I’m standing opposite of Grant now and his expression turns murderous.
He catches me in the lounge after the procedure and glances around to make sure no one is listening.
“Don’t worry about George,” he murmurs.
“Dr. Gambill, you mean?” I inch a little closer to Grant so that we’re not overheard. We’re almost brushing elbows now.
“He’s . . . difficult,” Grant says, swallowing. His eyes find mine as we lean against the counter. My heart gives an unfortunate little lurch, and I have to remind myself that I hate him. “You kind of get used to it, but you don’t have to take anything lying down. If he’s rude, call him out on it.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “What about me makes you think I would just roll over when someone mistreats me?”
He winces. “Ah. Yeah, I can see that. I’ll back you up if you need it, though.”
My heart shifts again. Dammit.
“Thanks, Grant,” I say. “I look forward to that.”
He laughs. “Any time.”
I see Grant intermittently throughout the week. Sometimes I’ll run into him when I’m rounding a corner, and I have a moment of visceral panic before remembering he’s mostly safe now. It’s like seeing a malignant-looking apparition before realizing it doesn’t mean to harm you. On Thursday, he offers to buy me lunch from the hospital cafeteria.
“I have twenty-five minutes,” Grant says, looking at his watch. “You want to walk with me?”
I chew on my lip. Do I want to voluntarily spend time with him? Not really, but I do want a turkey wrap.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Don’t get any crazy ideas about friendship, though.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he replies. We walk down the hospital corridor together, dodging other staff members and equipment as we go. The fluorescent lighting paints his skin a bluish color,and yet he still manages to look indecently attractive. I observe his profile for a moment.
“You’re cute, you know that?” I face ahead again, but I feel him startle next to me.
“Excuse me?
“Oh, stop. You know what you look like. It’s just that you always ruined it with your attitude.”
He laughs. “Ugh. That’s fair.” His voice lowers to a murmur. “I meant what I said about how pretty you are.”
My chest tightens. “Careful, there. If we can’t have friendship, we definitely can’t start a workplace affair.”
I can sort of picture it, though, in seductive clarity: making out in supply rooms with my enemy. Stolen glances in the OR. Satisfying a tiny, ugly part of me that wanted attention from guys like him when I was younger. Leaving him wanting more.
That’s ridiculous, of course. I still don’t even like him, and I just can’t go down that road.
He shakes his head. “You are . . .” He chuckles again. “Something else. But I know that’s not what this is. I’m not a total idiot.” He pitches his voice lower. “I gave up on that idea as soon as I realized who you were.”
My blood heats. He’s just confirmed he was thinking about me in that way, even though I had already suspected it. My breaths quicken.
I need to rein this in. “Yes, well.” I clear my throat. “I don’t dabble with coworkers, anyway.” My gaze slides to him. “Especially not you.”
“Yeah. I know.”
The moment has deflated. We get our lunches, and he pays for mine, despite my halfhearted protests. We start walking back to the clinic. There’s a bit more space between us now.
“So,” I say once we are in the hallway again, “seen any good movies lately?”
“Ha,” he breathes. “I wish I had time for that actually. I love movies.”
“Really?” I roll my lips inward. “I can’t picture you as a leisure guy. You seem like you do bicep curls and critique scholarly articles for fun.”
