He made a movement with his shoulders. “I speak when I have something to say.”
“Like telling me to sing in the OR.”
“Like telling you to sing in the operating room. The staff would’ve enjoyed it. You have a beautiful voice.”
My eyes widened at the unexpected compliment. I didn’t know if I’d been offended or surprised at his suggestion earlier. But hearing the sincerity in his voice now, a warm feeling started in my stomach.
Instead of responding, I took a forkful of my quinoa and salmon salad into my mouth and chewed. After swallowing, I took a sip of the coffee I ordered. That’s when I noticed Dr. Reynolds’ eyes fall to the hand with my cup.
He frowned. “Coffee at nine thirty at night?”
I shrugged. “It won’t keep me up too long. I need some energy for my swim once I leave here.”
“Swim?”
I averted my gaze, deciding how much of my personal affairs I cared to divulge to this somewhat strange but tempting man.
“I work out at a local gym, most of the time swimming laps.”
He nodded and then cut into the chicken he ordered. That time I did allow myself to watch the movement of his mouth while he ate.
“We make a pretty good team.”
At first I didn’t know if it was he or I who made that statement. But when my brain began functioning again, once I pulled my attention from his lips, I recognized that he said it. The second time a man has said those exact words to me in the span of the past five days. But this time, I didn’t have the same internal reaction as when Jackson said them.
“Strangely enough,” I agreed.
“I don’t do teams.” He said it as a threat and a challenge. A challenge to what, I had no clue, but it was one nonetheless.
“I’m not one for teams myself,” I reiterated, honestly.
“Then that makes two of us.”
“You’re a strange man, Dr. Reynolds.”
“Jacob.”
I blinked. “What was that?”
“My name’s Jacob.”
“Is that an invite to call you by your first name?” It would seem obvious, but I wanted to be sure. Most doctors expected nurses and most hospital staff to use their professional name.
“I don’t give most people my first name for reference. Not out loud anyway,” he finished, glancing down at his name embroidered on the black scrubs he still wore.
“Jacob,” I stated just loud enough for me to hear, but when I looked across the table I was surprised to see his nostrils flared, and the typical storm that raged in his eyes stilled for the briefest of seconds. A song with his name in it immediately came to mind, and right there on the spot, I decided to add it to my next set, the following weekend at Rocket.
“You’re getting that far-off look you have onstage.”
That comment pulled me back to the present moment.
“Is that what you were thinking about? Performing again?”
He was way too close to the truth and far too observant. It pissed me off.
Abruptly standing up from the table, I grabbed my tray. “Thanks for dinner. Have a good night, Dr. Reynolds.” I attempted to storm off with my head held high but my left wrist was soon locked in his strong hand. I looked down at his hand holding me in place and then to his face.
“Jacob.”
