Page 4 of Ten Day Affair

"Please. You're like a brother."

"You already forgot we dated, sis?"

I arch a brow. “Kip, one dinner and a limp kiss in your Prius before we knew each other doesn’t count as dating.”

“Just saying, I’m a very layered and emotional man. I’m sad for you that you didn’t get to experience that.”

“So tragic. I sob about it daily.”

Before he can come back with some smartass half-flirt, Parker Matthews strolls past the OR window, coffee in one hand, lab coat flaring behind him like a superhero cape.

I nudge Kip. “There goes a real overachiever.”

Kip rolls his eyes. “I swear, ever since Matthews got that promotion, he’s everywhere. I used to see him twice a week. Now he’s in my OR, my breakroom, my nightmares.”

I smirk but track Parker’s movement. He’s hot. Objectively. Clean-shaven, quietly intense with those steely blue eyes. Somehow, he always looks like he just saved a life and didn’t break a sweat.

I shake it off. Jesus, Sam. Maybe try not mentally undressing every competent man who walks by.

Kip tosses a mostly clean head covering at me. I dodge without effort. It lands with a quiet flop on the floor.

“You dropped it. Not my problem,” I call, pushing through the swinging doors.

“Whatcha got next?” he asks as he bends to grab it and then rushes to follow me out.

I turn around to face him and make a face.

“On the floor doing rounds. Joy to the world,” I say dryly with a fake smile.

“Hang in there. You’ll be done with residency one day and shine like your dad.”

I force a smile that doesn’t quite stick. “Can’t wait.”

I turn before he sees my jaw tighten. Because maybe he meant it as a compliment. But in this place, under this last name, it never feels like one.

By the time I finally step outside, the night air hits like a release valve. I roll down the windows and let the warm breeze tickle my skin. I need this after being cooped up in hospital air for eighteen hours.

My Mercedes hums up the quiet street, tires barely whispering over the pavers. The security gate clicks shut behind me as I pull into my driveway.

Tall hedges line the property, shadowing the lawn like bodyguards.

The house rises out of the dark. Two stories of sharp edges, columns, and windows that I still haven’t bothered to curtain greet me.

I kill the engine and sit there for a second, listening to the faint roar of the beach just beyond the row of houses.

Mariner’s Reach, the home of the financially gifted and emotionally unavailable. I qualify on both counts, it appears.

This place was never the plan. But after Mom’s trust kicked in, I made a few decent moves with the money. And here I am. The house is paid in full and empty as hell.

I step into the garage and toe off my Hokas before heading inside. The beach is calling, but first, I need to shower the sickness off me.

After a much-needed steamy shower, armed with wine in one hand, I stroll onto my wide back terrace that faces the private beach.

The wine’s cold, the air’s thick, and my brain isn’tracing for the first time in what feels like forever. This is my happy place.

I sink into the lounge chair on my terrace, legs up, silk robe sticking to my skin in places I don’t care to mention. The ocean’s humming is stretched out as far as my eyes can see, sparkling in the moonlight.

It’s almost like it’s trying to seduce me, and I’m open to it. I need to be seduced.