His answering laugh is warm and rich, and does nothing to help me forget how attractive he is. “I am a doctor. We pretty much just memorize things for a living.” I’d like to respond, but for a moment all I can think is, Damn, that accent is sexy as hell. His hand lingers in mine for a little longer than is strictly necessary. Jules looks between us both, and I withdraw my hand self-consciously.
“I have some experience with that. I’m working toward my master’s in nursing, and it’s pretty much the same,” I finally reply, finding myself again.
His eyebrows jump and a slow smile spreads across his lips. I can’t help but stare, noting his bottom lip is fuller than the top. I watch him tuck it into his mouth, the hair under the center of his lip moving with it. It’s undeniably sexy.
“Ah, yes, getting your MSN? That’s lovely,” he replies. And the way he says “lovely,” I know I’m going to be repeating it to myself in his accent for the rest of the morning. “So I don’t detect a Russian accent, despite the surname …”
I smile tolerantly. I get that a lot. To the extent of actual strangers full on speaking to me in Russian like I should understand. “My grandparents came here many years ago, and my parents preferred we speak English at home so I didn’t have any trouble at school. I’m afraid I know about as much Russian as Jules here.”
Jules smiles at me right as Dr. Franklin, one of our cardiologists, pops into the room. “Cal, my first consult is here. Join me?”
Dr. Thompson — or Cal, apparently — gives him a sharp nod.
“I expect I’ll be seeing you both around,” he says to Jules and me.
“Of course,” Jules pipes chirpily.
“Yes, nice meeting you,” I reply softly, but he’s already headed out the door. Thank god. I finally relax, the weird pull he has on my hormones now absent.
Jules fans herself dramatically. “Is it hot in here or was it just him?” she gushes. “Whew! And he seems so nice. Definitely trouble with a capital T, that one.”
My gut twinges unpleasantly, and I turn to toss the donut in the garbage, having completely lost my appetite.
“He seems okay,” I say with a shrug.
Jules smirks at me knowingly. “Oh please, if eye contact was a sex act, you two would’ve just gotten to third base.”
“He’s too old for me,” I protest. Or at least, I assume he is.
Jules snorts as she heads out the door, so I follow along. “He’s about my age,” she scoffs. “And I’m only ten years older than you. That’s no biggie.”
“Except he’s a doctor, and —”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, never date a doctor. I practically invented that rule, Sasha. And do you know why?”
I look up at her, since she’s a good four inches taller than me, not sure if this is a trap. “Why?”
“Because I’ve dated enough doctors to know better.”
“Precisely,” I respond. “So it doesn’t matter how old he is. It’s not like either of us is going to date him.”
Jules cackles. “No, Sasha, I’ve dated enough doctors to know better. That’s part of the fun of having rules: breaking them to find out why they’re rules in the first place.”
I shoot her a concerned look as we approach the supply closet. “I’m not sure how I feel about someone responsible for so many people’s lives on a daily basis having that kind of attitude,” I tease. Well, mostly tease. Jules is usually one of the most cautious people I know, so I find this reversal oddly confusing.
She waves a hand at me as we start prepping our supplies for the day.
“You know I would never endanger a patient. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about you,” she replies seriously, maintaining firm but kind eye contact as she mechanically sorts syringes. “You’re so serious, so focused. If someone catches your eye, don’t write them off because of a rule that’s not even really a rule. You never know. That’s all I’m saying.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I happen to like focusing on things that really matter,” I reply archly. “Ever since I started volunteering at this hospital as a teenager, I’ve always known this is what I wanted to do. I like focusing on it.” And not getting distracted by ridiculously hot doctors.
“I know, Sash,” she says, handing me a stack of dressing gowns. “Just don’t be so focused that you miss out on other opportunities that are part of the human experience.” She winks at me, and I find myself a little aggravated. I may not be the most social person, but I’ve dated. I’ve gotten out. I mean, not exactly frequently these days, but she’s talking like I’m eschewing men and I need to drop everything to go after this one because we made some flirty eye contact. She doesn’t need to know about the other stuff, it would just encourage her.
So instead of arguing, I just shake my head and wheel the stocked cart away, intent on focusing on what I always focus on: my job.
It’s not long before Becca catches up with me, as I’m cleaning instruments in the sterilization area.
“Hey, Dr. C is looking for you,” she tells me.
I raise an eyebrow. Dr. Carson is my least favorite cardiologist on the unit. He’s extremely particular about how his exam rooms are set up and shoves most of his work off on the nurses regularly. Not that that’s terribly unusual, it’s just extra annoying because of his attitude.
“Gee, well, I’ll just jump right over then,” I reply sarcastically, wrapping the scalpel in my hand in muslin before setting it in the sterilization tray. “You know. In a little while.”
Becca leans back against the counter with a chuckle. “I thought you might say that.” She taps a long fingernail on her arm thoughtfully. “So, Dr. Thompson might not be your Universe Guy, but he’s still pretty cute, right?”
I roll my eyes. “If you and Jules think he’s such hot stuff, you guys should go after him.”
“Jules thinks he’s hot?”
“What female in that room didn’t?” I reply with a shrug. “He was hot even before he opened his mouth.”
Becca sighs dreamily. “Yeah, that accent is pretty amazing.” She shudders dramatically.
I wrap the last instrument and settle it in the tray, then slide the tray into the autoclave and switch it on. We both step back to let it do its thing.
“Look. I get it. He’s my type. He’s hot. He’s British. But he’s also a doctor, a coworker, and too old for me. I appreciate that you guys want me to find a guy, but I promise that I’m happy being single.”
Becca looks past me, agape. On instinct, I turn around. And Dr. Caleb Thompson is standing in the doorway with a look on his face that says he heard everything. I internalize a heavy sigh. Yep. That’s about right. That’s pretty much how things go for me when it comes to men I might potentially be interested in.
“Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Thompson?” I ask as evenly as I can, but inside I’m dying. Becca skitters out of the room, just squeezing by him. The fucking traitor.
“I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I’ll just … I can come back later …” He’s clearly horribly embarrassed, as he’s stumbling over every other word.