Page 17 of Scrubbing In
“Leena, you okay? Is the ankle not feeling better?” Connor asks over the continued bickering from around the table. Only then am I able to fully take in who’s seated at the table.
Between Connor and Benny sits Dr. Logan Reid—the other Ortho Trauma surgeon. My face pinches into a grimace before I smooth it away as my gaze passes over Dr. Merritt and Tasha sitting on Connor’s other side. Rounding out the table is Devin, another scrub tech from work, sitting right beside Julian.
A flare of annoyance sparks inside me seeing him sitting between the two women. Devin has a history of hooking up with people who come through the OR—anesthesia, surgeons, nurses, fellow scrub techs. It doesn’t matter if they’re permanent or locums. And while I don't approve of how Tasha parades her relationship around, she’s at least good at her job, where Devin has been nothing but a headache since she was hired.
Alisha softly touches Julian’s arm, swinging her hair over her shoulder to look Charlie and I up and down appraisingly, and the memory of her fingers brushing along Julian’s arm this morning flashes through my mind.
That spark of annoyance grows into a steady flame.
I quickly divert my gaze away. Looking down, automatically wiggling my injured foot, I answer, “No, it’s starting to feel better.”
“If you need me to take a look at it tomorrow, I can do an x-ray to make sure it’s not more serious if you want,” Reid interjects. His weekly shift taking over for Connor started this afternoon, but there must have not been anything surgical that necessitated going to the OR tonight.
I chance a hasty glance at Julian. My mind travels back to the touch of his large and callused hands gently examining my ankle at Grind House, and a heat rises on my cheeks. I look awayjust as swiftly, hurriedly saying, “Oh, no no no, that—that’s not necessary.”
A few raised eyebrows from around the table tell me I’m totally being as awkward as I feel.
“Will you ladies join us? We haven’t ordered yet, and there is plenty of room.” Julian starts to stand, calling attention away from my embarrassment.
At the same time, Reid turns to Charlie with mock indignation. “Oh, I see, when Connor told me you said no to coming out tonight, you meant you didn’t want to come withus.”
My head swivels to look at Charlie suspiciously because this is news to me.
“What can I say, I already had better plans—girls’ night,” she sasses as she hooks her arm through my elbow, looking at Julian with a chagrined expression. “No offense.”
Julian guffaws, “None taken.” His eyes shift in my direction. “I get it.”
“But don’t you guys, like, live together?” Tasha pipes in, voice syrupy sweet.
“Yeah, so isn’t every night girls’ night?” Devin adds on.
“I’d pick girls’ night over us, too,” Reid interjects before Charlie can throw a scathing reply in their direction. His eyes rapidly flick between the seated women and Charlie, then with an almost imperceptible nod and smirk, he elbows Benny in the ribs and jokingly pokes fun at him. “Are you still sulking? Need some ice for that burn, buddy?”
Slightly mollified by Reid’s interference, Charlie opens her mouth, likely to offer a teasing comment at Benny’s expense instead, but she is cut off by a familiar voice behind us. “Did someone say ice? We only serve crushed ice here.”
I turn to see my sister-in-law. She smiles brightly as she pushes her way in between Charlie and me, looping her arms around us both.
“Of course, that’s the only way, Sylvie. Especially when shaking up a perfect Showgirl martini,” Charlie replies with a shimmy of her shoulders.
Shaking her head in amusement, Sylvie asks, “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming tonight? I would have gotten a table ready for you.”
I’m relieved at the interruption and excuse to not join this party. Charlie—ever attuned to my emotions—turns back to the table. “I hope you all enjoy your meal. We’re going to catch up with this lady.”
I don’t miss the disappointment fall over Julian’s face, though he quickly recovers. We hastily wish the table a good evening and bid them adieu before following Sylvie away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Julian
Swallowing down my discontent,I covertly watch as the floral-print cream colored dress swishes along the back of Leena’s thighs as she and her friend are led away to a table close to the bar. As they are walking away, I can faintly hear the woman with them say, “Let me get you seated, and then I’ll get you each a Showgirl while you decide on dinner.”
I’m pulled from my staring by Alisha softly placing her hand over mine on the table. “That was kind of you to invite them to join us,” she says, soft and amiable, though I still try to contain the distaste from showing on my face from yet another subtle—and very unwelcome—advance.
I deftly move my hand from under hers and reach for my glass, nodding as I take a sip. I tune back into the conversation at the table.
“You can’t convince me those two aren’t together, or at least want to be. They are always joined at the hip. How convenient theylive together,” Devin says with finger quotes at the end, her upper lip turned up with her thinly veiled disparaging remark.
I stiffen at the implication.Wait.Leena said she was single, but she could be in a situationship or have a friend with benefitsarrangement. There was a closeness and comfort between the two women.
