Bachelor Doctor

“Not just ballroom etiquette. We also had to learn these arcane rituals that might have been relevant a century ago but—” He sighed. “I understand the necessity of instructing youngsters in the basics, and knowing how to dance is useful I suppose, but I swore that as an adult I would never subject myself to further torture along those lines.”

“Miss Martha must have run those dance classes like a gulag commandant. Dancing is supposed to be fun, not torture.”

“Is it?” he challenged. “Do you think dancing is fun, Sheely?”

“I guess it all depends on who you’re dancing with,” Callie heard herself reply.

And was promptly horrified with herself. She couldn’t have said something as blatant as that! Why, she sounded like her ditsy sister, Bonnie, a compulsive flirt since the age of ten—and probably the least-subtle flirt in the universe, too.

Having watched and winced over Bonnie for years, Callie had made a studied effort to be her opposite. To hear herself throw out such an obvious come-on line made her cringe.

Worse, she could feel Trey studying her, his expression unreadable.

She was certain he was patronizing her when he replied in cool, measured tones, “And who do you like to dance with, Sheely? Scott Fritche?”

“I’ve assisted Scott Fritche in the OR from time to time. I don’t dance with him.”

“But you’d like to?”

“Oh, please, give me credit for having a little taste. Scott Fritche dates teenage student nurses. Any woman over twenty-one is too mature for him. He’s a perpetual adolescent.”

“Well, Fritche is sounding less and less like neurosurgery material.” Trey frowned, his mind back on the surgical track. He seldom left it for long.

Callie was inordinately relieved. She’d come close to making a fool of herself with Trey, not that he seemed aware of it. One of the advantages of his never taking any personal notice of her, she decided wryly.

They reached the bank of elevators at the end of the corridor and could either leave the OR floor or go back to where they’d come from, the lounge and locker rooms adjacent to the operating and recovery rooms.

Trey glanced at his watch. “We do the astrocytoma with the laser in less an hour.”

Callie nodded. “The patient is Doug Radocay. I, uh, mentioned that his grandmother lives in my old neighborhood near my parents’ house.”

“Yes, you mentioned that. Among other things that I won’t go into. Feel free to thank me for my restraint, Sheely.”

She was fairly sure he was kidding but not sure enough. “Thank you,” she replied seriously. “It’s very diplomatic of you to resist bringing up…those other things, especially since we agreed to disagree on them.”

“If you say so, Sheely.” Trey arched his brows. “Did I tell you that I happened to overhear you on the office phone when you bullied Mr. Radocay’s HMO into approving the referral to me? They were against it, but you persuaded them to loosen the purse strings and pay up. You were impressively alarming, Sheely.”

“I was simply following your lead, Dr. Weldon.”

“Were you?”

“Uh-huh. I asked myself what would you say in a similar situation since you always manage to make those pencil-pushing bureaucrats on the end of the line bow to your will. I imitated your technique, right down to the blood-chilling tone and not-too-subtle threats.”

“Thank you. And let me return the compliment, Sheely. In proper form, you too can freeze the blood of the pencil pushers.”

He pressed the call button to summon the elevator. “I’m grabbing a bite to eat from the cafeteria. Are you going there?”

“I guess.” She glanced down at her less-than-flattering outfit. “I meant to bring my lunch and eat in the lounge today but I forgot it. I, uh, I didn’t expect to be seen in public looking like this.” She shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

“You look fine,” Trey said, as if on cue.

Callie’s head jerked up. “That wasn’t a bid for a compliment.”

But it had sounded that way, she chided herself. “I look like a slob and I know it,” she added sternly.

The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside the empty car.

“Let me put it another way, then.” Trey pressed the button for the cafeteria located in the basement, and the doors snapped shut. “A suitably uncomplimentary way. You don’t look any worse in that getup than you do in those oversize scrubs, Sheely.” He grinned. “Better?”

Callie stared up at him. Trey didn’t smile often. Quiana had once accused him of rationing his smiles, and he had somberly agreed that he was not the smiley sort. Therefore his grin—teasing, lighthearted—packed a potent wallop.

She felt slightly dazed. “Those scrubs are marked One Size Fits All. I’ve often wondered ‘all’ of what?”

“Gorillas, maybe?” suggested Trey.

“So if you happen to live on the Planet of the Apes, they really would fit all.”

“And be worn in simian ORs,” murmured Trey, his lips quirking, as if picturing one.

He successfully warded off the impulse to smile again. “We need to eat and get our blood sugar levels up. We’re verging on giddy.” His face was devoid of any further trace of amusement.

“Don’t worry, Trey. Nobody would ever accuse you of being giddy, or even verging on it.”

She glanced up at him, and their eyes met again. Callie tried to suppress the frisson of heat that raced through her. Trey looked calm and collected, and immaculate as usual, despite the grinding hours of surgery and disconcerting locker-room scene. Not even his inside-out scrub top detracted from his aura of dignity.

Callie ran a self-conscious hand along her bedraggled ponytail and then attempted to smooth down her bangs. Even with a concerted effort, could she ever acquire a tenth of the elegance that Trey seemed to naturally possess?

The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. A crowd was waiting to board. The cafeteria was only a few yards away, and Trey and Callie walked toward it.

“Sandwich line?” he suggested. “Since Swiss steak is today’s hot special.”

“Sandwich line, definitely. Their Swiss steak is only for the very young and foolish, with ultrahardy digestive tracts. I remember eating it during my student nurse days, which are long gone—along with my ability to consume Tri-State’s Swiss steak.”

“You’re not that long out of nursing school, are you, Sheely? You look like a kid.”

“Thanks, I think. But I haven’t been a kid for a long time. I’m twenty-six,” she admitted. “As of last month,” she added, because being twenty-six was still hard to fathom.

There had been a time when twenty-six seemed ancient to her. Now that she’d actually reached it, it did not feel old at all.

You’re on the wrong side of twenty-five now, Callie, her sister, Bonnie, had joshed, as Callie blew out all the candles blazing on her birthday cake. Bonnie, four years younger, still considered twenty-six to be ancient.

“Last month? Uh, happy birthday, Sheely. Belatedly.”

Callie didn’t bother to respond to the perfunctory wishes. She knew very well that he had no interest in things like staff birthdays; he’d made it his personal rule not to participate in the inevitable collections for cards and/or cakes.

“Twenty-six.” To her surprise, Trey picked up the thread of their conversation. “That’s still young, Sheely. At least it is to me. I’ll be thirty-three in October.”

He looked slightly astonished by the fact, and Callie knew exactly what he was feeling.