Without consciously deciding to, I push myself to my feet and start to head out into the hall. He follows me, looming. I wrap my arms around my waist as I step past the door and head toward a quiet end of the hallway that dead-ends in a small sitting area no one ever uses.
The moment we’re out of earshot, I spin around and he stops too, coming to stand behind one of the chairs. It separates us, and he leans down, gripping the back of it. I focus on his hands. Big hands. Surgeon hands. Quarterback hands. Veiny and tan. He grips the chair tighter as his gaze flits up to me. This is the most distraught I’ve ever seen him. His facade never cracks, not like this. He looks so stern, like he’s fighting hard to hold himself back.
I take a step forward and reach my hand out, as if to offer comfort, then I halt, realizing we’re still at the hospital. There are people coming and going in the hallway. We’re far from alone. My hand falls limp at my side.
“I barely slept last night,” he says, point-blank, almost like it’s my fault.
“Oh?”
Truthfully, I barely did either, but I don’t admit that.
“Noah’s gone and you’re not my resident anymore,” he says, laying out the facts in a tone so utterly serious it’s making me sweat.
“Meaning?” I ask, my voice near a whisper.
“Meaning I’m done pretending I don’t have feelings for you.”
There it is: the tug.
A beat passes as I wait for the punchline of the joke. Ha, I’m totally kidding. You’re like a little sister to me. Then he’ll put me in a headlock and give me a noogie, ramming his knuckles into my hair.
The punchline never comes. Neither does the headlock. Connor keeps watching me, and I have to respond now.
“What exactly do you want?”
The edge of his mouth twitches and he laughs, pushing off the chair and dragging his hands through his hair. That’s my job, I think. I want that job. I want to feel that hair.
“I want you to tell me I’m not the only one suffering here, Natalie. Tell me you feel the same way.”
“I do,” I say in a rush.
God, it feels good to air it like this. Once and for all. I do feel it. Come on—we all do. Womankind has taken a vote and you are it, Connor, the one we all want.
But then the world collapses around me because if Connor knows my feelings, that means he has all the power. He’s already older, wiser, hotter—superior in nearly every way. I can’t give this to him too: me on a silver platter.
So I continue, “However, that doesn’t mean anything can happen between us.”
Now he looks angry, like before he was on simmer and I just cranked the burner up to high heat.
“Noah would—”
“Noah is out of town.” His teeth are clenched.
“So? He still exists. And we work together.”
“There’s no rule against fellows and attendings entering into a relationship. It’s fine as long as I’m not your direct supervisor, which I’m not.”
I frown. “How do you know?”
“I asked HR this morning.”
My jaw drops. “Jesus! You asked HR?! They’re the biggest gossips in this place!”
“I needed to know if our relationship would endanger your position in the fellowship program.”
I’m pacing now, trying to get my heart to slow down. I press my hand to my chest, feeling the heavy thumps fighting to get past my rib cage. This is absolutely insane. Are we really having this conversation? And in the hospital?
I look back over at Connor in his navy blue scrubs, looking like the king of this whole damn place, and I laugh.
“Now—”
I hold up my hand. “Give me a second to process this, will you?”
“Fine. I’m hungry anyway.”
My eyes roll skyward. “Oh my God. That’s not what I mean. Aren’t you supposed to ask me out on a date or something?”
“Would you say yes?”
“No!” The word comes out of me quickly and emphatically.
“Then no, I’m not asking you out on a date.”
His arrogance startles me into action. Not waiting for him to declare the conversation over, I walk away first. Confidently. Without looking back. My half-eaten lunch is long forgotten.
Lindsey texts me later that afternoon.
Lindsey: What was that about at lunch? With Connor??I don’t reply.Chapter EightConnorOn Friday, I’m standing in the hall in the BICU, reviewing labs, when a resident clears his throat in front of me. I didn’t even notice him approach. It’s Max, one of the fifth years who just got bumped up to chief. I’ve found him to be barely tolerable most of the time, but he’s good enough at what he does, good enough to fly under my radar…until now.
“Hey, do you have a second?”
“Not right now,” I say, going back to reviewing the chart.
He doesn’t move, just twiddles his thumbs, and I’m left wondering if we don’t give these residents enough to do. How does he have time to just stand here bothering me?