Surgeons, Rivals...Lovers

Which was also adorable. He had to stop thinking those kinds of things… She was the enemy. In theory.

“It has happened in the ER here in the past year, but never when I was on duty. I’m sure no part of the city is cardiac tamponade deficient, but I haven’t actually treated that condition before today,” he assured her, and then backed up, something she’d said earlier refusing to stop echoing in his mind. “Symptoms etched in your brain from a condition you’ve only seen once? Makes it seem like you have some personal connection to the condition. Is that why you were expecting it?”

Her smile disappeared and she leaned off the wall, eyes leaving him to track to the door again. She didn’t want to answer that question. It had roused the wariness his warning had failed to do. Good.

“I read and study a lot to keep sharp.”

Lying. They were both lying, but he was just better at it.

“So all symptoms of emergency scenarios are etched on your brain?”

She plucked up the badge that had been left for her during surgery and got ready to buzz herself back into Post-op. “That’s my goal.”

Not lying.

“And I’m sure that they’ll be etched on your brain from here on out,” she added.

Still uncomfortable. Uncomfortable enough to flee.

“How long are you staying?” He nodded to the ward door, allowing the subject change.

She hesitated, fishing a watch from her pocket and putting it on. “I don’t know. I might not go home… There’s an on-call room, right?”

He nodded then extracted his card from the thigh pocket of his scrubs. “My cell’s on the back. If Elliot takes a turn while you’re here, would you text me?”

The way her brows lifted said that he’d surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to care that much about the patient. Maybe his warning had done a small amount of good. With her hand outstretched, she stepped forward to take the card. “You’re worried about him?”

Her words confirmed it.

“I do that on occasion.”

Before he put the card in her hand Enzo took the little outstretched palm in his own. Small. Delicate like her features. Nice skin, soft, but she was obviously tired. “Your hands are cold.”

Resisting the urge to rub some warmth back into them, Enzo placed the card on the upturned palm and curled her fingers over it. “If you’re going to go home, get someone to walk with you. Our part of Brooklyn isn’t bad, but it’s safer in pairs or groups. At least until you get some city smarts, Country Mouse.”

She couldn’t slaughter Sam for that nickname.

A ghost of her earlier smile returned.

He let go of her hand and let her buzz herself back into the ward before heading the other way.

“Hey, before you go…” she said, from behind him.

He turned to look back at her.

“Really, thank you. For charging into the fray to help me and Mr. Elliot. Not everyone is willing to do that, put themselves out there when it’s dangerous—physically dangerous—and also because of the litigation-happy society we live in. If it had been just me on the scene, Mr. Elliot would’ve died under that SUV. Doesn’t matter who got to assist Ootaka. You saved a life today, Enzo.”

Still being kind.

If Country Mouse wanted the position, she’d have to fight for it. She might yet figure it out. This was only her first day.

Kimberlyn adjusted the hang of the shopping bag on her arm as she walked beside Sam, one of the two remaining roommates at the brownstone that Caren, Tessa, Sam and Holly had shared—and Holly owned.

Holly was loaded and well connected, and both those things encouraged Kimberlyn to keep her distance for now. She already had enough stress to deal with.

Tessa had recently moved out of the house and in with her boyfriend, Dr. Clay Matthews.

Caren had left for Cameroon, leaving Kimberlyn to sublet her unit.

She hadn’t seen much of anyone but patients over her first week, so an outing with Sam was just what she needed, and the green market was the clincher on her decision to come out. Spending time with someone else who didn’t sound as if they were native to the area—or in Sam’s case sound as if he was from anywhere but Scotland—was the perfect way to try to let go of the week’s stresses.