Mark
“Hey, doc. You got a second?”
I stop just outside the room I’ve just exited, bristling at the informality my new male nurse, Eli, uses to call after me. I halt my progress and set down my iPad and charts on the nurse’s station. I really don’t have time for this tonight and I grumble at the unscheduled interruption.
At the rate my day is going, I won’t get to where I’m going until well after eight p.m. There’s also a shit ton of paperwork that’s piled up on my desk with no consideration to my personal life. Looks like there’ll be no escaping the fact that I’ll be returning to the hospital after the party tonight.
Such is life as a trauma surgeon.
Taking a deep breath, I replace my grimace with a tight-lipped smile. The nurse doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe just ignores my aggravation like most of the nurses around here do. I’m not a hothead or egotistical prick like Dr. Malcolm or Dr. Henderson, who routinely throw their charts and other physical objects at their nursing staff, but I do have my moments. It comes with the territory when you’re dealing with death’s hand in our lives. It puts things into perspective.
As I patiently wait for Nurse Morrell to make his way down the corridor, I remind myself to stay chill and not let my anxiety show. It’s not his fault that instead of being happy to be back in Boston and thrilled to be at the top of my career, I’ve never been lonelier. Or felt less like myself than ever before.
That instead of content, like my two best friends, Rylie and Sasha, seem to be in their lives, all I feel is hollow. Like there’s a massive crater in my body. As if someone’s surgically removed a vital part of me and has failed to return it to its proper place.
I guess that’s what heartbreak does to a person. Rips out your heart and leaves you with a gaping hole.
Pivoting on my heels, I rest against the counter and give him my full attention.
“Yeah, sure, Elijah. I’m just closing down with ICU rounds. What can I help you with?”
Elijah Morrell is the newest member of my surgical team and a recent transfer from a sister hospital in Indiana. I’ve tried to be welcoming and helpful to him as a senior member of the trauma team. He certainly doesn’t need to know the shitload of stress I’m under in this new position or how my lack of sleep and excruciating schedule this week has made me an irritable beast.
This guy – with all his happy buoyancy – like a Labrador puppy, all bouncy and excitable – doesn’t need any further evidence to prove that I’m an uptight asshole.
Everyone already loves Elijah in just the few shorts weeks he’s been here. Maybe it’s due to his comforting smile or his easy comradery with his colleagues. Elijah exudes a passion for life, a joie de vivre, if you will.
And I feel like the old curmudgeonly doctor Evil next to him.
The nurse moves toward me, a slight swagger to his gait and a grin placed haphazardly across his face that naturally forces one of my own.
I study him carefully, the noticeable beauty in his face and his easy-going mannerisms. The fact of the matter is, I’m unable to break the connection my gaze has with Elijah’s. He’s one hell of a beautiful man. And yes, I’ve noticed this man’s confident strut and boyish charm emanating through his physical mannerisms over the last month.
It’s made me yearn with a deep physical need to touch him. To drink him in.
That’s what happens when you go through a dry spell. My demanding surgical and rotational schedule hasn’t allowed much room for dating or even brief hookups. And that’s okay. I need time to sort myself out first.
Elijah stops in front of me, his tousled blond hair a little too long and shaggy, edging past the tops of his ears in a sexy, messy manner. Like champagne in a pressurized bottle ready to pop, Eli has more bottled up energy than anyone should possibly have and then some. He never stands still – always tapping a foot or fidgeting with something in his hands.
I want to laugh, because it’s people like Elijah that those stupid fidget spinners were made for.
People opposite of myself. I’m solid and unflappable. Bordering on OCD with a shot of anal retentive to boot. I’m patient and don’t get ruffled easily. I have nerves of steel. I’m no bullshit. Orderly with a no-nonsense level of compassion, but some people might call aloof.
Elijah laughs and waves a dismissive hand in my direction and my eyes follow one solidly built arm.
“You can just call me Eli, doc. Elijah is reserved for interviews and my grandparents.”
He gives me a cute, dimpled smile and I nod. “Okay, Eli. Let’s make this quick, though. I’ve got a few things to finish up and I need to get out of here on time for once tonight.”
His mouth broadens into a wide grin – all teeth and lips – and I suddenly wonder why I’m in such a hurry to rush off. I could stand here all day and all night just basking in the warm, contented glow of his smile.
A worthy reason to show up late to any party.
If Eli realizes he’s made an impression on me, he doesn’t show it. He remains casually smiling and cants his head at me, an eyebrow quirked up with a flourish, as if he finds my request amusing.
“Got a hot date tonight, doc?” he smirks.
Don’t I wish, I nearly say out loud, but keep my guard up.
I give a polite chuckle. “Uh, no. A get-together, shall we say. Now, what can I help you with?”
If I’m not mistaken, his eyes rove over me in a flash, but then return to my face, this time a crooked smile that only has one dimple doing its thing.
“Well, doc. I’m looking for your feedback on my performance so far. Since I’m new here, as you know, and I’m trying to adjust to the ER practices. I would expect you’d have some thoughts on things you think I’m doing well at and things you want me to change.”
I’m sure the surprise registers across my face, my brows lifted in astonishment. In all my years in private practice, out in the field, or now in a public hospital I have never been directly asked by a surgical nurse for my feedback. Actually, Eli isn’t even asking me for it. He’s straight-up demanding it.
Running a hand through my dark hair – which is finally growing out from the cropped short I’d had the last three years – I shake off the confusion of being cornered by this request and try to conjure up some on-the-spot feedback. I mentally flip through the catalog of my observations and our exchanges, both positive and constructive.
Can I even pinpoint and articulate specific changes that he can make? Aside from his overly bouncy fidgeting, which really isn’t disruptive as much as it is kind of cute, I can’t come up with anything helpful.
You could stop looking so delectable in those blue scrubs.
Probably not the type feedback he’s looking for.
“Off the top of my head, I think you’re doing a great job,” I insist, hoping that will be enough to appease the young nurse so I can be on my way. “No problems so far.”
Thinking this brief and positive praise will be sufficient enough to get this guy back on his way, I turn and try to side-step around him, but am blocked when Elijah crosses his arms and his broad shoulders brush mine. Startled, and a little off-kilter by the heat and weight of his body, I stop and peer back over my shoulder at him.
His face holds a boyish quality, with his high cheekbones and a light blond scruff across his jaw. Full lips that when turned upward in his usual smile, radiate a contagious energy – with maybe a touch of mischief. And the deep well of dimples carved in each cheek casts a look of innocence overshadowed by playfulness.
I shake off the spin cycle affect that churns in my stomach. It’s a combination of thrill and desire that hasn’t existed there for a long time. Something about this man makes my body come alive with a greedy need to be wanted. To belong to someone.
It’s a foreign feeling to me. Not because it’s a man that’s creating this nervous energy and attraction – but the fact that I’m actually registering any attraction to anyone. I figured the damage done to my heart and psyche in Ghana was destructive enough to shut it down for good.
The warmth of Eli’s touch on the top of my shoulder sends a shooting spark so electric I may as well have been shocked. The heat of it sears my flesh through my lab coat and I jolt from the sudden spark of energy. He, too, seems to have been affected by it based on the parting of his lips, the sudden sip of air and the way his grip tightens on me.
Without missing a beat, he snickers. “Doc, you’re not just blowing smoke up my ass just to get rid of me, are you? Because I call bullshit.”
I chuckle and shake my head, dropping my eyes to hide my discomfort and the truth Eli has uncovered. He’s also very perceptive. And I’m a terrible liar.
Returning my gaze to his face, I give him a sheepish look and answer honestly.
“Okay, maybe a little BS. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t prepared for this conversation right now – not here,” I motion up and down the hallway. “And I am in a hurry. But listen, if you’re truly interested in my constructive feedback, why don’t you schedule a time with me next week and I can give you my full attention and thorough insights.”
A flash of something in Eli’s eyes – something wanton and sensual, maybe– illuminates and then disappears when he drops his hand from my shoulder. I immediately want it back.
His smile is slow and lazy, almost wolfish. And I’m feeling a bit like his lamb, caught in his path.
“That sounds good, doc. I’ll check your schedule and will set something up.”
“Okay,” I reply absently, already on the move; practically hurling myself as far from him as possible. Instinctively knowing he’s dangerous to my carefully constructed life. A predator to my existing course trajectory.
“And, doc,” he calls out casually, throwing off my steps. “I’ll be prepared to give you my feedback, too.”
I falter and nearly spill the contents of my files across the floor.
His feedback? On my performance? WTH?
When I turn back around to question him, Eli is already halfway down the hall, his steps filled with a confident spring.
My gaze lands on his firm, shapely ass and even though I’m vaguely aware that I’m being paged overhead, my attention doesn’t veer from the man’s perfect rear.
Oh shit, I’m fucked.