And…
Oh.
Fuck.
Me.
Jesse.
Circulating the suture area in crisp blue scrubs, mouth tilted into a hint of amusement, a badge clipped to his hip. Too farto read a name. Jesse, though. It was. Shit. Shit, shit,shit. The floor performed a neat little tilt as I stopped dead in my tracks, someone behind me colliding with my shoulder, too slow to swerve. I apologized blindly, angling away from Jesse. Jesus Christ, why? Out of all the places in this absolutely gigantic city, he had to workhere?
Right, okay. Step behind Khai, emulate furniture. I was a navy smudge in a sea of navy smudges.
Only problem? Assigned time slots. And since Jesse was overseeing a whole damn section, tablet in hand, would likely be here all week… Yeah. So, I was fucked—and not like in that hotel shower three nights ago.
Door one: Quit. I was not a quitter.
Door two: Pray he wouldn’t recognize me. Fat chance.
Or door three: Tip up my chin and face the inevitable.
Well then. Door three it was.
I straightened my spine, static crackling along my veins, and ignored Khai’s slightly confused glance as I stepped back into place next to him. All right, okay. Breathe. Wait for it…
Yep—there. Jesse’s gaze swept the crowd, casual and confident. Until it snagged on me.
His eyes went wide. Half a second crackled between us, a silent explosion while everyone else kept moving like some awful fucking movie cliché. Then his face slid back into something close to normal—smile gone, replaced by a microscopic frown that lingered as he turned away, easy to miss.
Okay. That could have gone better. Could have gone worse, too.
Breathe.In. And out.
I checked my schedule. Up first: sterile technique. Blessedly, it was a whole different section.
The session went fine. At least I think it did. I gloved up without touching anything I shouldn’t, kept my elbows up,smiled when the senior running the station cracked a joke I didn’t catch. Tessa was paired with me, all focus, and we worked together like we’d done it a dozen times before. I nodded in all the right places and pretended to absorb every word of feedback.Do not spiral.
Except suturing was next on my schedule. Because of fucking course.
Not surprising, no—they were cycling us through every station twice by the end of the week. But, you know. I could have done with a few more hours before facing him. Work out what I’d say. Well, it wasn’t like he’d call me out in front of everyone, mention how I’d looked with my mouth around his dick or anything like that, but…Yeah. “So, hi, funny story? Not a hooker. Had a great time, though. Let me know if you want your money back. Also, please don’t kick me out?”
No. No, he couldn’t. Fellows evaluated us, yes, but they wouldn’t single-handedly get to kick an intern out.Right?And anyway, he’d hardly be eager to explain just how I’d offended him. “Dropped some money on an escort, turns out he’s not.” Yeah, no. But could he make my life a hell of a lot more difficult? Probably, yeah. Did I deserve it?
Ugh.
Possibly.
Jesse stood at the entrance to the suture lab, checking off names with quick nods. Fuck.
Act casual.
“Morning,” I mumbled when it was my turn, pulse thudding in the hollow of my throat. “Finn Hayes.”
He fixed me with a brief, sharp look, eyes unreadable, then tapped my name on his tablet and handed over a small zip pouch—needle driver, forceps, a pad with pre-printed incisionlines. Our fingers didn’t brush.Jesse Maddox, his badge told me.Pediatric Surgery—Fellow.
“Thanks,” I said, mostly steady. I moved on.
Knot-tying station. Foam skin held the needle like it wanted to be helpful, no tug or twitch, no blanching—like suturing a yoga mat. I knew because I’d done it, trying to perfect my technique on the closest approximation I already owned. It allowed me to rely on muscle memory as I stitched and knotted, thoughts a scramble, too damnawareof Jesse’s presence as he orbited the section, demonstrating, correcting, his tone calm and friendly. He passed me a couple of times but didn’t linger.
