She scoffs.
A bit later, I listen as she questions Dr. Planck about our surgery, another knee replacement.
“How do you deal with someone who has a knee flexion contracture like that?” She nods toward the patient.
“Ah.” Dr. Planck talks as we work. “We can usually correct it here in mild cases like this. We can resect the femur by a couple more milliliters distally. And we can remove the larger osteophytes from the posterior compartment.”
She watches him. I sneak a few glances at her, but she only has eyes for our procedure. Her curiosity about everything intrigues me. I remember how brilliant she was in high school—she outperformed me, even with the disadvantages she faced—and the fact she still loves learning seems natural.
“It takes a lot of upper body strength,” George says, making a show of looking Kendall up and down. He’s assisting with this surgery. “These joint replacements.”
God, I hate that guy. I’ve hated him since the start of residency. He reminds me of the worst parts of myself.
“I’m not going into ortho,” is all Kendall says.
I find her in the hallway again after we’re done. I shouldn’t do this, Adam’s right, but I need to talk to her. I glance each direction to make sure we’re alone, then tug her into the closet where we keep the linens. Rows of sheets, pillowcases, and pads surround us.
“What are you doing?” she hisses it at me.
“I’m sorry.” I stare at her. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“And you needed to tell me this in the closet?”
“I know! I can’t figure out what I’m doing.” I carve my hands through my hair. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Well, I was going to get a snack. Now I’m going to be hungry, you dick.” She backs up a little but ends up bumping into a metal cart full of cleaning agents. I steady her, but she twists away.
“Are we back to being just polite coworkers again?”
“We aren’t anything!” She glances at the closed door. The dim lighting paints shadows over her already angry expression. “And keep your voice down.”
My shoulders slump. “You haven’t thought about me at all?”
“I’ve pictured your public humiliation a few times since I last saw you,” she says. Her shoulders pull back as she straightens.
“What else can I do?” I’ve never begged anyone for anything before, but I’m about to do it. If she won’t kiss me again, that’s fine, but I’m prepared to do anything she wants if it will keep making her feel better. Anything at all.
She pulls closer to me, and my breath stalls. She smells a little like coconut again and I want to bury my face in her neck.
“This is interesting,” she says. “Here’s what I think. You haven’t been good enough yet. You have a long way to go.”
“I know. I’m trying.”
“And I’m not going to fuck you, so you can get that out of your head.”
I shudder. God, why does that make me want her even more?
“At the reunion, you told me you hadn’t apologized because it would have been more for you than for me. Now you’re seeking absolution? What changed?”
I shake my head. “Not absolution. I can’t achieve that, I know. But the least I can do is help make your life better.” I step toward her, crowding her a little, and she doesn’t back away. I’ve lost my goddamn mind. “Plus, I meant it when I said I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She lays a hand on my chest. My heart pounds against myribcage. She pitches forward a little, raising up to her toes so she can put her lips next to my ear. I suppress another shiver.
“Whatever I want?”
I gulp, then nod. “Anything. I swear.”
Her lips graze the shell of my ear. I’m half hard and spending too much time in here when I have things to do, but I can’t stop.
