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“Good morning, Dr. Brothers,” Sheila greeted him.
“It is a good morning,” he echoed.
“Somebody is in a lot better mood than he was yesterday,” the anesthesiologist teased. “Feeling lucky?”
Justin forced his gaze not to go toward Riley, to see how she’d taken the doctor’s comment.
“I’m lucky every day,” he countered as he allowed a nurse to assist him in putting on his personal protection equipment.
“Hear, hear!” the anesthesiologist cheered.
“Lucky in cards. Lucky in lottery tickets. Lucky in races.” With the last, Justin gave in and glanced toward Riley to see if his words had got a reaction.
“Remind me to have you to scratch off my next lottery ticket,” she piped up, without looking up from the surgical tray she was inventorying.
Relieved that she’d joined in the conversation, he nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll even let you borrow my lucky rabbit’s foot if you want.”
“Ew!” She glanced up, her eyes twinkling. “Please tell me you don’t really have a rabbit’s foot.”
“Yeah, that would be gross, Dr. Brothers,” Sheila added.
“Agreed—and I was speaking metaphorically. The only lucky foot I have is attached to the rest of me, and I’ve got two of them.” He winked at Riley. “You’re welcome to borrow one or both, though.”
“I’m good,” she countered. “Thanks, anyway.”
“Better luck next time,” the anesthesiologist put in.
Justin felt he’d been lucky this time. Riley’s eyes had been expressive, had connected with his, and some warmth had passed between them. She hadn’t completely shut him out after the day before. He’d wondered if she would when her only response after he’d texted her that he hadn’t found her necklace had been: Thanks for looking.
Lord, how he wished he’d been able to find it and give it back to her, and erase the sadness he’d seen when she’d told him about losing it.
Surgical cap, lighted visor with face shield, mask, gloves, shoe covers, protective apron over the operating room scrubs he’d donned just prior to coming into the surgical suite—all in place.
Justin stepped over to his anesthetized patient and gave his complete attention to the sleeping woman.“Cynthia Gibbons, sixty years old, left hip replacement,” he began, and each member of the crew kicked into their professional role to make sure every aspect of Mrs. Gibbons’s surgery went smoothly.
During the next two hours Justin worked, often chatting with the crew about whatever topic they happened to be on. Riley joined in. It almost felt like old times. Almost, but in some ways better.
Physically, she wound his insides tight...made him want what they’d had the night of Paul and Cheyenne’s party. Not just the sex, but the easy flow between them.
Although he wanted the sex, too.
Desperately.
Giving himself a little shake, he pushed Riley from his mind and focused on the joint he was repairing. When he’d finished he straightened, and stretched out his spine and shoulders.
“Great job,” he praised his team.
His gaze once again went to Riley and their eyes met. She’d been looking at him.
He was surprised when she didn’t immediately look away. Instead her eyes sparkled with tiny green flames that burned holes right through him.
Plus—although it might just be the bright lights shining above the operating table—he’d swear that beneath her scrub mask she was smiling.
At him.
He caught himself whistling twice that afternoon, getting more than a few eyebrow-raises from his coworkers.
But later, when he went back to the recovery area, planning to find Riley, he was disappointed to find she’d already gone.
