since we rode in silence the entire way home. I couldn’t get a good read on his mood, but I figured he wasn’t in a place to socialize with everyone.

  “She’s working at the high school. They needed help with summer school.” Delilah rolls her eyes, but I know there isn’t any real irritation there. “She’ll be home in a few hours. At least we’ll get to say goodbye.”

  Lawson holds her tighter when emotion fills her voice. My sister and Ivy chose to go to college on the other side of the country, and I’ve always wondered if they got homesick. Now I have my answer.

  Cannon saunters in with a wide grin on his face and his arm wrapped around a pretty blonde girl. This must be Ivy’s friend from college. Ivy’s mom told me about her earlier before I took Griffin to the hospital for his appointment.

  “You must be Samson,” the blonde says as she frees herself from Cannon’s embrace and holds her hand out to me. The wink is a little over the top, but I’m used to flirty girls. “I’m Melissa, Ivy’s friend from school.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I tell her, shaking her hand briefly before pulling my beer from between my legs to take a long swig.

  My sister shakes her head when Melissa winks at me again before taking a seat beside Cannon on the sofa opposite of the one I’m sitting on with Tug.

  “How uh,” Cannon looks around the room, assessing who is around before continuing, “how did the appointment go?”

  “We made it on time,” I tell Griffin’s brother without going into detail.

  “Sweet.” I’m grateful he doesn’t ask more. I know he’s curious about his brother, but at least he’s smart enough not to discuss him in mixed company.

  “I ran into Cam Davison on the elevator.” I cringe, realizing my change of subject only opens me up for more taunting.

  “She’s hot,” Gigi says. Hound grunts in response and I have no idea how to judge what it means.

  “Still?” Delilah asks, and my head jerks in her direction.

  “What?” I tilt my beer once again, but my lips still curl up in a smile around the opening.

  “You still have the hots for her?”

  I shrug. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “She’s out of your league,” my twin reminds me.

  “I love a challenge.”

  Lawson chuckles beside her, but his arms flex like he’s trying to warn her about the direction the conversation is heading.

  “She’s a doctor,” Delilah says, unswayed by her man.

  “A hot doctor,” Gigi adds.

  “A hot doctor?” Tug grins as he looks around the room. My opinion about him is changing quickly.

  “Back off,” I warn, doing my best to tamp down my irrational anger with his question.

  “The hottest,” Gigi continues even though Hound is frowning at her. “She has legs for days, and every time she smiles, it’s like she has a secret she doesn’t plan on sharing with anyone else.”

  “Way to objectify another woman,” Delilah mutters before turning her head in my direction. “There’s more to her than good looks and long legs. She’s brilliant, and one of the nicest women I’ve ever met.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that? I know she’s smart.” I glare at my sister. A room full of people or not, I’m agitated that she thinks I only see Camryn as a piece of meat. She’s the woman of my dreams. I’d be damn lucky to land a chick like her. My brain frazzles a little with the reminder that I don’t really date. I’m a pleasure seeker, and seeing Cam today just catapulted her to the very top of my list.

  “She’s not a toy.” My sister narrows her eyes, and as much as I’d like to argue about my intentions, she’s heard one too many stories about my exploits at school for me to easily convince her that I’d be a solid choice for the good doctor.

  “She’s a grown woman,” I argue instead. “I imagine she’s perfectly capable of making her own choices.”

  Gigi laughs. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

  “Hey,” Hound grunts, gaining everyone’s attention. “Think you can take a break?”

  We all follow his eyes. Cannon and Melissa are going at each other so heavily, I wonder if they’re in a race to see who can eat the other’s face the fastest. When they don’t pull apart, I flick my beer cap at them. Cannon pulls away and glares as his hand reaches up to touch the side of his face where he was struck.

  “What?” He glares around the room, trying to figure out who just popped him.

  “Can we keep it PG?” Hound says as his eyes dart across the room.

  “PG?” a young, dark-haired girl asks as she walks up. “That’s no fun.”

  “Izzy,” Hound warns. “Behave.”

  I’m trying to decide if the girl is even old enough to be in the clubhouse (the club has strict 18+ rules) when Hound clears his throat. My eyes turn to his, and I find him glaring at me.

  “Samson meet my daughter Izzy.”

  “Daughter?” I squeak. He doesn’t have to say another word. I’ve got everything in check when I look back over at her.

  “Adult daughter,” she says as she offers her hand to me.

  Tug laughs beside me, but Hound doesn’t take his eyes off me until Izzy releases my hand and crosses the room to sit in the lone recliner between the two sofas.

  “Barely,” Hound grunts, which causes Gigi to slap at his chest.

  “Leave her alone.” Hound glares at his woman, but she doesn’t cower away like I feel I would be doing. There’s a challenge in her eyes as well.

  “Okay,” he says simply, but the smile that crosses Gigi’s face tells me she just got exactly what she was looking for. She wiggles in his lap, and as a man, I know exactly what’s going on over there.

  “Gross,” Izzy says softly which causes another chuckle to ring out around the room.

  Conversation turns to school, and I water down my reasons for staying home this next year and taking online classes since Izzy is here. I don’t imagine Hound would grin as wide as Griffin did when I spoke of my extra-curricular activities this morning on our ride to the hospital.

  All too soon, Ivy shows up, and that seems to be the cue that everyone was waiting for. I have to admit seeing Lawson carry his and Delilah’s luggage to the waiting SUV, makes my throat clog up. I chat with my twin all the time, and there usually isn’t a solid day that goes by that we don’t talk, email, or text, but I haven’t gotten to see her much since Christmas, and I’m suddenly regretting the rave I went to instead of heading home right after the semester was over, especially since it ended the way it did.

  Griffin doesn’t come out to say goodbye, but everyone seems to understand. Plus, Ivy is staying behind at least until summer school is over.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Delilah whispers in my ear as she hugs me one last time.

  “Who?” I pull back but keep my arms around her back.

  “Camryn.” There’s a warning in her eyes, and I can tell she’s serious. “She’s a really good person.”

  “You don’t have to remind me. I know how great she is.”

  She frowns, not thinking I’m sincere.

  Sighing, I close my eyes for a brief second before turning my attention back to her.

  “I have no intention of hurting Camryn Davison.”

  “Good.” She gives me a brief peck on the cheek before saying goodbyes to everyone else. I walk away before people can see how hard it is to watch my sister leave once again. Besides, I have p
lans to make and a girl to win over. All of that will take a lot of time and planning.

  Chapter 4

  Camryn

  I can’t keep the grin off my face as I exit the patient’s room. Although Stacey is young, she’s determined to be the best mother that she can be. Spina bifida is difficult for everyone involved, but her single-minded focus on her son leads me to believe that Jacob is in the best possible hands.

  I’m also thrilled that even after half of a pitcher of margaritas, I still didn’t cave and talk about Samson to Charli, even after hours of relentless begging. How could I talk about a person who I still pictured as a little boy until I saw him on the elevator two days ago? My ability to keep my mouth shut didn’t, however, stave off the hangover I’ve been suffering from all day. My recovery time after drinking too much seems to take much longer than they did in my pre-med years.

  With my fingers to my temple, I cringe when my cell phone alerts in my pocket. Most days I’m thrilled to be here, full of energy and able to bounce from one page to the next, but I’m dragging today.

  Please report to the nurse’s station on 5.

  My brow furrows at the request. Obstetrics is on the sixth floor, so it makes no sense for me to leave my floor to go to the floor dedicated to general surgery. I opt for the stairs rather than the elevator, afraid one of the patients admitted for another reason is in dire need of an OB. I hit the floor at a run, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum when I see a man bent over the nurse’s station.

  Emily’s girlish giggle floats my direction just as the man stands and turns in my direction.

  Samson Donovan.

  The man-child has both dimples on display, and I’m loath to admit his wide smile, showcasing perfectly white teeth, makes me feel things I shouldn’t. This is getting out of hand.

  Bypassing him, I lean on the counter, forced into waving my hands in front of Emily’s face to get her to pull her gaze from the man standing so close, I can feel the heat of his body through my own clothes.

  “Hey, Dr. Davison,” the nurse says in greeting before her eyes dart right back to Samson.