to prove that she was cut from the same cloth. That she could work just as hard and achieve just as much as they had. All on her own.
It wasn’t rational. She would be the first to admit it. But it was what it was.
She finished up the sectioning of the tumor and dropped the last piece into the collection tray to be taken to Pathology. “How are you getting on?”
“Almost done.” He glanced over at her surgical site to find her putting in the sutures. “I’m probably fifteen minutes behind you, if you want to go get cleaned up.”
“Do you mind if I watch?” She smiled. “After all, you got to watch me a few days ago.”
She wondered if he’d even remember what she was referring to, when he’d stood on that observation deck and made her feel so nervous. She’d started out today as a bundle of nerves as well, but had calmed down once she’d realized he had been just as engrossed in his surgery as she’d been in hers. It had felt almost good to be working side by side with him.
No. Not good. Just not crazy scary, as she’d expected it to be. Maybe even like the equals she’d wanted to be all those years ago.
It gave her more hope that they’d be able to come to some sort of accord, since it was inevitable that they’d see each other from time to time around the hospital, just as they had today in the ER.
So maybe she wouldn’t have to avoid him, as she’d thought she would. Maybe she could just smile and walk on by when she happened to see him, instead of ducking into a room and hiding, as she’d resorted to a few days ago.
He smiled back at her, giving her a jolt when his teeth flashed that slow sexy smile she’d once loved so much. “I don’t mind at all, Dr. Camara. By all means… watch me.”
A wave of heat washed over her at the words. Because she could remember a time he’d said just that. Only he hadn’t been operating at the time. No, he’d been lifting her hips, getting ready to…
God! She physically shook her head, trying to rid it of the images that were now spiraling out of control. How he’d wanted her to watch as he sank into her. Slowly. Deeply.
And she had.
She finished her last stitch and tied it. Then had the nurse cut the suture before dropping her needle into the discard tray, her thoughts in a tizzy.
So… she could just grin and give Clay a happy wave whenever she saw him? Evidently not. He’d just shot that idea to hell.
She took a step back from the table, wanting nothing more than to flee the room. But to do that would look funny after everyone in the surgical suite had heard her ask to watch him complete his surgery. And they’d also heard her ask him out to dinner.
More heat poured through her, pushing blood into her head and making it pound with embarrassment. What had she been thinking? She’d wanted to set the record straight—apologize—but there had to have been a better way to do it than going out to eat with him.
Too late to do anything about it now.
And he probably hadn’t even meant his words the way she’d taken them. He’d just been giving her permission to observe him.
Watch me.
Oh, hell. There it was again.
Think about something else, Tessa.
She focused on his hands, watching those long nimble fingers as they worked on Mr. Phillips’s leg. Fingers she could remember running over her in passion, drawing forth reactions she hadn’t known she was capable of.
Make this about his job. Not about what you once meant to each other.
She looked at him with new eyes. And what she saw impressed her. He was good at what he did. Confident. Unerring. Just as she hoped to be one day.
If she could just fix herself on those kinds of thoughts, she would be able to get through dinner, and he’d be none the wiser about anything. Like how she still turned to mush just looking at him.
Please, no. Just get through tonight.
Once they were done eating, she would slide back into her normal routine and forget this surgery—with all its terrible revelations—had ever happened.
“SO YOU’RE GOING for a fellowship in Mohs?”
They were sitting in a small restaurant around the corner from the hospital two hours after completing the surgery on Mr. Phillips. Tessa had ordered some scans to make sure the tumor had not metastasized past the site on his leg.
She’d acted strangely at the end of the surgery, though, and Clay had wondered if she was going to back out of dinner. And maybe she should have. Or he should have. It didn’t feel half-bad, sitting across from her. Some of the bitterness and resentment he’d had toward her seemed to have leached away over the years.
“Yes, I was planning on applying in the fall, hoping to get an early start.”
The waiter interrupted, bringing their wine and taking their orders. When he left again, Clay leaned forward. “I know Dr. Wesley, head of Oncology. We’re friends, actually. I could put in a good word for you.”
There was silence at the table for about five seconds. Then Tessa’s face turned pink. But it wasn’t the soft color that had infused her skin in the operating room, filling him with a heat that had threatened to make itself known to everyone in the vicinity. No, this was a very different kind of red.
She was angry. At least he thought she was.
“Do you think I can’t get the fellowship on my own?”
What the hell?
“I just thought since I knew Josiah, I could—”
“Take care of it for me. Help me out.”
“Is there a problem with one doctor helping another?”
It was what doctors did all the time. Part of the politics of a hospital, whether he liked it or not. There were a lot more residents than there were fellowship slots. Most people he knew would welcome anything that gave them an edge.
“I don’t need any favors, Clay. Or gifts. Or scholarships. Not anymore.”
The soft words were said with such quiet conviction that they took him aback. They’d had many arguments about his gift-giving over the course of their relationship, but had their problems extended even further than what he’d thought? “Are you talking about my parents? Was that what our breakup was about… them helping you with a few expenses?”
And there it was. The bitterness he’d felt standing in front of the door of her dorm room was back with a vengeance. He should have known they couldn’t have a meal together without getting into some kind of argument. The woman had a chip on her shoulder
