His smile slips, too, brows furrowing over the questions still simmering in his eyes.
But he shakes it off, steps forward, his hand reaching out ever so gently to cradle my elbow as he presses his lips to my forehead.
He holds them there for a long moment, inhaling deep, and then he breaks the kiss and squeezes my arm before letting it go.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” he promises, and then he’s gone.
My fingertips float up to touch the spot where his lips were, chest aching with the memory of it.
And I wonder if he’s a masochist just like me.
CHAPTER TEN
GREG
Everything is steady.
My hands, my breath, my heart rate — all of it reflects calm professionalism as I carefully, slowly, insert the hollow needle and small, flexible catheter between the spinal column and outer membrane of the spinal cord of a young woman.
Once the catheter is in place, I remove the needle, administering the anesthesia and checking the patient’s vitals for a while to ensure everything is okay.
After a few minutes without any adverse reaction, I relax even more, working with the CRNA to dispose of the equipment no longer needed.
“Alright, Mrs. Carmack,” I say, rounding the bed so I can face her. “You’re going to start to feel some tingling in your legs, and you might lose feeling in them altogether. That’s completely normal, okay? But in about fifteen minutes or so, you’re going to feel a lot more comfortable.”
She nods, brows furrowed and sweat beading on her forehead.
“That pain you were feeling from the contractions is going to feel more like a pressure now, okay? If you’re still feeling a lot of pain, you let the nurses know and we can administer more medication.”
“Thank you,” she manages, and her partner thanks me with a nod of his head before turning his attention back to where his hand is being squeezed in a death grip.
I excuse myself, removing my gloves and pulling my mask down before I check the time on my watch. With a little room before my next surgery, I head for the café to get tea.
And with the job done, anxiety creeps back in.
Thoughts of Amanda bombard me, flashes of Sunday night striking me like hot lightning at the same time that my stomach sinks from not having heard from her in four days.
I crossed the line again, and now I’m paying for it.
I curse internally, wondering if I’ve screwed it all up, but at the same time I know I wouldn’t take it back even if I had the chance.
She wanted me, too.
The way her breath was shallow and ragged, how she opened for me, the gasp that slipped from her lips in the exact moment I decided I was going to claim them for my own…
And then Samuel called.
Another fire-breathing dragon huff leaves me at the memory, the same reaction I have every time I think about that douchebag firefighter. In all reality, he’s probably a great guy. He’s a hero, really — literally running into burning buildings to save people.
But the moment he laid a hand on Amanda, he became an enemy to me.
On the elevator ride down to the café, I text Asher.
Me: Hey, man. Great event on Saturday.
Asher: Glad you could make it. We raised the most we ever have for the Burn Foundation.
Me: Not surprised with you in charge.
I pause, debating the can of worms I’ll open by asking about Samuel, but I decide it’s worth it.
Me: There was a guy on our squad, a Samuel… you know anything about him?
Asher: Samuel Waters. Yeah, he’s a cocky sonofabitch, but a damn good firefighter. Also, a pain in my ass most of the time. Why?
I crack my neck.
Me: He’s taking Amanda on a date.
Asher: I’m assuming Amanda is the juicy snack who was with you Saturday? I need details. What’s going on with you two? Who is she?
Me: Another time. Just tell me I don’t need to worry.
Asher: About Samuel? Honestly, man… he probably just wants to fuck her.
Red.
Murderous, blood-stained red.
That’s all I see when I read that text, and another fiery breath leaves my chest.
Asher: But I don’t know, maybe he’ll be a gentleman. I just know his track record, and it’s filled with the same events, if you know what I mean.
I do know what he means.
I nearly break my phone in the vise grip I’ve got it in, but manage to calm myself enough to text back.
Me: Thanks for the info.
Asher: If you like her, just tell her. My guess is she feels the same.
If only it were that easy.
I tuck my phone away, making my way through the halls to the café. Beck and Larsen are in line already, both looking like they need caffeine just as much as I do.
Lars smiles when I join them. “Glad to see we’re not the only ones struggling today. You’re usually fine without caffeine.”