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My body still trembles with need as I power walk out of Sloan’s office and into the hallway. Even though we didn’t do anything, I feel like some cheap hooker who met him in a hotel room. If he would have pushed me up against the door and fucked me right there, I would have let him. I am an idiot for even considering another hookup with Sloan.
With his good looks and swagger, I couldn’t resist Sloan—just as I couldn’t resist him today. I wanted him inside me again from the second I saw him this morning. As if he isn’t already sexy enough, the lab coat with Dr. Hart sewn into the pocket paired with the navy scrubs molded to his muscular frame was enough to make my legs quiver in anticipation for more. I wish he had fucked me again, this time with his lab coat on. And nothing else.
I suck in a deep breath and let it out, trying to act nonchalant. But Sloan is a hard man to shake. For a second, I take in my surroundings, looking both ways, and make a beeline to the elevator bank. While there are some people in the hall, I don’t look at any of them. I don’t want to make eye contact.
By the time I reach the elevators, I run into Stacey. She has her back pressed up against the wall, chatting with a man in his twenties who looks like one of the residents I met at orientation this morning. His name is Barry Wilson, I think.
“Ava, what are you doing up here?” Stacey gives me a strange look and then steps away from Dr. Wilson, dismissing him without words. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she moves toward me. “Doc’s office is at the end of the hall. Did you two get it on again?” I roll my eyes at her, and her face brightens with delight. “Oh, my God. Please tell me you did.” She claps her hands together like a child and squeals. “I want all the juicy details.”
“Will you be quiet?” I drag her into the crowded elevator with me and hit the button for the first floor. “We’re expected in the emergency room to meet with Dr. Ward.”
Stacey stands at my side, flashing a curious look in my direction. She can be such a pain in my ass sometimes. I didn’t interrogate her about her threesome with Sloan’s smoking hot friends. Not like I had to ask. Stacey poured me a cup of coffee on Sunday morning and dished out every disgusting detail.
Once the car comes to a stop and everyone shuffles out of the elevator, Stacey clamps her bony fingers around my wrist and drags me toward the emergency room. “Spill it, woman. What happened with you and Doc?”
“Nothing happened,” I spit back to shut down the conversation. “Can you stop interrogating me until after we get home? If someone overhears you, I will be looking for another residency program.”
She rolls her eyes at me and snorts. “You’re such a bore. At least Doc blew the cobwebs out of your vagina. I thought for sure you were going to dry up after that long ass break you were on. Jeez, how long was it? Like two years?”
I smack her in the arm and shake my head. “You are the worst friend ever.”
The ground floor is chaotic, with paramedics flying by with patients on stretchers, some of which are being transported from other hospitals. If you’re an action junkie like me, then the ER is the best place to learn. They call the emergency room The Pit for a reason. But I love the intensity of it all. I love the adrenaline that rushes through my veins. You never know what kind of case could stroll right through the door.
“Dr. Carlyle, you are with me,” Dr. Ward says to Stacey. He looks me over for a second until realization sinks in that he knows me. We’ve met several times over the years through my father. “Oh, Dr. Roberts. Nice to see you again. I believe you are with Dr. Hart today. He should be down in a few minutes.”
“Nice to see you too, Dr. Ward.” I force a smile to hide the nerves bubbling up inside my chest.
He gives me a polite nod and then motions for Stacey to follow hi
m out of the emergency room to where a small group of residents are waiting for them. I needed a break from Stacey. Her constant grilling in public was driving me insane. The last thing I need is for one of my father’s old friends to catch wind of my sexcapades with Sloan over the weekend. Who would they remove? Him or me? This is a conflict of interest neither of us saw coming when we made a deal to have sex with no strings attached.
By the time I reach the nurses station, located at the center of the vast room, Sloan already has a crowd around him, as if he’s a king holding court. I don’t miss the women who eye him up like a piece of meat, and the men who are glaring at him, all of them hoping to one day take his job. This business can be cutthroat. There are only so many vacancies to be filled, which makes every person in my program a threat—my best friend included.
Surrounded by at least seven doctors, Sloan has never looked so in his element. He stands tall and confident, projecting his voice with authority. My nipples swell against my scratchy scrub top, poking through the fabric at him. A brush of fire spreads to my chest once his eyes lock onto me. The corner of his mouth turns up into a cocky grin that dampens my panties.
I take my position at the back of the group, afraid to give him the slightest indication that I am interested. Sloan knows I am, but that doesn’t mean I have to give him an even bigger head than he already has. Clearly, by the way he carries himself, he knows he’s the shit. So does everyone around him. This man oozes confidence and sex, both of which make it harder for me to resist the urge to throw myself at him.
“Looks like everyone is here,” Sloan says, keeping his eyes pointed at me. “Now, we can get started.”
The intensity of his gaze sends a chill down my spine that hits me right where I want him most—my aching core. He turns on his heel, with the group following behind him, leading us deeper into the room. Between the commotion at the desk, the front door, and the patients crying or yelling in some of the bays, a cacophony of sounds assaults my eardrums.
My first day started off slow, with the orientation and then my quick meeting with Sloane. But my lazy day ends the second an EMT brings a patient through the door, announcing that we have a twenty-eight year old Caucasian male with a gunshot wound to the stomach. With the help of the man rolling the gurney, Sloan and another doctor move the victim into the nearest open bay and onto a rolling bed. Someone pulls the curtain to the side to separate the trauma patient from the woman on the other side, complaining of chest pains.
The EMT already had the patient bagged to open the airway. After Sloan gets a good look, he orders one of the third-year residents to intubate the patient. Sloan slips into a pair of gloves and rolls up his sleeves, as another doctor pushes up the injured man’s blood-stained T-shirt. I watch from a distance and absorb every movement Sloan makes.
Watching him work sends tingles up my spine that add to my already out-of-whack hormones. As if seeing him work me over wasn’t hot enough, observing him tend to this trauma makes my heart pound and my stomach knot like a pretzel.
The third-year residents we met this morning assist Sloan, while he barks out orders and supervises their work. They prep the patient to move him to the operating room, and Sloan turns to speak to my residency class.
“What’s the first thing you should do when dealing with a gunshot victim?” Sloan asks.
“Remove the bullet,” a girl in the front says.
Sloan shakes his head. “No.”
“Stop the bleeding,” I say without thinking.
“Right.” Sloan peeks up from the man below him and stares right at me, but only for a second, before he goes back to peeling back the soaked trauma pad covering the wound. “But with a gunshot to the abdomen, it’s harder to identify the source. He could have a lot of internal bleeding we can’t see until we open him up.”
