Her light steps bounce the few paces to the open chair and she falls into the seat; her bag hits the floor with a thud that’s way too loud for five something in the morning.
I’m not a morning person. I hate small talk in general, and in the mornings, it’s worse.
I’ve noticed that’s not the case with Annaliese. She’s perky at five in the morning and after a twelve hour surgical day. She’s perky in the middle of the night when she calls to wake me up with an emergency. She’s perky all the damn time. That should annoy me. But it doesn’t.
In fact, her perky, gorgeous face is the reason I’m so exhausted today.
I tossed and turned all night, unable to fall asleep because every time I closed my eyes and drifted off, I thought of her. Her coffee-colored eyes paired with her luscious, dark curly hair. That smile that can brighten up even the darkest of situations. The way her face twists when she says something snarky and waits for my response.
Being around her also has me questioning Richard. I don’t understand why he wants to change her, let alonesabotageher, and it leaves me questioning his motives. Besides giving her a shit schedule, I haven’t held up my end of the promise to him, and that thought churns my stomach more than anything.
“And how are you today?” she prompts, swinging one leg over to the other to bounce her foot. The tip of her shoe must be brushing against the edge of my desk, the faint sound the only noise in the otherwise peaceful office.
“Why are you such a ray of sunshine today?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she quips, lifting her arm to check her watch. “Normally you’re at least somewhat tolerable toward me by 5:49 in the morning.”
I grunt, a hint of a smile threatening to crack my crabby exterior. “Normally I am, but I slept like shit last night and forgot my coffee mug on my counter at home. I refuse to drink the shit that comes from the breakroom.” It’d be safer to crack the lines in my car and drink the battery acid.
“Well,” she slaps her knees, rising to stand, “let’s go. By the time I get changed and we walk your sorry ass upstairs, the coffee shop will be open. We can get you some caffeine and maybe you’ll be a little less crotchety.”
I slam the screen of my laptop shut, leaning back in my chair. My hands come up and I scrub my palms over my face, noting I’m overdue for a shave. “Did you just call me crotchety?”
“Mmhhmmm,” she muses. “I think it fits.”
I drop my hands, blinking the sleepy blur from my eyes as I open my mouth, ready to fire off a comeback when the words die on my lips.
I finally lay my eyes on her for the first time since she walked in this morning, and I see that she’s not wearing scrubs. No, she’s wearing a dress.
Something that is completely casual yet work appropriate, but it still forces my blood to pump harder. Since we have to wear hospital scrubs during surgery, we can technically dress however we want when we come to work. I choose to wear my own scrubs or joggers because it’s the most comfortable. Some doctors dress in business casual in case they run into a patient or family member in the hall. Others, like Annaliese, wear their street clothes. With the fall weather being unseasonably warm, I’ve seen some nurses arrive at the hospital in shorts, so a dress makes perfect sense.
But a dress on her isn’t something I could have prepared myself for. It fits loosely, nearly falling to her knees but it still manages to showcase her athletic body. I can see her toned legs sculpted underneath and find myself needing an adjustment beneath my desk. The kicker is her luscious dark hair. Normally, it’s already tied up and tucked neatly under her scrub cap by the time I see her, but today, it hangs loose.
It falls over her collarbone, landing just above her perky tits. Bouncy curls tickle her cheeks when she tilts her head to stare at me, and it leaves me wondering if they’d feel as soft as they look.
“What’s that look for?” she asks, and I know I’ve been busted.
I roughly clear my throat and open my top desk drawer to grab my wallet. “What are you wearing?”
She rests a hand around her hip and slides it down to the hem of her dress. “It’s a dress,” she says casually, running the cotton fabric through her fingers. “They’ve been around for, gosh,thousandsof years I’d bet. I’d even argue since the origin of mankind, but who’s to say. And these…” she kicks a heel up behind her so I can see a pair of coordinating converse sneakers, “areshoes, which have also been around for thousands of years. They protect our feet. In fact, I’ll bet if you looked down, you might have a pair on as well.” She stares down at me, the sparkle in her eyes growing with each sassy comment. “Stay tuned for next week, when I teach you about forks and spoons, also known assilverware. We use those to eat.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to temper a smile. She’s so full of sass. Snarky even when most would ignore me or give me a wide berth when they know I’m crabby, or crotchety, apparently. But not Annaliese. Either she isn’t intimidated by me, or she gets off on poking the bear.
“Your hair is long.”
Her smile falters, and she immediately reaches a hand up to touch the top of her head, swiping it down as if to flatten her perfect curls. “You’ve seen me without a scrub cap plenty of times.”
“I have.” I nod in agreement. “I just haven’t seen it down before.”
It’s beautiful. That’s what the proper follow-up comment would be.You’re beautiful. I can feel the words resting right behind my teeth, begging to be said, but I hold them back. I’d be a fool not to notice how truly gorgeous Annaliese is. It isn’t in a showy, made-up sort of way, no. Her beauty comes with her dark eyes, the teasing expressions she gives, and the compassion that oozes from her comfortable stare. It’s her smile, both mysterious and playful all at once.
Her beauty is something that drew me in since day one, and it’s sparked thoughts that I shouldn’t let myself have about my boss’s, no, mymentor’s, daughter.
I watch with admiration as she tosses her hair over one shoulder, using both hands to gather it together. Her fingers work quickly as she gathers it into three sections and weaves each strand into the other, and I refuse to let myself blink so I won’t miss one second of the act. Once she secures the end with a tie, she pulls a few of the smaller strands free and they bounce around her face.
She huffs out a breath, causing those strands to fly away, only to return back to their rightful place. “Satisfied?”
I hold her gaze, the moment between us becoming more heated the longer I stare. “Never once did I say it looked bad.”
