“Noted.” I stand, removing my gloves and tossing them into receptacle along with my face shield.
The piercing look he gives me is almost predatory, like he’s daring me to touch him. To trace that scar with my finger and see what happens. My hand twitches at my side before I can stop it, and his mouth curves.
He saw that. Damn it.
Bodhi steps in just as Isaac replaces the gauze. “It’s a little more than stitching you up, but Dr. Elliott has incredible technique. She might even be able to salvage some of that tattoo.”
“If her technique is good, maybe she can add her number while she’s in there.” My ears heat.
Luke chuckles, clearing his throat and changing the subject. “Your mom and sister are on their way.”
Bodhi glances at the wound, then at the monitors. “An OR is being prepped now. We’ll get you wheeled up to pre-op.” To Luke he adds, “You can go up there with him.”
“Thanks, man.”
“See you up there.”
I exit the room without a word and head straight to the Doc Station, stopping right outside the glass. Twenty minutes ago,this would’ve been just another consult. Now I’m exactly the kind of compromised I swore I’d never be.
“In an abundance of caution, Dr. Kapoor has to take this procedure. I’m not doing it.” Vikram Kapoor is Chief of Ortho and an outstanding surgeon.
Bodhi regards me for a second before nodding, no questions asked. “Understood.”
After we catch Dr. Kapoor up to speed on Hunter’s injuries, both surgeons head upstairs while I head to the physician’s lounge to clear my head.
After two cups of coffee and some charting, my phone buzzes with a text from Esme.
Esme: Heard Hunter’s in surgery. You operating?
Me: News travels fast in this hospital.
Esme: Always.
Me: Not operating. He told me I was watching him at the luncheon and then hit on me through a morphine haze. Conflict of interest.
Esme: Claire. He’s PERFECT for you. Don’t run.
Me: [Homer Simpson backing into bushes GIF]
Esme: CLAIRE.
Me: Too. Late.
Then I silence my phone and shove it in my locker.
Chapter 2
Hunter
“Claire.”
Her name scrapes out of my throat like gravel, rough and raw. My tongue feels thick, my mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing cotton for a week, and everything’s hazy around the edges.
“Oh my God, he’s saying her name again.” Piper’s voice cuts through the fog, way too bright, way too smug. “I’m recording this.”
I try to open my eyes, but my lids weigh a thousand pounds. “Stop.”
