Page 37 of The Love Operation

I smile against his mouth, dizzy with it, because he’s right. This feels like the memory experiment—awakening parts of me I didn’t even know existed.

Then his lips trail to my neck.

My breath stutters when he finds a tender spot—but before I let my eyes fall closed, I catch a glimpse of where we are.

And reality slams back into me, brutal and cold.

The hallway.

The hospital.

I slide my hands between us and push gently against his chest. “We can’t—”

He freezes.

We’re both breathing hard, chest to chest, eyes locked.

Then he looks down the hallway and reddens. We were both so caught up in the moment, we completely forgot ourselves.

I tug my lab coat closed, but I still feel his hands on the skin of my sides.

He scrubs a hand down his face.

I gather what’s left of my composure, straighten my spine, and somehow manage, “Good night, Mr. Thompson.” I sound calm. Professional. Like we just discussed surgical metrics.

He doesn’t say a word as I walk away.

He doesn’t have to.

We both know what we just did was incredibly irresponsible, something neither of us can afford.

I hate how much I want to turn back around.

My phone rings just as I reach my car, shocking the quiet night. I fumble to answer, my hands shaking.

“Cordelia.” His voice is raw, still edged with the intensity of what we’ve done, and it melts me.

I swallow. “Isaac.”

Our pause is long and charged, then finally he says, “We need to—”

“Talk. I know.” I cut him off. Because even though I know it’s now necessary, I can’t do it tonight. I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cool car window. “Tomorrow,” I say. “I have surgery. But after. Can you come to my house?”

What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

“I’ll wait for your text.”

I end the call and slide into my car, pulse still thrumming erratically beneath my skin.

Like an automaton, I pull into my driveway and head inside.

Tad Cooper is excited to see me—I can tell by the glow of his rough skin—and I feel guilty for only having enough energy to tell him hello and good night. Then I collapse onto my bed, close my eyes, and try to breathe.

Instantly, my mind goes back there, but thanks to Delenn’s experiment, I don’t just think about what Isaac and I did in that hallway, I relive every heated second. His breath on my neck, his hands moving over my body, twin groans melting together.

When the memory finally releases me, I stare into the darkness, breathless, just like I was when it all happened the first time.

What the hell have I done?