"Does this mean you've decided to teach me today?" he asked.
This kid was such an douche. I liked it too much. "If you're lucky."
Hartshorn wantedto talk blood clot protocols while we ate and that was a fine introduction to the man and his mind. On the upside of this, I was too busy arguing with him over the reality of treating critical care cases as opposed to his fantasies of trauma surgery to adequately glare at the visiting professor.
He was seated diagonally across from Sara but it was far too loud at this table for them to carry on an intimate conversation with that much distance between them. Still, I wanted to throw a fork at the guy every time he gave her anotheraw shuckslaugh-shrug. Did he not realize she would eat his soul? Didn't he see that evil in those big hazel eyes or the hell-branded fury in that sweet little mouth? She'd verbally castrate him in four seconds flat and she'd make him thank her for it. He was blind if he didn't see this. The woman was lethal and he did not have the stones to roll with her.
I nodded to Hartshorn—who was still on about clots—and gnawed a chunk of ice as I shot a glance down the table at the professor. This poor bastard didn't know what was good for him. As for Sara, well, she had to know this was a disaster in the making. This guy was not on her level. Maybe she'd have fun brutalizing him for a bit but he'd serve as nothing more than a snack to her. She had to know he'd never satisfy her. He'd never know her or what she needed.
"So, you can see why this is a priority to me," Hartshorn said, nudging my arm with his elbow. "And it would be great if you could—"
"Where the hell did Shap go?"
Hartshorn scanned the table with a frown. "I don't know. Is she on call this weekend?"
"No." I glared at the professor again. A snarl rattled in my throat. This was his fault. I didn't know whatthiswas but it was his fault. "She's not."
"Bathroom, maybe," Hartshorn said. "Anyway. I could really use your support on this protocol—"
"Hold that thought," I said, reaching for the vibrating phone in my pocket. "We'll catch up on this later. Okay?"
A weird splash of surprise hit me when I realized it was a hospital number and not Sara calling me. But that was dumb. Why would she call me? She wouldn't. That wasn't something she did, and she definitely wouldn't do it from somewhere in Acevedo's house. She didn't want— No. I wasn't going to entertain any of that bullshit. We weren't going to—well, we only did that on Thursday nights.
Since I was surrounded by surgeons—I was ignoring the existence of the visiting professor on principle—and their significant others, no one needed an explanation when I pushed away from the table with a finger pointed to my phone in explanation. I wandered down the hallway to the front of the house, tapping my screen to accept the call as soon as the group's noise was behind me.
"This is Dr. Stremmel," I said automatically.
The typical rapid-fire jumble of patient data came across the line in a manner exclusive to interns. I was more surprised when they knew how to report correctly at this point in their rotations. I nodded to myself while mentally reorganizing but my focus—not that I'd admit it to anyone—was finding Sara. This place was three floors of old-as-hell house and I knew there were loads of strange little rooms and hidden closets. She could be anywhere.
But she wasn't. She had a shoulder leaned against the wall in a shadowed corner of the front entryway, her back to me and her head bowed. It seemed like she was reading something on her phone. I stared at her for a moment, willing her to turn around or acknowledge that she knew I wasright here.
When she didn't move, I made my way into the living room as the intern said, "Okay. That's everything, I think."
He was breathless and his report was a fucking mess—wasn't even sure I could find the primary complaint—and I would've made a teachable moment of this if I wasn't stupidly preoccupied with pacing past the door to glance at Sara again. I wanted her attention for a minute, just one minute, so I could complain about the visiting professor and annoy her until she wanted to both scratch my skin off and get fucked up against a wall.
Just one minute.
"That's plenty." I completed another circuit of the living room in time to watch Sara's shoulders rise and then fall, like she was blowing out a deep breath. "Dr. Tavares will appreciate this level of detail when you page her, seeing as she's your on-call resident tonight and should be in the building somewhere."
I heard something that resembled a hand slapping a forehead followed by "Shiiiiiit."
"It happens." I glanced around the room to keep from stomping back out into the hall. There were books everywhere, photos too, and lots of little things that seemed appropriate in the home of a geologist and a neurosurgeon, like several dog-eared copies ofScienceon the sofa and a crystal dish filled with ugly rocks. It was all I could do to keep from putting myself in front of Sara just to bother her. I really loved bothering her. Couldn't stand the idea of anyone else being on the receiving end of her withering glares. Definitely not that fucking professor.
"Thank you, Dr. Stremmel," the intern said. "So sorry to bother you. Have a good night."
"Hold up." Once again, I caught Sara blowing out another breath. What the fuck was this all about? I stopped near the door, close enough to watch her yet far enough to make it seem like I wasn't. "Get your report prioritized before you page Tavares. Communicate the primary complaint, then get into comorbidities and history if relevant."
I heard notebook pages flipping and another "Shiiiiiit" before he said, "Right, right. Thanks again, Dr. Stremmel."
With that issue resolved, I slipped my phone into my back pocket and headed for the hallway. Sara was exactly where I'd left her, that one shoulder pressed to the wall like she was holding up the house, phone in hand, and her back to me. It was classicleave me the hell alone.
"If you're playing a round of hide-and-seek with the professor, the fact you're still waiting here doesn't bode well for your G-spot."
"For fuck's sake, Stremmel," she said. "Would you shut up? And go away while you're at it."
"Don't tell me you'd rather have the professor," I said as I approached. "Come on, Shap. Let's not pretend you want another minute with that guy."
"Seriously. Shut up."
