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Mark paused, stared. For a doctor he was slow to catch on.
“Wait,” he said finally. “You’re kidding. Both of you are fucking her.” He laughed. “I pegged her for a frigid virgin that needed thawing. I certainly missed seeing her freak flag fly, didn’t I?”
I was ready to punch him in the face. I didn’t give a shit that we were in the diner. If I felt that way, I could only imagine how pissed Hardin was. I grabbed his shirt and tugged him away from the table before he did or said anything he might regret.
13
SAM
* * *
I didn’t have long to think about the fact that Dr. Knowles—the guy who’d been making my work life hell—and Hardin were brothers. Brothers! They looked nothing alike, acted nothing alike. Mark Knowles was slippery and sleazy. Hardin Knowles was quiet and generous. Protective. Wild in bed. Or on a couch, rather. One I hated, the other I was quickly falling for. They had to be close to ten years apart in age.
My mind randomly went to genetics, the fact that their parents couldn’t have green and blue eyes because it was impossible for them to have a brown-eyed child like Mark.
Stupid brain. Focus!
Earlier Hardin had mentioned a brother, that they were pretty close. Obviously he hadn’t put together that maybe Mark and I might know each other, even work together.
I stood at the sink outside the OR and scrubbed my fingernails with cleanser as prep for surgery. Did Hardin believe me? Did he think I was making stuff up about his brother? HR didn’t believe me, so maybe I was wrong about how I reacted to Dr. Knowles. Did Hardin hate me now? I’d said some pretty not nice things about his family.
Or did Hardin know about his brother and not care? Did he condone that kind of behavior? I didn’t think so, but what did I know? I’d slept with two men a day after meeting them. I hadn’t really known them long enough to find out if they were jerks. But I was supposed to go with my gut, not think so damned much, and my gut was telling me they were good guys. But there were over three hundred different kinds of bacteria in the gut so…
Damn my brain. Stop! I shook my head, scrubbed a little harder.
Through the glass separating the prep room from the OR, the anesthesiologist nodded, letting me know the patient was under and ready.
As I pushed the door open with my back and went into surgery, I shoved the thoughts of men and gut bacteria out of my head. The last thing I realized about the whole mess before focusing on the patient was that I’d had sex with a guy and I’d never known his last name. I wasn’t sure if I was an idiot or a total slut.
Three hours later the patient was in recovery and doing fine. I was bundled into my layers of outerwear and walking to my car. Exhausted, I was ready for my bed. I wasn’t keen on returning to my apartment, not after someone had broken in, but I hadn’t heard from Mac or Hardin. They knew nothing about how long it took to perform a splenectomy, or at least I didn’t think so, and I wasn’t surprised.
I wanted to call them and ask if I could stay with one of them, but what would Hardin say? How did he feel about the huge bomb that I’d dropped on him? Again, did he hate me? Did he even believe me?
Fortunately I hadn’t seen Dr. Knowles and had been able to avoid that confrontation. But unlike Hardin, I wasn’t sleeping with Dr. Knowles. Thank God. What were the rules of dating? Shit, Hardin and I weren’t dating.
Sex wasn’t dating. It was a hookup. Not a one-night stand. A fling? I’d read the hefty set of historical books, The Sagas of Icelanders, and yet I couldn’t grasp man/woman concepts. Or man/woman/man. Hardin had said he wanted to pull out the sex toys from my drawer and use them with me, but that had been before he knew my problems were with his brother. Had he changed his mind? He’d been put in the middle of my HR mess without even knowing. And Mac… he was best friends with Hardin. Did he side with him?
I groaned aloud, frustrated. Did all women try to understand men, or was it me? How could I be so smart and so dumb when it came to the opposite sex? Why were they so confusing? Why did I not know what to do?
As I tugged open my car door, the sound of boots crunching on the snow had me turn. For a second I thought it might be Hardin and Mac, but I didn’t get a chance to see who it was. All I saw was an arm coming toward my head before all went black.
HARDIN
* * *
“Is Sam Smyth with you?” Nix asked.
We were at the shop, but we hadn’t gotten shit done since we’d left Mark at the diner. There was no fucking way I could change the oil on an old Chevy when I just found out how much of a two-faced dick my brother was.
“No. She’s in surgery,” I said, leaning the mop handle against the wall. The concrete floor had needed to be scrubbed for months now, and it felt good to do something mindless. The scent of orange cleanser covered the usual oil-and-grease scent that clung to the place.
“I think we have a problem,” he said.
I stilled.
“What the fuck do you mean?” I barked into the phone.
Mac came out of the office, eyes wide.
