Surrender to the Stars: An Enemies to Lovers, Hospital Romance

by Swati MH

  Gross. “So, let me get this straight. You are hoping for a preemie to have a possible bone injury because you want to flirt with the orthopedic surgeon?” I shove off a weird pricking in my chest.

  “I mean . . . not like a bad injury. Geez. I’m not heartless!” She huffs like I’m the one who’s short a few marbles. “Anyway, he came over here that day. You’d already left for the evening, but I think he was looking for you.” She turns back to her computer as if the conversation is over, but I don’t miss when she mutters under her breath, “God knows why.”

  She’s only telling me this now. “Um . . . okay. What did he want?”

  Becca raises her lids and crawls her eyes up my body, clearly unimpressed with what she sees. “Hell if I know.” She shrugs. “He asked about your schedule for the week. I almost gave him my schedule instead.” She giggles with a wink.

  Mystery solved as to how he found out I wasn’t working this weekend.

  With my eyes throwing daggers at her, I walk into the nurses’ lounge, counting my breaths to avoid getting fired for acts of violence.

  After setting up the new preemie under the phototherapy machine, rounding on my other patients, and updating the charts and paperwork, I’m ready to be done for the day. I find Lynn in the nurses’ lounge also getting ready to leave.

  “Hey! Want to grab something to eat or do you need to go home?” she asks when she sees me taking my things out of the locker.

  I could really use some girl time, and Lynn and I haven’t really caught up since the big debacle on Tuesday. “Yeah, I’d like that. Let me send my dad a message to see if he’s doing okay and to let him know there are leftovers for him in the fridge.” I type out a message to Dad as I walk toward the door. “I do need to get home at a reasonable time, though. I have an early morning thing tomorrow.”

  She raises her eyebrow, watching me slip the phone back into my purse. I pretend not to notice her questioning gaze as we both walk toward the exit. “An early morning thing? That sounds . . . cryptic. Are you referring to an early morning bang with the Major? Ooh, then you could say, ‘I saw a major boner this morning!’” She giggles at her own joke.

  I scrunch my nose at her, grimacing, while making a mental note to keep my mouth shut more. “No, not that kind of thing. It’s nothing really.” I touch the tip of my ear, feeling like it’s burning. “I’m just going surfing tomorrow morning.”

  “That sounds fun. Are you going alone?”

  I push the down arrow for the elevator before scratching my neck, even though it’s not itching. “Kind of. I mean, no.” I shake my head. “I’m going with a friend--sort of a friend, actually.”

  What the hell am I blathering on about?

  Lynn side-eyes me as we get into the elevator. “What are you not telling me, Cassie?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you rubbed your ear, and you always do that when you’re being weird . . . or secretive.”

  I immediately bring my hands to my sides. “No! What?” A strange sound emerges from my throat--a cross between a cough and a grunt. “I’m not being weird. You’re being weird.”

  “Right . . .” Lynn drags out the word as if she’s speaking to someone who might be slightly off their rocker. In this case, she may not be wrong. “So you’re going surfing with a ‘sort-of,’ ‘kind of’ friend. Got it.”

  Keeping my eyes affixed to the descending floor numbers on the elevator panel, I clutch the strap of my bag tighter and decide to keep my mouth shut. I’m not going to clarify anything more for her at the moment--because there is nothing more--so I consider ways to change the subject. “So, did you cut it off with that guy who kept sending you pictures of his abs?”

  She jabs her index into my bicep, getting my attention, and squints her eyes at me. “I know you’re trying to change the subject and because I love you, I’m going to let you. Just know that we’re merely putting a pin in this conversation for now.” She scans my face to see if I’ll give her any more. When I don’t, she continues, “And yeah, Ab-man was weird. But I’m still seeing the other guy, Trent, who’s really nice!”

  “That’s great!” I smile at her, relieved to be let off the hook.

  “We should do a double date sometime. You and Major and me and Trent!” Lynn claps her hands together.

  “That sounds fun.” I shove past images of the four of us lumbering through awkward and forced conversation.

  “Now, tell me you’re in the mood for tacos tonight.”

  10

  Vik

  If today isn’t reason enough for me to move back to California, I don’t know what is. It’s half past six in the morning and aside from the handful of people walking on the wet sand, Oceanside beach looks pristine, almost picturesque. I admonish myself for missing the sunrise by only a few minutes because there’s nothing quite like watching the world slowly illuminate and be set into motion.

  The sky is painted in shades of bright oranges and soft yellows, as if it’s been set on fire, and a beam of sunlight streams across the ocean as the waves rush toward the shore, carrying the golden rays. The cool morning breeze carries the smell of salt, sand, and fish as it lifts the various seabirds in search of breakfast. There’s a serenity here--amidst the rhythmic sound of the ocean waves--that can’t be found anywhere else. Certainly not in the concrete jungle of New York.

  I’m spellbound watching the water charge toward my toes before retreating back to the vast sea when I hear shuffling to my right. When I turn toward the sound, I realize yet another reason to move back to California--Cassie in a red bikini. Good God! I think my mouth simultaneously dries and drools at the same time. She’s somehow short-circuited my brain so that even though I’m begging myself to stop staring, my eyes aren’t quite interpreting the message.

  She looks absolutely mind-blowing. Her creamy white skin glows against the red fabric while wisps of brown hair come loose from the ponytail high on her head. She may be pocket-sized in height but there is nothing small about her curves--and right now, there is nothing pocket-sized about the bulge growing in my board shorts. She fills out the bikini as if it was custom-made for her. “H-hey,” I stammer before clearing my throat and hoping she keeps her eyes above my waist. “You’re not going to get cold in that?” I motion toward the tiny pieces of fabric on her body with my finger. Even with the long-sleeved swim-shirt I’m wearing, the cool ocean breeze manages to bite through to my skin.

  Cassie moves her surfboard to the side and I notice a small tattoo under her left breast. It’s an intricately-drawn feather with the letters A.G. in beautiful cursive on the quill. My gaze traces her body and slowly roams back to her face, seeing a flush crawl up her cheeks. “It’ll warm up soon enough.” She motions to the water, pulling her eyes from mine. “Looks like you’re as mesmerized by the waves as your cousin.”

  Something else currently has me mesmerized.

  I nod, dragging my sight from her and back in the direction of the sea. I set down my towel before pulling out my flip-flops and picking up my surfboard--one of the only things I brought back when I went to Santa Monica. “I don’t get to enjoy it enough, but I could sit here for hours.”

  “Avni and I have spent entire days here.”

  I hear the forlornness in her voice, a tightness rising to the surface. I know how much she misses Avni. “How often do you guys get to come here now?”

  She shrugs and puts her handbag, towel, and sandals near my pile in the sand. “She comes here every month or so, but we don’t always make it out to the beach. She’s supposed to come here for a long weekend in August with Clark, so maybe I’ll drag them out here.” Slathering some sunscreen on her arms and legs, she nods toward the ocean again. “Do you know how to surf pretty well?”

  “I’m not a pro, but I can manage. When did you learn to surf?”

  “My dad taught me when I was in high school. His foster family had a house near the beach, and he and his foster siblings used to go swimming and surfing all th
e time. He used to be really good.”

  “Nice. Do you still come out to surf with him?”

  “No.” Without further explanation, she grabs her surfboard and hurries toward the water. Interesting. Clearly, mentioning her dad has her walls going up again. I store that in my memory to ask a little more about later before following her.

  Cassie was right during our text conversation--the waves are absolutely perfect for surfing at this time of day. There’s a perfect swell to the water, and we catch some great high tides on our boards. Initially, her teeth chatter as she gets adjusted to the temperature but after several times of paddling father out and then wiping out near the beach, we’re both warmed up.

  I watch Cassie skillfully climb atop her board and steady her feet as she catches a wave. She’s perfectly in sync with the water like she belongs in the ocean--and way better than me. While I’ve caught some good waves and wiped out a few times, I don’t hurry to get back on my board each time. Instead, I paddle close enough to her so I can watch her ride a high breaking tide. It’s the only chance I have to openly gawk at her unnoticed. The toned muscles of her thighs strain as she balances on the moving surface, her abs sucked in tight. She’s a sight to be seen.

  For the rest of the time in the water, we stay pretty close together, shouting at each other to paddle farther out or get ready to pop up on the board. By mid-morning, when the sun is beating down on us, Cassie motions over at me, pointing to the beach. I follow after her, noticing her slender shoulders and the water droplets glistening on her skin. After drying off, we lay out the towels and sit together with our knees up, facing the ocean. Even though our thighs gently press against each other, neither of us move to pull them apart. Our breaths come out ragged from the adrenaline pumping through our veins, but mine is intensified by the press of her wet skin against mine--smooth and warm. Cassie takes her hair out of her ponytail and runs her hand through it as I watch the movement.

  “Is my debt cleared yet?” she asks, bumping my shoulder with hers and smiling at me. It might be the first time I’ve actually seen her smile, and even though I want to stare at the way her luscious pink lips frame her perfect teeth, I don’t, fearing she’ll realize it and go back to the grimace she usually reserves just for me. I like this playful side of her, especially because it’s something she doesn’t show often.

  I shrug, surveying the infinite pool of blue. “If you want it to be.” I hope you don’t.

  A few silent beats pass between us as we watch other surfers paddle farther. I’m sure she’s searching for excuses to leave, given that I’ve let her off the hook.

  I finally break the silence, fixing my gaze on the ocean. My voice floats across the breeze like it’s coming from a different direction. I’m generally not an emotional person, so it even surprises me when the words slip out. “Why do you hate me?”

  Her face snaps to mine and I reluctantly turn to meet her furrowed gaze. She looks torn, like she doesn’t know how to respond. “Vik, I don’t hate you. I just . . .. You just put me on edge.”

  Then, just jump, little firecracker.

  My gaze slides to the lip she’s tucked under her teeth before traveling slowly back and locking with her dark caramel eyes. Little flecks of gold float in them like fireflies above a dark lake. She looks abashed at her admission and before I can stop them, my fingers reach for her lip, urging it out of its clasp. Her throat bobs as she swallows thickly, watching the entire movement. I’m positive that she’s contemplating running, and I wouldn’t blame her because I’m sure I resemble the wolf begging to be set free inside of me. I’ve inadvertently leaned in closer to her, enough to be able to feel her warm, rapid breaths on my cheek. My voice comes out as barely a whisper above the sound of the waves. “Why?”

  A little gasp escapes her as she searches my eyes--as if the answer lies within them--before averting her gaze from me toward the horizon, her face flushed, her hair whipping the air. As if she’s found the answer in the waves curling near the shore, she turns back toward me. “Because you’re . . . cocky and charming, and you have trouble written all over your face. I just . . . I don’t trust you.”

  Surely she can see the small smile twitching on my lips as I lean into her again, feeling the wisps of her wet hair slapping my cheek. I breathe in the hint of coconut mixed with the smell of the ocean clinging to her. “And you shouldn’t,” I rasp. “Because if you had even an inkling of the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you . . . you’d be running.” My lips are barely an inch away from hers, as if siphoned toward a force field. “But let me ask you something, my little firecracker . . .. Do you trust yourself when you’re with me?”

  Almost as if she’s been drawn toward the same magnet, she tilts her head slightly so the tip of her nose grazes my cheek, sending a bolt of electricity down my spine and into my shorts. It’s the barest of touches, but it has me praying she’ll never stop. How can such an insignificant movement have such colossal effects? I almost shake myself, sure that my imagination is getting the better of me, when her nose slides down to my neck, sending every synapse in my brain into overdrive.

  I’m pretty sure we’ve both forgotten my question.

  Every sense, every hair, every organ in my body is on high alert, as if facing a physical threat. When I feel the softness of her cheek against my scruff and the sound of her ragged breaths--in contradiction to the one I’m holding--I have to fist my hands so I don’t combust on the spot.

  Does she even know what she’s doing?

  I’ve never been more afraid to move, frozen solid under the heat of the sun. My body begs me to find release, to push her to the sand, rip her tiny bikini bottom off, and bury myself inside her. I need physical restraint, a vise to keep me from doing what I’ve wanted to do for so fucking long. My nails dig into my palms and it takes all of my will power to stop my hands from grabbing her.

  I’ve held it together since the first time I saw her, but one movement of her against my neck has me seconds away from losing control. And once I do, there’s no going back. She’d be in the wolf’s jaws.

  Do the right thing here, asshole.

  I decide to read her the fine print before she signs on the dotted line. “Cassie . . .” My voice comes out hoarse, a witness to the physical torture barely contained in my body. “If you keep that up, I won’t, even for a second, regret showing you why you shouldn’t trust me, but I’m pretty sure you will.”

  She stiffens, as if she’s been shaken out of a trance. I thought I was the only one losing control, but it seems she was right there with me.

  Clearing her throat and sliding away from me--creating some much-needed distance for the both of us--she turns back to the ocean. I can still see her chest heaving, trying to slow the turbo engine that is her heart. She starts to get up, her voice shaky and her cheeks the color of poppies. “I . . . I’m sorry about uh . . .. I should really get going.”

  Oh, hell no. I’ll be damned if I let her run away like a furtive squirrel. I grab her hand, pull her gently back down next to me, and study her hesitant honey-glazed eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” I say, willing my breathing to steady. “We’re good. That was more me than you anyway.”

  “But--”

  “Cassie,” I plead. “Please . . . don’t go.”

  She tentatively sits back down and I reluctantly let go of her hand, not wanting to increase the awkwardness between us. Even though there’s a battle waging inside of her, I’m not entirely convinced that she doesn’t want to be here. She clears her throat again. “Um . . . I brought some snacks if you’re hungry.”

  I’m fucking ravenous, but there’s only one thing that’ll satisfy me.

  “Yeah. That would be great.”

  Reaching for her handbag, she takes out two wraps, a bag of chips, and a bag of gummy worms. It’s impressive how much she’s stuffed into such a small purse. “Are you vegetarian like Avni, too?”

  “No, I eat everything but beef.” I smile, ey
eing her bag. “I’m just waiting to see if you’ll pull out an umbrella and a coat hanger from that thing like Mary Poppins.”

  She giggles, a windchime against the breeze. “Here.” She hands me something covered in parchment paper. “That’s a turkey and vegetable wrap for you.”

  “Thanks.” I unwrap it and take a bite. “What would you have done if I’d said I was vegetarian?”

  She takes a bite of her own, then shrugs. “I guess I would have taken the meat off and handed it to you. Beggars, choosers, and all that.”

  A little speck of cream cheese smudges the corner of her mouth and before my mind catches up with my actions, I reach out and thumb it. And just like that, that familiar fever burns in her eyes again, like a cat on the hunt, as she watches me lick the cheese off my thumb.

  Why do I keep touching her lips? And why does it feel like she wants me to?

  I have never wanted to kiss someone more, to taste them from head to toe. From her sultry lips to her glistening skin, every inch of her begs to be worshipped before being devoured. She’s making me feel deranged, completely unsure of my every move. Do I give a big fuck you to the consequences and work on instinct, or do I pretend to be the gentleman she knows I’m not? Every moment with her is my undoing and I’m not sure how long I can hold myself together. Making a decision to change the subject quickly before I end up doing something rash, I lift up my half-eaten wrap. “This is really good.”

  A look--perhaps disappointment mirroring my own--passes over her before she schools it. “Glad you like it.”

  Flittering to a vision of Cassie and Avni coming here during the summer, eating wraps and laying in the sun, I wonder why we hadn’t met before? My family came here often over the years and I’d certainly heard of Cassie, but what would it have been like to have known her growing up? Would she have trusted me more? Would I have made it to her list of people she likes hanging out with without feeling like it was an obligation?