Chapter 4

Lainey

I thought more about Samuel Reese over the next few days than I had the last three years of working with him combined.

After replaying our conversation, I convinced myself that I’d made it all up. Or maybe it had all been some sort of weird practical joke. Only, he wasn’t really the joking type. And then I thought about all the times we’d led rounds together, or stood side-by-side in an OR and thought to myself, he liked me that whole time? Then, in an effort to mine more information from our limited conversation, I replayed it in my mind again. The cycle was vicious and unstoppable.

Worse, nothing really changed, at least not externally. I still went to work and took care of patients. I sidestepped Jones as much as I could. Went to the gym. Read the American Journal of Medicine before bed each night.

But somewhere in the squishy place behind my lungs, I felt an unexpected shift. I was curious about Dr. Reese. Who was this man who claimed to be attracted to me?

Now, I wasn’t just rounding; I was looking for Dr. Reese around every corner. I went to R 3 hoping to run into him there, too, and barely even noticed Will’s banter. That article on new techniques in mitral valve replacement did nothing to calm my brain. Not when I was stuck in The Reese Cycle.

Attendings usually traded off leading daily rounds, and by the middle of the following week, I’d yet to catch even a glimpse of him. I started to think he was avoiding me on purpose, but I genuinely couldn’t remember how often I usually saw Reese day-to-day. Was it all the time? Never? As much as I wracked my brain, I couldn’t put my finger on it, and it bugged me. I should have noticed something like that, right?

On Wednesday, the fates and scheduling Gods aligned, and I found myself leading rounds with Dr. Reese. I’d done this a million times: strolling along this familiar path; the residents following like little ducklings and Reese guiding the way. The sound of his black sneakers on the linoleum and the scratch of the stylus on his tablet were unnervingly familiar.

Yet, it was all different now.

I’d never noticed before, but he had an impeccable set of sturdy, rolling shoulders underneath that hospital-issued white coat. Now that I’d seen him work his way around a set of weights, my mind helpfully supplied images of all the lovely muscles attached to those shoulders. The fingers holding that stylus were long and precise, but stronger than I’d expect from someone who spent their days interfacing with one of the most delicate organs in the human body. Today, my brain decided that the sound of his voice wasn’t flat, but rather contemplative.

With all these new, somewhat inappropriate thoughts churning in my head, I stumbled through my patient reports, fumbling an update on an aortic aneurysm repair so hard that Jones gave me the side-eye. Reese barely looked up from his notes when I spoke, as if it were any other day. By the end of rounds, I had to thank whatever deity was listening that he didn’t seem bothered by my gawking. Because if I hadn’t paid such close attention, I would have missed the most important observation of all.

Reese wasn’t just quiet. He listened . He was a listener. And it was hot.

Jones was jabbering on about some latest research on bypass techniques. In the past, I’d assumed the blank look on Reese’s face was something akin to a loading screen. I’d thought when a person was that quiet, it took effort to form the five words required to reciprocate a conversation. I wanted to go back in time and shake past Lainey by the shoulders.

The more I watched, the more I realized how seriously he was taking it all. Reese listened attentively to everything, from our routine questions to a patient’s complaints about stomach pain, as though he were trying to commit every word to memory.

So when he finally answered, each word counted. I hung onto every syllable he gave up, fiercely curious about what he’d say. How could someone who listened that closely not consider every single thing coming out of their mouth? He was practically doing everyone a courtesy: paying near microscopic attention to them, then only giving them exactly what they needed. No more, no less.

By the time he’d dispatched an intern to fetch a GI doc for the patient— “Get Holloway; room eight.” —and directed Jones to what I assumed would be a brilliant and relevant commentary on the current state of bypass innovations—“ Check out Haas and Dresden’s latest.” —I’d started sweating.

“He’s hot, right?” I blurted after rounds, parking my laptop on the nurse’s station next to Rija’s and just barely containing the urge to flap my scrubs against my overheated body.

“Who?” She peered around before catching my gaze as it followed my attending down the hall. “Oh, Daddy Reese. Obviously.”

“Daddy?” I nearly choked on my tongue.

“Oh, hell yeah. How have we never talked about this? Tara and I wax poetic about his pecs weekly.” Rija flagged Tara down as she walked by with her cart. Tara fell into the same category where I’d placed Rija: a more-than-colleague, not-quite friend. She frequently joined me on breaks and gave me a heads up when we got a new shipment of the good gloves. “Yo. Haven’t we talked to Lainey before about Reese’s chest?”

“If not, we’ve been doing you a disservice. It might not be morally appropriate to ogle other people, but damn, those calves. Oh, Daddy Reese,” Tara breathed as she passed by on her way to a patient’s room.

“He’s a sleeper. Creeps up on ya.” Rija nodded sagely before peering at me. “Are you only just now realizing this? I mean, he’s not in-your-face hot like Morris up in Urology, but after you notice his muscles, it’s all downhill from there.”

“Right. Yes.” I nodded sagely back, unsure how I felt about some of my closest colleagues ogling the man who’d professed his crush to me mere days ago. Regardless of my personal feelings on the oddness of it all, she had a point. “Yes. It’s just one thing and then…then you notice all the things.”

My eyes flicked back down the hall.

“Don’t worry, babe. You’ll grow out of it.” She steered me by the elbow to the break room.

“Yeah?” I wasn’t sure that was accurate. My neck felt hot, and now that I’d opened the door to all the noticing I was doing, it didn’t feel like I’d ever stop. We had only been in the same proximity for a few hours, and I felt overwhelmed by the avalanche of things I was noticing. One movement of his hand led to the flex of his forearm and the bend of his elbow and…and…and…it all grew exponentially until I was lost, staring at him and trying not to drool.

“Oh, sure. We’ve all had a crush on him at one point or another. After a bit you realize he’s too serious for his own good and still kind of, you know”—she glanced around the break room, but we were alone—“boring.”

I frowned, choosing to withhold my newfound knowledge of Reese’s covert listening and considering. I wasn’t sure I was ready to share it, yet.

“Enough about him, though. Are you coming to my party this weekend?” She grabbed me a cup of ice as I started up the hot water.

“Oh! That was this weekend? I’m sorry, I’m on deadline for that paper I’m writing. Shoot, I thought it was next week.” Not true, but a little white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone. People often told me I was married to my job, which was accurate enough. It just wasn’t the reason I usually avoided people’s birthday parties or housewarmings, baby showers, etcetera.

“Fuck, seriously? My roommate’s brother is going to be in town. I wanted to introduce you. He’s a total smoke show.”

“Well, maybe you should introduce him to yourself.” I waggled eyebrows at her before she shoved my face away.

“He already knows me, dummy. He’d be hot for you , not for me.”

Although I appreciated the gesture, my hormones had suddenly perked up and become fixated on one man. I had mixed feelings about it, but I didn’t think they would focus on anyone else for a while.

“My roommate wants to meet you, anyway. We’ve given Samantha a place of honor in an armchair in our apartment. We’re obsessed with her. We got her some new outfits from eBay. Thank you for that, again.”

“Again, don’t mention it.” I stared into my tea. When Rija had told me her childhood dream of owning one of the Samantha American Girl dolls, it had taken me less than five minutes to have my mother’s house manager track mine down from storage, package it, and send it over. I’m pretty sure I played with the thing—part of the full set—less than five times. Rija’s happiness when she opened the box far outstripped any I’d gotten out of my time with it. “Tell me about the party, though.”

I didn’t care to linger on the gift too much. Her frequent mentions made me anxious that something had shifted between us. Our working relationship was cordial and close, and I was perfectly content with it. I wasn’t looking for anything like a soul sister or a BFF.

My deflection worked, and I listened to Rija chat about the cocktail she was whipping up and the karaoke machine they were renting. I tried not to think about Reese and his forearms and all his considering.

I didn’t succeed.