Page 11 of Scrubbing In
I drag my eyes up to meet his. “Leena, I?—”
“Beep, beep!” Sarina, an OR nurse working in the ortho room with Charlie today, says as she hits the button for the automatic doors to open into Pre-op. Realizing we are blocking the way, and flustered by the way she studies Julian and me standingtogether and the way his hand is holding my arm, I take a step back. Passing Sarina, I motion for Julian to follow me.
My head is spinning, and I’m not sure where I’m going. I just know we need to talk in private. I lead him down a hallway to the older wing of the OR and our overflow operating rooms because I know there are no cases scheduled in those rooms today.
I stop him by pointing to the PPE cart. “You need a cap, mask, and shoe covers. Or boots if you prefer. You’ll be scrubbing in with Connor.”
His hand freezes in midair, and he whips his head around with a hard stare.
I find myself trapped in his storm-colored gaze. In shock at Julian being the new surgeon who will at times be working with me, or at the very least regularly interacting with me when he’s on duty to coordinate his surgical cases. The thing is, I do not get involved with fellow coworkers, employees, and especially not surgeons. It has become a rule I put in place for myself after witnessing how the dynamics of romantic relationships play a role in this environment. The political and power structure more often than not seem to cross boundaries that impact the flow and staffing of this department.
“What?” I ask as I break eye contact, looking everywhere but at him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head and turn back to the cart. He mutters, “Nothing.”
When he is appropriately garbed up, we move through another set of automatic double doors into the substerile hallway.
“You drove off before I could get your number,” he says behind me as I guide him down to the last alcove of scrub sinks.
So he was interested in me. But I let my fear of rejection get the best of me and fled. Not that it would have made a difference if I’d stayed now.
Partially hidden away, I stare down at the ground. I feel an acute devastation I refuse to examine too closely right now. Nothing can come from our meeting in the coffee shop and attraction now that I know he will be working here.
Miserably, I launch into my . . . “break up”—God, we aren’t even together, so can it really be a break up?—speech to cut off whatever this is.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make this weird—” I abruptly stop speaking as he steps into my personal space, crowding me. His wide shoulders block my view of the hallway behind him.
Being surrounded by him in this empty hallway, in this secluded alcove, feels daring. Staring up at him, into his eyes with dilated pupils ringed by the dark blue of his irises, makes me breathless and hot. I can feel the heat crawling up my chest and neck. My thoughts are jumbled and clouded.
I can’t look away.
CHAPTER NINE
Julian
“Leena.”
Her hypnotic eyes threaten to pull me under their spell. There is also a gnawing hunger urging me to taste her parted pink lips.
Unfortunately, I can’t lose myself in her the way I’m dying to. She’s supposed to be giving me a tour right now. Damn it, I’m about to scrub in for surgery and I can’t be distracted. The paperwork may be official, but I can’t start off making an avoidable mistake because my mind is on this woman.
But, fuck, she’s here, right in front of me. I’ve been fighting a cresting wave of despair threatening to take me under when I thought I’d missed my chance with her yesterday. The spark of hope I felt last night that I might see her again has now ignited into a full-on fire, roaring in my ears as my mom’s words come back to me.
If it’s meant to be, you’ll see her again.
My musings are abruptly interrupted when her shoulders sag and she slowly shakes her head, dropping her gaze.
I dip my head, hoping to catch her eyes and break through her thoughts. “Aleena,” I unconsciously whisper her full name. It falls from my lips like a reverent prayer.
Her full lips part with a gasp as she looks up at me. “W—what?” she stutters.
“Hi,” I say quietly. Using my dimple to my advantage, I shoot her my most charming grin.
The color that had been fading from her cheeks blooms bright again. Furrowing her brow, her eyes bounce between mine. “Uhh . . . hi?”
I palm the back of her arm, caressing my hand down her delicate forearm, threading our fingers together. “Talk tome, Julian, not the surgeon you just met.”
Swallowing, she looks down, and I follow her gaze to our linked hands. I enjoy feeling her soft skin and seeing her smaller hand in mine. It feels good. Right, even. Like her hand belongs in mine, like we should always be holding hands. I gently squeeze her fingers to bring her attention back to my face.
