by Kaylin Evans
I’ve managed to tear my eyes away from her chest and she’s looking at me like I’m crazy, but the truth is, I may not have had any clue I was going to suggest it, but now that I have, I love the idea.
“A date?” she asks.
“Yeah, why not?”
“I thought we were going to just be friends,” she counters.
My rebuttal takes the form of my mouth closing around her peaked nipple, sucking and licking until she collapses back onto the pillow with a groan. Then I scoot up beside her, meeting her gaze again as I point out, “We’re not very good at that, don’t you think?”
She gives me a half smile. “Are you sure this isn’t just some playboy conquest thing? I never fawned over you like all the surg techs and nurses and you finally got me into bed, so now you just want to prove to yourself that I really want you?”
I can’t help cracking a smile in return. “Do you?”
Alyssa grabs the pillow from under her head and slugs me with it. Connects pretty good, too. I’m momentarily fazed, but when I look back at her, her eyes are warm and inviting and I know the answer to that question.
I sit up and scoop her into my arms, lifting her into my lap as I tell her, “You are anything but a conquest, Alyssa Grant. I would never think of you that way, and I have a feeling that any guy who did would get what was coming to him pretty swiftly.”
She laughs and nods. “You’re right about that.”
“So?” I ask as my cock hardens again at the sensation of her body against mine. “Will you let me take you out?”
“Fine,” Alyssa relents. “One date, and if it’s awful then we both pretend it never happened.”
“Deal,” I say. I wrap my arms around her back and flip her down onto the mattress again, ready for round two. “But it won’t be awful, I can guarantee you that much.”
“Cocky much?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
I smirk. “You have no idea.”
17
Alyssa
For the next couple of days, Sawyer and I seem to have an unspoken agreement to ignore each other as much as possible when we’re at the hospital. I don’t know about him, but I know that my own expressions will give away what we’ve been up to in a heartbeat if our eyes lock across an operating room table. And I just can’t risk all the nurses and surg techs losing respect for me when I hope to be their boss in a few more months.
So, I keep my head down and my eyes on the surgery board. I do a routine appy and then I check in on Lucas, the little boy who swallowed some fridge magnets. The good news is that they all passed safely—no need for surgery.
The bad news comes when I go down to pediatrics to give Lucas and his mom the all-clear to go home at last. Lydia is ecstatic to hear that Lucas doesn’t have surgery in his near future, but she’s got an unusual request.
“Do you do surgeries like that often?” she asks. “Like the one Lucas would have needed if the magnets didn’t come out?”
“Clearing bowel obstructions, fixing perforations?” I say. “Not a ton, but they’re fairly common procedures.”
She narrows her eyes, studying me. “And do you have one of those viewing rooms up above the operating room, like they have on Grey’s Anatomy?”
I have to hold back a chuckle. Everybody thinks that’s how surgery is ever since that show started airing. “No, this isn’t a teaching hospital,” I explain. “It’s not unusual for surgical residents to observe from within the room, though. Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking that if Lucas could see one of those surgeries, he’d understand why I keep telling him not to eat things that aren’t food,” she answers, shooting her son a scolding glance. “Especially magnets.”
“I won’t eat magnets anymore, Mom,” he says. “I understand now.”
“And Lego men up your nose?” she shoots back. Lucas just looks sheepishly at her. She turns back to me. “That’s what I’m talking about. We need to scare him straight.”
Now I can’t help it—I laugh. “Ma’am, he’s four. I don’t think it’s a good idea to have him observing surgeries, even if he could see over the operating table.”
“I could handle it,” Lucas says, sitting up a little straighter in the bed.
“I bet you could,” I say. Clearly, I’m not getting out of here without some sort of teachable moment, so I end up thinking of a compromise. “I know—what if I show you some of the crazy X-rays I’ve seen over the years of people putting things where they don’t belong, and I can tell you how much work it took to fix those problems?”
Lucas is clearly on board, and his mother gives me a skeptical look, lowering her voice to ask, “Nothing up the… you know?”
“Of course not,” I reassure her.
I spend the next twenty minutes flipping through Google Images on my phone, looking for G-rated foreign body X-rays and describing painful and tedious removal procedures to Lucas and Lydia. The boy goes from awed to horrified, and when I think I’ve got him sufficiently spooked, I excuse myself.
On my way out of the pediatrics department, I run into Dr. Finn doing some charting at the nurses’ station.
“Checking in on Lucas, huh?” he says. “How’d it go?”
I tell him about the impromptu lesson I just gave and concluded with, “I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again anytime soon.”
With my work there done, I head back up to surgery.
I duck into my office and check a few emails. The only thing left to do before my day off—and my date with Sawyer—is to make a final selection on Chief Cane’s administrative assistant. And, wouldn’t you know it, I need Sawyer for that.
So, for the first time in a couple of days, I go in search of Dr. Stone.
I find him in an OR scrub room, washing his hands for an emergency choly that Ryder just sent up from the clinic. While he scrubs in, I stand in the doorway and say, “Hey, we were going to pick Chief Cane’s new assistant this afternoon.”
Sawyer raises his soapy hands to me as evidence. “Sorry, babe, duty calls.”
Babe? For a second, I think about calling him out on that… but none of our scrub nurses or surg techs are within earshot, and the truth is, I kinda like the nickname in a twisted sort of way.
“I see that,” is all I say. “Well, I told the chief we’d have our top candidate’s resume on his desk by the end of the day. I don’t want to hold him up, so… who’s your favorite?”
“The one who works for the trial lawyer right now,” he says. “She’s used to a fast-paced environment, so she’ll fit in well here. You?”
I give a half smile. “The same, actually. So you don’t mind if I let the chief know?”
“As long as you don’t hog all the credit,” he says, giving me a wink that awakens my core more than such a simple gesture ought to.
I turn away before Sawyer has a chance to see the effect he has on me, calling over my shoulder, “You missed a spot.”
Chief Cane is happy with our choice, and before I can leave his office, he makes me sit down and give him a progress report on how Dr. Stone and I have been getting along.
I promised Sawyer I wouldn’t hog all the credit, and I’m a woman of my word. I tell our boss that we divided up the work equally and worked together to get it done… and I leave out the fact that over the course of this assignment, I’ve learned just how well Dr. Stone plays with others.
“Seems like the problem is solved, then,” Chief Cane says, and I can tell he’s talking about more than just his assistant position.
My cheeks color at the knowledge that my boss considered me a problem to be dealt with—but at least it’s over now. Still, I’ve got some ground to make up when it comes to the race to the chief of surgery job. So, I do a little sucking up in Sawyer’s absence after all. “It took us a little bit to get our bearings, but the surgery department is operating like a well-oiled machine now.” I smile. “Now if I can only get the surg techs to stop drooling over Dr. Stone.”
The chie
f snorts and rolls his eyes. “Good luck with that, Dr. Grant. From what I hear, once afflicted, it’s a chronic condition.”
I leave the office a few minutes later with my head held high, feeling pretty damn good about myself. I found a way to turn Sawyer’s relationship with the Cane family to my advantage at last, and I only feel a little bad about reminding Chief Cane what a player Sawyer is.
On the way back to my office, I pause at the viewing window into his OR. He’s bent over the table, a couple of laparoscopes in his hands as he probes the patient’s abdomen. Trish is in there with him, standing much too close, and I can tell even with the surgical mask over her mouth that she’s giggling and flirting with Sawyer.
Probably wishing the surgery wasn’t laparoscopic so she’d have more excuses to hand him instruments and let her gloved finger brush over his own.
Sawyer’s right—that surg tech has it bad for him, and on any other day, I might feel a pang of jealousy at that. But tonight, he’s all mine. I need to get home so I can get ready for our date.
18
Sawyer
I finish surgery about an hour after my shift was supposed to end—not bad for removing a gallbladder that was so close to bursting I was a little afraid to touch it with the scope. And I’ve still got plenty of time to run home, shower and shave, and iron the wrinkles out of my favorite navy suit.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not usually the domestic type. But when it comes to impressing a woman who gets me dizzy every time she walks into a room, I don’t mind busting out the ironing board.
At seven o’clock sharp, I pull up the driveway of the condo where Alyssa lives. I’ve got a bouquet of pure white chrysanthemums wrapped up in butcher paper on the passenger seat, and I take a second to flip down my visor and check that my tie is perfectly straight before I get out of the car.
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I’ve put this much effort into a date, or pursued a woman like I’ve been going after Alyssa. Sure, it was just physical at first, along with professional admiration. But the more I get to know her… well, I can finally understand why Ryder ditched me to go after Erin.
When you know, you know. And I’m starting to think…
I’m walking up the sidewalk with the bouquet in hand when a five-foot-nothing little old lady opens the door. She gives me a big smile, her eyes going immediately to the flowers, and given that Alyssa said nothing about a seventy-year-old roommate, I must be at the wrong address.
“Oh, those are lovely!” the woman says, and I wonder if I’m gonna get out of here with my flowers intact. She looks through the open door and calls, “Carl, you never get me flowers anymore.”
Uh oh, sorry Carl. I just put him in the doghouse.
Before I can apologize and extract myself from the situation, the door to the other half of the condo opens and Alyssa comes across the lawn to greet me. She’s in a tight floral dress with a leather jacket layered over the top and matching boots that come up to her knees, leaving me with an enticingly small peek at her thighs.
For a second, I forget there’s a little old lady fawning over me until Alyssa says, “Hey, you came to the wrong side of the duplex.”
“I don’t know about that,” the older woman says, giving me a salacious wink. I wonder what Carl will have to say about that, but given the fact that he hasn’t bothered to come to the door, I guess he doesn’t care too much.
Alyssa makes the introductions. “Sawyer, this is my neighbor Hattie. Hattie, this is the surgeon I told you about.”
I shoot her a grin. “You’ve been talking about me?”
“Only to complain about how arrogant and insufferable you are,” she says, but she’s smiling at me. “Are you ready to go?”
“Almost,” I say. I pull one of the round white flowers out of the bouquet and hand it to Hattie, taking a gamble that Alyssa won’t mind. “Everyone deserves flowers every once in a while. Tell that husband of yours to make things right.”
“Oh, I will,” Hattie reassures me, then she gives Alyssa an approving look, turns around and goes back inside—no doubt to give Carl hell. Poor guy.
Once we’re alone, I hold out the rest of the bouquet to Alyssa. “Sorry, it’s one shy of a dozen now.”
She doesn’t seem to mind.
We drive along a road that goes over and through the Hemlock Mountains, making idle small talk about work and admiring the scenery. About half an hour later, I pull up outside the nicest restaurant that Cranden has to offer.
It’s a sushi place, and the minute I see Alyssa’s reaction, I realize I should have run it by her first.
“Oh God, don’t tell me you hate seafood,” I say.
I’m about to suggest we blow off our reservations and go elsewhere when she puts her hand on my forearm and says, “No, it’s fine. Actually, I’ve never had sushi so I don’t know how I feel about it.”
I twine my fingers in hers, bring the back of her hand to my lips. “Well, I’m honored I get to be here for your first time then.”
It comes out all kinds of suggestive, and that’s just fine by me. I’ve spent the entire drive trying not to blatantly stare at her skirt riding up her thighs, and we could skip dinner and go straight back to my place as far as I’m concerned. But Alyssa looks excited, and I really am looking forward to introducing her to one of my favorite indulgences.
We go inside and get a relatively private table even though the restaurant is busy. We order a couple of imported Japanese lagers and sip them while I talk Alyssa through the menu. Once our orders are in, Alyssa meets my gaze and asks, “So, is this sushi thing another Cane family influence?”
I laugh. “Yeah, my own family were not particularly adventurous eaters when I was young, and we didn’t exactly have the money for this kind of thing.”
“But then you moved up in the world,” she teases, and I hate the idea of her imagining me some sort of social ladder climber. I can’t deny I’ve enjoyed the perks of being Ryder Cane’s best friend, but I like to think it’s been a two-way road. Alyssa says, “Tell me more about how you and Ryder got to be friends.”
I smile. “You can’t picture it, right? The rich kid with all of Daddy’s money meets the party guy–”
“And the rich kid immediately befriends him to piss off his father?” Alyssa guesses.
I snort. “Not quite. Actually, Ryder and I hated each other for most of our first semester. We were roommates, just the luck of the draw, and we were total opposites.”
“But look at you now,” she says, tipping her beer bottle my way. “Besties.”
I make a gagging motion at the word—barely better than ‘bromance’—but I can’t help teasing her right back. “Clearly I have a talent for winning people over. You hated my guts when we first met too.”
Alyssa laughs, and it lights up her whole face. She’s gorgeous, in a tight little dress or a pair of shapeless scrubs, doesn’t matter. I always struggle not to stare.
“I didn’t hate your guts,” she denies.
“Oh no?” Our date is going well and she likes me now—at least enough to sleep with me and let me take her to dinner—so I’m not sure why I’m pressing this issue. There’s just something about her that makes me want to push her limits. “I think you did.”
She opens her mouth to answer, but then the waiter is back with our meals. He sets a plate down in front of each of us, and Alyssa stares at hers like she’s not completely sure what to do with it.
“Enjoy,” the waiter says, and then he’s gone.
I point to a tray of dipping sauces in the center of the table. “Try that one.”
“Just dunk it right in?”
I’d suggested the California roll to her, basically sushi for beginners, and I nod. “Yep—the sauce is the best part.”
Alyssa tries it, and I don’t even touch my food yet. I’m having way too much fun watching her face go from uncertainty to delight. “Oh my God, that’s really good.”
“Told you.”
; She picks up another piece, trying another sauce with it, and while we eat, she says, “Okay, fine, maybe I hated you a little bit at first.”
“Uh-huh.” I knew it.
“Can you blame me, when I pinned all my hopes on that chief of surgery job to finally get me out of the financial hole my dad put me in, only to find myself competing for it with the hospital founder’s best friend?” Before I can rebut this, she adds, “Not to mention you’re a rock star in your own right with your 3D printing research, and every single female in the surgical department wants to get in your pants.”
“And yet you’re the only one who has,” I say, nudging her foot with mine beneath the table.
She cuts her eyes up at me. “For real?”
“Would I lie?”
“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “I haven’t gotten to know you well enough to say.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” I say. “Not about that, and not to you.” Then I pick up my chopsticks and move a piece of tuna sashimi from my plate to hers. “Try that, you’ll love it.”
19
Alyssa
After dinner, Sawyer and I explore the nightlife of Cranden.
The restaurant is located in a walkable area with wide sidewalks and old-timey streetlamps, surrounded by little boutique shops, bars, an ice cream stand, other restaurants, and even an ornate carousel. The rest of Cranden is a more typical mid-sized city, but this little pocket is straight out of an Italian market district.
At least, it’s how I imagine one would look.
Sawyer buys me an enormous waffle cone filled with rich strawberry cheesecake ice cream, and he gets a triple chocolate one for himself. It’s way too much food, especially after I ended up sampling almost everything on his plate as well as mine at dinner, but also undeniably delicious.
While we walk, he takes my hand and we talk about everything from work to our favorite books and movies (although neither of us has had much free time in the last ten years or so) and our future aspirations. I haven’t thought much beyond the day when I will be debt-free, and all of Sawyer’s plans revolve around being the chief of surgery.