The Match

Sloan glances at the group after he applies another pad to the man’s stomach, his eyes once again falling on me. “What would you do next?” No one answers, unsure of how to respond. Is he talking to me? He motions for the doctors to help him get the patient ready to move to the operating room.

Sloan points at a young man standing to the left side of the bed, biting the inside of his cheek. He looks as though he wants to vomit. In fact, the intern might puke on the patient if we don’t move him soon.

“Umm…umm…”

Sloan lets out a puff of air and turns to me again. “Dr. Roberts. What would you do?”

“I would locate the entry and exit wound. I’d check to make sure none of his vital organs were punctured and assess possible damages. I would check to make sure he’s not tachycardic.”

We’re now moving through the room, following the doctors to the O.R. “What else?” Sloan looks at me again.

“I would check for neurological function. Page neuro if I saw anything that was a cause for concern.”

“Then,” he says.

At this point, we are practically running down the hall next to the bed, on our way to the elevator bank.

“I would get an x-ray of his abdomen to get a better look at the tissue damage.”

“Next,” he says, getting into the elevator with the two third-year residents, leaving the rest of us out in the hallway.

“Exploratory laparotomy,” I tell him as the door closes.

He places his hand between the closing doors and winks at me. “Good. Get in here, Dr. Roberts. You’re scrubbing in.”

I move so fast that I don’t even realize I am on the elevator and the doors are closing once again. This time, I am the one looking back at the interns. My heart rate speeds up, with my heart about to claw its way out of my chest, as we ride upstairs to the surgical floor. The adrenaline that courses through my veins ignites a fire beneath my skin, a high unlike anything I have ever felt before.

My first real surgery. With the man of my dreams. On my first day as a surgical intern. Life cannot get much better than this.

Chapter Twelve

SLOAN

Ava still has the navy head cover on when we exit the O.R. together. Unlike my plain one, hers has tiny red hearts with rhythm strips interspersed throughout. Her father must have given it to her. He’s the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the city and one of the best in the country. After what I saw during surgery, I have no doubt that Ava is more than capable of stepping into her father’s shoes. She was born for this life. I’ve never seen an intern so comfortable in their skin.

Most of the interns in Ava’s residency class look as though they want to vomit most of the time. But not my Ava. She’s calm and collected, and even if she’s terrified on the inside, she doesn’t show it. Not one bit. I like that about her. The confidence she exudes turns me on just as much as when she let me bend her over, giving herself to me.

We stroll through the hospital in a hurry, careful not to walk too close to each other. Once or twice, our fingers touch, but we recoup quickly. I keep my eyes pointed in front of me, my face expressionless. Even though I do my best to keep a professional appearance about us, it doesn’t stop everyone in the hall from staring.

Well, I’m sure most of them could care less about me. I know everyone in this damn hospital. It’s Ava they can’t peel their eyes from. And why wouldn’t they notice her? She’s one of the most gorgeous women I have ever met. And a born surgeon, of all things.

My cock hardens as I recall how well she moved in the O.R. I’m still in shock that she was able to adapt so quickly when her fellow interns could barely keep up with the basics. First-day jitters are normal. Every doctor has them. But not Ava.

When we near the exit, she cocks an eyebrow at me, confused. “Where are we going?”

“To get coffee,” I say, unaffected and as if this is normal behavior. It’s not.

I have never taken an intern out for lunch before. Most of the time, I ignore the residents unless I have to speak to them. Accepting this level of responsibility can only lead to bigger and better things. Like Chief of Surgery, a position I have wanted since before I completed my residency at Penn General.

“But they have coffee in the cafeteria and in the lounges. We don’t need to leave the hospital for that.”

“They don’t serve Starbucks here.” I remove a set of keys from my pocket and steer her toward the parking lot.

“Why are you doing this?” she says, still confused, as am I.

I shrug. “Because I like Starbucks, and I haven’t eaten all day.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “You know what I mean. Why are you taking me with you to get coffee?”