Hotshot Doc Page 7

  Though they’re both treating me like I am, I’m not an idiot. Just like Dr. Russell requested on Friday, I memorized every step of this surgery. I know every detail of Fiona’s case. I know her spine curves in a particularly difficult way, which is likely why Dr. Collins flew in to assist. I know why he’s chosen to shave off that specific section of vertebrae in her lumbar spine and why it’s imperative that Dr. Russell gets it exactly right, down to the millimeter. I know that even though this has been the most trying, worst day I’ve ever had in the operating room, difficulties aside, I’m enjoying the case. I’m completely enthralled by Dr. Russell’s skill and expertise, the detail with which he performs this surgery. It’s like I’m standing right beside Einstein as he works through an equation or Muhammad Ali as he prepares to enter the ring.

  Dr. Collins is completely unnecessary.

  Dr. Russell is single-handedly repairing this girl’s spine, and in a few hours, when she wakes up and asks her parents how the surgery went, they’ll be able to look her in the eye and tell her Dr. Russell did it. He gave her the very thing she wants the most: a normal childhood.

  It’s unfortunate I screwed up so badly.

  I overslept. I ruined my one shot. Then I cried at the operating table. CRIED. I might as well pack my metaphorical bags; I get that.

  Near the end of the surgery, I glance up at the clock and see that it’s not yet noon. Dr. Collins will make his flight. Dr. Russell made up for the lost time. I’ve never been more relieved. He tells me to close and dress the sutures and then leaves the room with Dr. Collins on his tail.

  I’m the only one left at the operating table. I have never taken such a deep, clearing breath in my life.

  I love this part. I’m good at it. My hand is steady and my work is clean. Every suture is placed with care and attention to minimize Fiona’s scar.

  When I’m done, Kendra compliments my technique, placing her hand on my shoulder as I strip off my gloves and toss them in the trash.

  “Usually Dr. Russell is picky about sutures. You did a good job.”

  I half-laugh, half-grunt. “Yeah? And what about the rest of it?”

  She laughs. “Let’s just say it was fun while it lasted, right?”

  I’m eating alone in the lounge like a loser. I have an untouched bag of pretzels and an apple. I’m trying to force a sandwich into my mouth, but it’s too dry. My body is using all my fluids for tear production. Every bite is a struggle. What I really want to do is sling the stupid sandwich against the wall—or better yet, at Dr. Russell’s head.

  “There she is!” someone calls from the doorway, and I glance up to see a group of surgical assistants walk into the lunchroom. We always eat lunch together. They’re my work friends, the people who laughed when I drew the devil horns on Dr. Russell.

  “You survived your first day!” Erika says with a big smile and two thumbs up.

  Before I can protest, she and the rest of the group gather around and claim the remaining spots at my table. They think this is a celebration when it’s actually a pity party. If there were a record playing, I’d scratch it.

  “Yup, and I won’t survive another,” I say, all gloom and doom.

  “Oh, c’mon, don’t be dramatic!” Megan says, shoving my shoulder playfully. Megan and Erika work on the dermatology floor, assisting their doctors with mole biopsies and laser hair removal. They are both moisturized and cheerful, and they routinely leave the hospital by 3:00 PM. Megan told me last week that she felt too well-rested. I hate them more than I like them.

  “We’re taking you out for a celebratory drink tonight!” Erika declares like it’s a done deal.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Honestly, I’m not in the mood, not after the morning I’ve had.”

  “Aw, c’mon. It can’t be that bad. You knew Dr. Russell was going to be tough, but if anyone can handle him, it’s you—”

  My hand shoots up, displaying the universal sign for Shut the hell up, but then I spot Patricia in the doorway, scanning the room. She doesn’t eat in here; she eats at her desk so she can flip through her knitting magazines. I know this because I pay careful attention to her. It’s important to be on Patricia’s good side.

  When she sees me across the room, she nods and cuts a path straight for me.

  I imagine what she’s about to say. Most likely, Dr. Russell has given her a note he’d like her to read in front of the entire lunchroom. Yes, it says here you’re incompetent and a huge disappointment.

  I push my sandwich away and squeeze my eyes closed.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Patricia says, puffing out an annoyed breath.

  Then there’s a loud splat. I blink my eyes open and realize it was the sound of a manila folder hitting the table in front of me.

  “This is for Dr. Russell’s surgery on Wednesday.”

  I release a bitter, sad laugh then attempt to hand it back to her. “Oh, I won’t need this.”

  She doesn’t accept it. “I know Dr. Lopez didn’t have you go over patient files like this, but Dr. Russell insists his surgical assistants know his cases as well as he does.”

  She misunderstands. “It’s not that. I just don’t think I’m going to be on his team come Wednesday.”

  Her wise gray eyes assess me over the rims of her glasses. It’s clear she thinks I have a few screws loose. “Well, he was the one who just asked me to pass this along to you. If you’re planning on quitting, better go let him know now so he can arrange to have a resident assist him on Wednesday.”

  My mouth is a fly trap.

  WHAT?

  “He gave you this file just now?”

  She nods slowly.

  “This file?”

  “Yes.”

  “After the surgery?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now? And he said to hand it to me? Bailey Jennings?”

  She reaches forward and thumps me on the forehead. “Yes. Now stop asking stupid questions.”

  Then she turns and walks out of the lunchroom, muttering under her breath.

  My tablemates stare at me in shock.

  Erika throws her hands up. “SEE! YOU DID IT!”

  Megan claps. “This is cause for celebration! Drinks tonight, on me!”

  I’m so shocked, I don’t even have enough sense to turn them down.

  Josie, unsurprisingly, screams into the phone when I tell her I’m going out with friends and I’ll be home a little later than usual.

  “What are you going to wear?” Her voice carries clear across the locker room. People shoot me strange looks.

  “Uh…” I look down at the clothes I wore to work this morning. “Nothing fancy. That black blouse you hate.”

  She groans. “Just please don’t button it all the way to your neck. I swear to God—”

  “I didn’t, jeez!” I hurry and undo the top two buttons, glad she can’t see me through the phone. “Do you think I’m a total loser?”

  “And the jeans?”

  “They’re the tight ones you bought me with my credit card without my permission.”

  “Oh thank God. Shoes?”

  “Tennis shoes,” I murmur shamefully. “With thick wool socks.”

  She sighs deeply. “Why do you insist on sabotaging yourself?”

  I glance down and clap my heels together like Dorothy.

  “They’re comfortable.”

  “They’re also obnoxious. I’m going to burn them when you get home.”

  “Hey! They aren’t that bad. And you better be asleep when I get home. It might be late.”

  She marches on, ignoring me. “Your hair is in a ponytail, isn’t it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you take it down?”

  “Nope.”

  “Makeup? Please tell me you put some mascara on this morning.”

  “No. I was rushed, but I keep some stuff in my locker. I’ll put it on if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “PLEASE.”

  “Bailey!” Erika c
alls my name from across the locker room. “Are you almost ready? We want to try to catch the end of happy hour.”

  I shoot her a thumbs-up. “Josie, I gotta go.”

  “Okay, fine, but you better talk to a guy! Any guy! The bartender! The bus boy—”

  I hang up on her and grab for my makeup bag, telling Erika I just need a few minutes. I swipe on mascara, blend a little blush onto my cheeks, and dab on some Chapstick. I look remarkably more human when we walk into the bar across the street from New England Medical Center.

  Smooth Tony’s is an institution around the hospital. It has stood the test of time, a small faded bungalow shoved in the middle of skyscrapers, and best of all, Smooth Tony himself still mans the bar every night. Erika and Megan are on a first-name basis with him, and he knows their preferred drinks without them having to order.

  “What about you, blondie?” he asks me as he slides full cocktails their way.

  I stare at the bottles of liquor lined up behind him, trying to remember the name of a drink…any drink.

  “Uh, I think I need a second.”

  “We’re going to go snag a booth before they’re all taken!” Erika says, and I’m left alone, searching in vain for a drink menu.

  “Still thinking it over?” Tony asks after he helps another customer.

  I frown. “What’d you make my friends? Maybe I’ll just have one of those.”

  “Vodka sodas.”

  I scrunch my nose. “Sounds boring.”

  He laughs, and it’s deep and hearty. “Tell you what: why don’t I just make you something and if you don’t like it, we’ll try something else.”

  I climb up onto a stool and shoot him an appreciative smile. “Yes. Thank you. That sounds perfect.”

  So, that’s how I come to be sitting by myself at the bar, sampling a drink that actually tastes really good.

  “What’d he end up making you?”

  The question comes from the guy sitting to my right. I turn, and my eyebrows shoot up. This isn’t just a guy. This is a blond hunk with dimples and a winning smile. This is a guy worth a double take—a third take, even.

  I smile and tilt my glass toward him. “Oh, uh…actually, I’m not sure.”

  I look up to ask Tony, but he’s already moved on to another customer down at the other end of the bar.

  The hunk laughs. “Looks like an Old Fashioned. Does it taste like it’s got bourbon in it?”

  “Maybe.” I narrow my eyes. “But just for clarification, what does bourbon taste like?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “First time at a bar?”

  “No.” My cheeks redden. “It’s my third time.”

  He unleashes a heart-stopping grin and reaches his hand out toward me. “I’m Cooper.”

  I’m pleased to find he has one of those manly, strong handshakes, one that would impress any discerning judge. “Bailey.”

  “Bailey,” he repeats, testing it out before he nods as if coming to a conclusion. “You look like a Bailey.”

  My brows rise curiously. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “It’s a sweet name.” He shrugs. “Cute. Cheerful.”

  His eyes scan down me quickly, and I think I spot a hint of interest in his light blue eyes, which seem oddly familiar.

  “Well thanks, Cooper. You have a good name too. I think my best friend growing up had a dog named Cooper.”

  He laughs and turns back to the bar. “Was it a cute dog at least?”

  He’s fishing and I can practically hear Josie screaming at me to flirt with him, to not let this moment slip through my fingers.

  “Very cute. A little French bulldog,” I reveal with a big cheesy smile.

  He groans playfully. “Oh, c’mon—couldn’t you have told me it was a massive Rottweiler? Maybe a German shepherd?”

  I laugh. “Nope. He was a tiny thing.” I hold my hands up about half a foot apart, winking one eye closed like I’m trying to get the measurement just right. “About this big.”

  “Ha ha.” He tips the neck of his beer toward me. “You know what? Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe you don’t fit your name after all.”

  I can’t believe how quickly we hit it off. He’s funny and nice. I’m supposed to join my group over in the corner, but when I glance over my shoulder, Erika claps like she’s proud of me and Megan shouts, “Yes girl!”

  Thankfully I don’t think Cooper hears her over the music. He does follow my gaze, though, and Erika and Megan make quick work of trying and failing to appear normal. Erika takes a big swig of her drink and then chokes. Megan has to clap her on the back.

  “Do you need to go join your friends?”

  I frown. What am I supposed to say? No, I’d rather talk to you? What kind of person ditches their friends for a cute guy? SOMEONE WHO HASN’T BEEN ON A DATE IN A MILLENIA.

  I frown. “I don’t know. Probably. I don’t want to be a bad friend.”

  He smiles and nods. “I get it. It’s cool. I’m actually waiting for someone myself.”

  My heart shatters. “Oh, yeah? A girl?”

  Wow. So subtle. So cool.

  “No.” He looks down at his watch and shakes his head. “Just some prick with no regard for people’s time.”

  “Oh.” I slide off my stool. “Well…if you’re left hanging, you’re welcome to join me and my friends.”

  He smiles. “Thanks, but I’ll probably call it soon. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

  NO. That means he’s leaving the city. My chances of ever seeing him again are decreasing by the second.

  “But if you give me your number, maybe I could call you sometime?”

  MAYBE HE COULD CALL ME SOMETIME?

  I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so wide. My cheeks are liable to split right down the middle. My face betrays every ounce of my excitement, which means Cooper sees it too. Maybe my excitement is infectious because soon enough, we’re two smiling fiends.

  He tugs out his cell phone, I type in my number, and just like that, I have the possibility of love on the horizon.

  Josie is going to pee her pants.

  Chapter 10

  MATT

  “Ah, there he is, the man of the hour.”

  My pen stills and I pinch my eyes closed.

  Cooper.

  Shit. I completely forgot I was supposed to have drinks with him tonight.

  I look up and my little brother is standing at the doorway of my office with his arms crossed. He looks pissed, which is a rare expression for him. His factory setting is easygoing nice guy. His feathers don’t get ruffled very often, but then, if I’d been stood up by my asshole brother, I’d be pissed too.

  I glance at the clock and cringe. An hour. I made him sit there for an hour. I push away from my desk and stand.

  “There’s no excuse. I’m sorry. C’mon, we can still go. I’ll finish this later.”

  He shakes his head and cuts me off before I can reach for my coat. “Don’t bother. I already had two beers while I was waiting. If I have another, I’ll feel like shit in the morning.”

  He walks to my leather couch and pushes a mess of hardware out of the way, clearing a spot so he can sit down. I would snap at anyone else for moving my shit, but not Cooper.

  “Paperwork keep you?” he asks.

  I roll my desk chair over toward him, take a seat, and lean back. “Always.”

  “Must have been a busy day if you’re still in your scrubs.”

  He’s right. Usually, I change after surgery.

  I rub the nape of my neck, massaging the tired muscles. “The day got away from me. It was hectic to say the least.”

  He holds up his hand. “Spare me the details.”

  I get it. Cooper’s in this world too, just in a different realm. He works in sales for Hasting Biosciences, the largest medical devices company in the country. We were both jocks in high school, stars on the baseball team, but he amplified his popularity and I ran from mine, more comfortable concentrating on my grades while he ruled the lunchroom
. That outgoing personality has paid off for him; he’s the leading salesman in the northeast region.

  “You missed a good opportunity to hang out and bond with your dear brother,” he says, pushing to stand and passing me by to head to my desk. “I leave tomorrow for Cincinnati. I’ll be gone for a while.”

  He opens my topmost desk drawer and roots around until he finds what he’s looking for: a small toy basketball.

  “What’s in Cincinnati?”

  “A prospective doctor.”

  “Big fish?”

  He walks back around the desk and inspects the floor until he finds the small X made out of duct tape. I’ve had to redo it a few times, but it’s more or less in the same spot it was when we placed it there a few years back.

  “Biggest fish I’ve ever seen.”

  He lines up his shot, aims the ball at the hoop hanging on the back of my door, shoots, and misses by a hair.

  I hiss and stand to retrieve the ball. “Will you be back in time for Molly’s wedding?”

  “When is that again?”

  “Mid-November, I think.”

  It’s my turn now, so I head back to the X, aim, and sink the ball into the net.

  “Pfft.” He shakes his head. “Luck, nothing else.”

  I smirk and hold the ball out to him. It’s the least I can do after standing him up for a drink. “You better fly back for it. Aunts, uncles, cousins—everyone’ll be there. I won’t last without you. Besides, they like you better anyway. They only ever tolerate me.”

  “Aw c’mon, you’re going to make me blush.” He swats the ball out of my hand, shoots, and scores. “Oh hey, I forgot to ask—did you submit that grant proposal you’ve been working on?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, like six months ago.”

  “When do you hear back?”

  “Before the holidays.”

  My heart races thinking about it…the possibilities, the lives it would affect.

  His brow arches with interest. “Think you’ll be able to give up this cushy life if the committee picks you?”