Page 3 of Ten Day Affair

Amara glares at me, silencing me. With daggers in her eyes, she nods to Kip, her hands still on the hub, securing it in place. At least she’s not pulling it out anymore.

Kip comes around the table and peers into the patient’s exposed inner throat, the dilators giving some space around the existing hub.

He looks at Amara. “She’s right, Dr. G. We need to suspend and reevaluate.”

Amara’s haughty gaze eats into me. There's anger in her eyes, but I'm not sure that's at me for calling it out or at herself for not noticing. This is our residency OR, designed for observing and listening. The board just heard me call out Dr. Grimaldi. There will be hell to pay for this from her later.

Swiftly and with showy movements, she barks at Nicole to angle the mirror, and then she orders an attending nurse to hold the hub. The poor guy jumps to do just that.

Amara walks to my side of the patient, making me hasten to step aside. She examines the issue and grunts.

“No need to stop surgery. I know what to do.”

With that, she’s back in control again, using the skills that come with experience to flawlessly execute the rest of the surgery. I watch as she secures the small piece, has Kip hold it away from the skin, and then continues to remove the hub and flange.

The throat is supported by the dilators, and within ten minutes, she has inserted the new device into the freshly sanitized throat pocket.

We all breathe a little easier once the scrub nurse takes over and the surgeon’s work is done.

A scratchy voice sounds over the intercom. “Well done, doctor. Well done.”

As usual, Amara delights in receiving the praise. She beams at the window as she walks out.

I follow her and Kip to the swinging doors, but glance back one more time.

He’s still there, this time deep in conversation with an older man. He turns slightly and claps the guy on the back. That’s when I catch his corded forearms peeking out of the cuffs of his shirt.

Veins trace the backs of his hands, disappearing beneath his blazer sleeves, just enough flex to make my mouth dry.

God, that’s unfair. Broad shoulders, a lean waist, hands that look like they could undo every rational thought I’ve ever had. Too bad he will only live on in my mind from here.

My mind flickers, uninvited, to what he’d look like out of that suit. I can imagine his warm skin and rough mouth on me.

It’s dumb. I don’t even know his name. But I’m single, undersexed, and apparently ready to mentally strip a man through glass. If I’m not getting the real thing, a little fantasy never hurt.

The door swings hard in my direction, snapping me out of it.

The only thing I should be craving right now is surgical experience, not whatever that man’s hiding under his custom-tailored suit.

Amara’s ripped off her safety garb and is already out the door, no doubt trying to chase down the men who were watching to rewrite the narrative of what just happened. That leaves Kip and me, removing our gowns and gloves.

“Well, damn, Taylor. If all it takes to get you to stand up to Grimaldi is a hot guy watching, I’d have hired a stripper months ago.”

I snort. “Whatever. Shut up.”

“You’re a great resident,” he adds, more sincere this time. “Seriously. You should speak up more.”

“And risk her turning me into a cautionary tale? Hard pass. You’re the fearless one. I prefer to live. I've learned to be okay with living in the shadows.”

I’m half-listening, but my brain’s playing reruns of Board Member Ken and his mewing jawline. “Whowasthat guy, anyway? Do you know? I’ve never seen him.”

Kip shrugs, already grinning. “No, they all look the same to me.”

“Not that guy.”

“The hottest guy is right here.”

He stretches out his arms.