by C. M. Stone
“Is there a problem with it?”
“No, it’s fine.” She climbed in and smoothed out her skirt. “I was just surprised. Usually I see other doctors driving Mercedes and BMWs.”
“Actually, I think Jags are in fashion this year.” The radio hummed to life with the engine, and he turned it back down. “But keeping to some image like that never really appealed to me. I like to stick with what works.”
“Oh.” She looked around the interior of the car, nodding slowly. “That seems very sensible.”
Sensible. The word sounded perfectly complimentary, but it chafed. Did he really want to be seen as sensible? It was the last thing he wanted to hear from a beautiful woman, followed closely by declaring him just like a brother.
Not that it’s a date, he reminded himself.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, searching his mind for a new topic. Something that took the focus off of him. All he could think of was how she looked, but that wasn’t appropriate to talk about, was it? It wouldn’t be…sensible. Damn it.
“Your hair looks different. Did you cut it?”
She blinked and then her lips slowly drew up in a shy smile. “A friend of mine did it. While yelling at me about how badly I’d treated my hair before.”
He chuckled. “I thought it looked fine before, but this is…nice.”
She turned in her seat to face him as much as she could without taking off her seatbelt. That teasing look in her eyes made it difficult to keep focused on the road. “Only nice?”
“I could come up with a few more adjectives for it if you want, but I’m not exactly an expert on describing hair. Nice is probably the best you’re going to get.”
“Then I’ll take what I can get.” There was a slight breathiness to her voice, like she was holding back a laugh, but it made him think of other ways he could make her breathless.
The drive to Cascata Golf Course took a little over half an hour, dragged out in part because of afternoon traffic. In a way, he found the traffic to be a blessing. It held his attention captive, making it easier to keep his eyes and thoughts off Darla beside him.
As they took the winding road to the front gates, she gasped in shock and leaned forward as if that would give her a clearer view. “This is it?”
The clubhouse was tucked up into the Black Hills of the River Mountains, surrounded by desert on all sides. Yet despite that, a man-made waterfall over four hundred feet tall came cascading down the side of the course’s mountain backdrop, running off into a river that meandered through the property before passing through the club house itself. Afternoon light bathed the mission-style buildings in a golden glow, punctuated by the deep shadows created by the hills themselves.
He gave her a crooked smile, raising one brow. “Gotta make donors feel like they’re getting their money’s worth. Philanthropy is nice, but expensive liquor opens wallets.”
“How do they even get the water for a place like this out here?”
He shrugged. “You’d have to ask my sister. She keeps up on all the water usage and rights. She’s got a couple of angry rants about this place, I imagine.”
As volunteers, they were directed to the employee parking, leaving the valet lot for the donors and honored guests. He opened the car door for Darla, then offered her his hand to help her out. The touch of her fingers curling around his palm sent an unexpected jolt of awareness through his body. Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. Surely, she had to be feeling the same draw he was. The urge to taste her lips and feel her body against his came on him in full force. Rather than leading her to the clubhouse, he took a step closer to her and brushed one of her dark curls off her shoulder. His fingers lingered there, then trailed up the side of her neck.
Another car pulling into the lot broke the spell, reminding him of where they were and, more importantly, who they were. Jackson drew back abruptly. Darla’s brows drew together in confusion, before hurt flashed in her eyes.
“Dr. White is coordinating the intern volunteers. We’d better find her.” Not what he wanted to do, but certainly the wiser option. He led her inside to where Nancy was preparing the other interns, doing his best the entire way to keep his eyes off Darla. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t see that disappointment again, reflecting his own desires. “I’ll see you at the end of the night to drive you home.”
If Darla had anything more to say, he didn’t stick around to hear it. He walked to the huge windows of the event room, which overlooked the artificial oasis of the course. There was nothing productive in staring at the landscaping, but he needed the distance it put between them.
A figure walked past his peripheral vision, then stopped. “Was that Morales?” Dick Mevlyn asked.
“Yes, it was.”
He was quiet for a moment. Jackson started to hope he might have walked away until Dick leaned up against the window beside him and crossed his arms. “She looks good. I’m surprised. Did they up her medication or something?”
Jackson shook his head in disgust. “Don’t do that.”
The smirk Dick gave in response begged to be punched away. “It’s a joke. Everybody can see what a basket case she is.”
The pointed barbs were nothing new, but he was in no mood for them, particularly not when they were directed at Darla. “She’s not a basket case. She’s young and a little nervous. We all were once.”
Dick scoffed softly. “We don’t all cry at work.”
The entire hospital must have heard about it. He hadn’t told anyone, but other people had seen her tear up. They must have been talking. It had likely already made it back to the Chief of Trauma Medicine too. The fact that it was Dick of all people to bring it up was especially galling. Who was he to harp on an intern for being human? The man would probably pass a turnip in one of his classes as long as it had perfect attendance.
Rather than listen to Dick, he went to the bar and ordered a scotch, content that the alcohol would be worked out of his blood by the time he was behind the wheel. He leaned against the bar and faced the room, sipping the oaky single-malt and enjoying the way the tension in his muscles gradually dissipated. As he was finishing his drink the gala guests started to arrive. It was time to charm donors and let rich old ladies flirt with him. Joy. Oh joy.
He’d done it all before, and it was easy to lose himself in the repetitiveness of it, but all the small talk and feigning interest in ski trips did little to quiet his mind. Every time he caught a glimpse of Darla, the desire to talk to her would grow. And, damn it, he didn’t want to be sensible any longer.
Just start again. Such simple advice for dealing with self-inflicted deprivation. Could it be that easy? He wished it could. Especially when she looked so agonizingly right as she laughed at jokes he hadn’t told and smiled at people who weren’t him.
He politely excused himself from the trio of lawyers who’d been boring him out of his skull, then wove his way through the crowd of two hundred odd guests until he finally reached her side. Perhaps sensing him, she turned to meet his eyes.
He leaned down to bring his lips closer to her ear. “Can I have this dance?”
She drew back, her full lips pursed in a frown. “Are we supposed to be dancing?”
“Other people are.”
“And I don’t think those other people are dancing with their mentors.”
The unexpected rejection started a sinking sensation in his stomach. “I thought it’d be a better way to pass the time. Never mind.”
She caught his arm before he could leave and gave him a tentative smile. “Come on.”
He led her onto the dance floor and took her hand, his other hand resting on her hip. With how unsure of herself she was, he half-expected her to be stiff in his arms and awkward on her heels. Instead she moved with him fluidly, following his lead as if she could anticipate his movements. The same easy collaboration had made surgery with her an elegant process. He wondered how much of it was innate talent on her part and how much of it was an ind
efinable compatibility between them.
“You were wrong. I’m having fun,” Darla said.
“I was wrong about a couple things. Guess you’re good at surprising me.”
“Do these events bring in a lot of money for the hospital?”
“Sort of. Mostly, it’s a way to keep the donors we already have happy and feeling appreciated. Sometimes it draws in new donors too.”
She tilted her head slightly and considered him for a moment. “Are you happy?”
The question caught him off guard, throwing his rhythm. He recovered quickly, but it left him feeling unsettled. “About what?”
“Your life. Where you are. The choices you’ve made.”
“Yeah, I am.” He wondered if he was lying. He was happy, wasn’t he? His job was on the right course, provided things went well with Darla, and he was helping people every day. That had to count for something. Yet everything else in his life came as a distant, lonely second to work. It made it difficult to have any real sense of satisfaction, though he hadn’t realized how bad it was until Darla came along. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking about what Dr. White said. Maybe I shouldn’t be going into trauma.”
The fact that he didn’t stumble in the dance when his heart stopped was some kind of miracle. He swore vehemently in his head, even as he fought to keep his face pleasant and his tone light. “Am I that bad of a mentor that you’re abandoning your dreams already?”
“No!” She tipped her head back a little as she laughed, making her thick black curls slide off her bare shoulders and tempt him with the creamy bronze of her skin. “I’ve just never considered anything else. My mom always wanted me to follow in her footsteps and then go that extra step beyond.”
Unable to think of a response at first, he fell silent. What Singh expected him to do was obvious and it was what would benefit him the most. But was it right? The thought of twisting her life path for his own benefit just left a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn’t do it.
“Making life-altering decisions for somebody else’s happiness isn’t very smart,” he said. “You need to decide what’s going to make you happy. Otherwise you’ll just fuck yourself over.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Eh. I’ve made my own share of mistakes, but luckily I’ve kept to my own path.”
“And you don’t regret that path?”
“No.” The answer came automatically and, somewhat surprised, he knew it was the truth this time. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, he couldn’t regret it. Work wasn’t really the problem. “I don’t at all. I’m doing what I love, working towards other things I’ll love even more.”
“Like someday being Chief of Trauma Medicine?”
“That’s the plan.”
“You wouldn’t be doing nearly as much surgery then.”
“No, but I’d be helping a lot more people. There are all kinds of policies I could change. Like the twenty-eight hour shifts we put second-year residents through? That’s terrible. We’re better off being short-staffed than having staff who are going to make mistakes.”
“But since everybody else had to go through that same agony, they’re not going to want to see the newest crop of interns getting off easier.”
“I know, and it’s stupid. Just because we suffered doesn’t mean the people who follow after us need to suffer too.”
Darla leaned in closer against him, her breasts nudging his chest as she smiled up at him. “Look at you challenging the status quo. I never would have expected that.”
“There’s probably a lot about me you wouldn’t expect.”
“Like what?”
He hesitated. Work, sleep, followed by more work. It had been enough for years, dulling loss with monotony and ambition, but it sounded too empty. “I don’t know. Stuff.”
“Oh, that’s good. That’s really specific.” She laughed again, giving his hand a squeeze in hers. “Come on. There’s gotta be something.”
“I’m a really good dancer?”
“I guess you are. Better than me, at least.”
His hand at her hip drew her closer to him. Through his tux and her gown, he could feel the burn of her body, and his own ached for her. The rest of the gala might as well have melted away for all he cared.
He ducked, his lips an inch from her ear. “I think you’re very good.”
Chapter Ten
“After the clown incident, the children’s hospital has been very reluctant about letting performers in.” Nancy White looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave Darla a smile. “But I think it could be good. I’ll talk to someone about it.”
Elation filled Darla from head to toe, even taking her mind off her aching feet. The evening was nearly over and volunteers were starting to filter home. It had been her first chance to really talk with Dr. White, an opportunity she now relished. “That’ll be great.”
“What’ll be great?” Jackson stopped a few feet away from them, his jacket slung over one arm, and his other hand in the pocket of his slacks. He looked as delicious as the gala’s chocolate fountain and twice as bad for her.
“Darla suggested we bring in a cosplay group for kids.”
Jackson glanced between the two of them with a faintly puzzled expression. “What’s cosplay?”
“I’ll let you explain. I have too much I need to handle here.” White smiled at them both before making her exit.
“Cosplay is where people dress up like characters from superhero movies and comic books and stuff. It’s really gotten big in the last couple years.” Darla quirked a brow. “Exactly how old are you?”
“You’re making me feel about a million years old right now, because I never heard that word before.” He gave her a wry look. “You ready to go?”
She nodded and made her good-byes then strode beside him through the foyer.
The warmth of the afternoon had given way to a cool mountain night when they stepped outside. Without prompting, Jackson settled his jacket over her shoulders against the cold. She breathed in the desert air, which smelled and felt so different from back home in Chicago. Car exhaust and smog and all the city smells should have made them more similar, but each had a sense all its own.
The honor of geeks everywhere demanded she not let him distract her, though. “Maybe you haven’t heard about cosplay yet, but superheroes have gone mainstream. I mean, everybody’s seen the Marvel movies.”
“I haven’t.”
“What?” She stopped in her tracks and gave him an incredulous look. “None of them?”
“Nothing recent. I stopped watching movies the first year of my residency.”
“You mean in theaters?”
“No. At all.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, stopped getting into them like I used to.”
She knew she was staring, but there was no helping it. The first year of his residency would have been over five years before. No DVDs, no streaming video, nothing since then? Why would anyone choose that miserable boredom? Was this what his talk the other day had been about? “Are you kidding me? You need to spend your next day off catching up on pop culture.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Then what are you doing for the rest of the night?”
At the car, Jackson opened the door for her, which made her smile. Of all the things people could say about Dr. DeMatteo at the hospital, somehow no one had ever caught onto his streak of chivalry. “Something tells me I’m watching movies.”
…
Jackson took in the living room. The apartment was modestly-sized and all of the furniture looked like it had come from secondhand stores, but it was clean. About on par with what he expected of a couple first-year residents, who’d be old enough and busy enough to not have beer and pizza boxes everywhere. Going home with an intern to watch comic book movies had to be one of the stranger things he’d ever done, but he found it increasingly difficult to say no to Darla.
“So did you have fun?�
� he asked her.
“Yeah, but I’m regretting these heels now.” She sat down on the couch and shifted her floor-length skirt around so she could pull off a shoe. When Jackson took a seat she held her foot up to wriggle her big toe, which had managed to work itself through her hose during the night. “Ugh.”
He grinned. “That’s impressive. You danced right through your pantyhose.”
“They’re not pantyhose. Can you imagine trying to wrestle with pantyhose under a dress like this?” Realization of what she’d said washed over her face, and she closed her mouth, teeth snapping together with an audible click. “Can we forget I said that?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to.” The mental image of working his hands up under that dress to ease her out of her stockings was going to haunt him for the rest of the night, if not longer. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m glad you had fun. I really hadn’t thought you would.”
“Why?”
“You seem…anxious around people.”
“I am. A little. This wasn’t about me, though. It was about the hospital.”
“And was figuring that out what made your bedside manner so much better?”
She looked down at her hands in her lap, a warm smile softening her face. “A little. I helped my neighbors’ kid when she was having an allergic reaction, and all that fear and worry just disappeared. I had a job to do and being calm was the best way to do it.”
“It helps. You’re pretty compassionate, though. I don’t think you should try to smother that human touch entirely.”
“I’m not.” Her heels now cast off, she left the couch to rifle through a shelf of DVDs next to the TV. “Now what do you like? Gritty and dark? Sci-fi action movies? World War Two? Shakespeare?”
Had this been some kind of trick? “I thought we were watching something with superheroes.”
“We are, but they’re all different. So what are you into?”
He tipped his head to the side to look at the covers, trying to gauge something about them from the artwork, but it wasn’t very helpful. “I guess I’m partial to Shakespearean tragedies.”