And being professional killed me.
“I have to admit, hearing you say that feels really, really good.”
That made him smile. A rare thing, from Piers. “I’m glad. You earned it, to be honest. I’ve stood in on several surgeries in my time, and I never once felt the need to just shut up.”
“Dr. Hood, that might be the highest form of praise possible.”
“Of course it is, Dr. Court. Not many people can stun me into silence.”
We walked away from the surgery together, back toward his office. I buzzed on the elation, practically floating from the feeling of doing my job, and doing it right.
Something was different about Piers, too. For the past few weeks, he’d been trying harder, being a little kinder to the nurses, going out of his way to help out when he could. I knew people were beginning to notice, and even had a few of the nurses make comments to me. Apparently, some of them thought I was a good influence on him.
They probably thought we were sleeping together. They were right, but still.
He wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to change. It wasn’t perfect, of course—he was still Piers, still short with people that didn’t move as quickly as he wanted, still kind of a grumpy asshole—but he was improving a little bit each day.
“I was thinking,” he said when we were alone in the elevator, “maybe we could have dinner together. You know, as a celebration.”
My immediate reaction was, yes, of course yes, but I stopped myself, and reconsidered.
“I’m not sure,” I said, chewing my lip.
He didn’t react right away. “Why not?” he asked slowly.
“We’re trying to rehab your image, right? Taking your resident out for dinner is probably not going to help that.”
“That’s not unheard of, you know. A celebratory meal between colleagues.”
“Yes, but, everyone already thinks we’re sleeping together, so.”
He frowned deeply at that. “They do?”
“Of course they do.” I laughed nervously as we reached his floor and headed toward his office. We stopped talking as we walked through the halls, and I could tell he had a lot of questions. I tried to steel myself for an uncomfortable conversation.
Sure enough, as soon as the door shut, he swung toward me. “What do you mean, they think we’re sleeping together?”
I threw up my hands and sat on the edge of his desk. “I mean, the way you’ve changed lately, can you blame them?”
“Jesus, so I act nice, and that must mean we’re fucking.”
“We are.”
“They don’t know that.”
I laughed a little. “That’s exactly what I thought, but still, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been extra nice, right around the time that we started working together.”
“I hate these politics. You know that, right?”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“Really hate it.” He paced back and forth, hands behind his back. “We should get out ahead of this. Tell everyone we’re definitely not sleeping together.”
“Right, that’ll fix it.”
He glanced at me and rolled his eyes. “What do you suggest then?”
“I suggest we do nothing.”
He stopped pacing and considered me. “Explain.”
“There’s nothing we can do,” I said, holding my hands out. “Look, even if we wanted to say something, and there was the perfect statement we could make, it would only make us look that much guiltier. Right now, it’s probably nothing more than an ugly rumor.”
“An ugly rumor could ruin me right now.”
“True, but still, I don’t think we can do anything about it.”
“You realize how fucked this is? If I keep being myself, then everyone will keep on thinking I’m a huge asshole, and nothing changes. If I keep being nice, everyone thinks we’re fucking, which is arguably even worse, and nothing changes. Either way, Gina and Caroline find some flimsy bullshit excuse to get rid of me, and the world keeps turning.”
“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s a bad situation.”
“There’s got to be something we can do.” He tilted his head and stroked his chin. “Maybe we could get married. You know, fake marriage.”
“I think that only works on TV.”
He threw his hands up. “I don’t know what to do then. Get you pregnant?”
“How would that help?”
“I don’t know, I’m just thinking about fucking you.”
I laughed and went to him, tugging at the front of his scrubs until he pinned me back up against the door. He kissed my neck, then my lips, and I held him there for a long moment, feeling his warm, hard body against mine. It felt good, safe and incredible, and I loved his smell, even mixed with the scent of antiseptic from the operating room.
“No babies,” I said. “No fake marriages. We’re going to handle this like normal, functioning human beings.”
“That’s overrated. How about I fuck you here and now, and we blow off the rest of the day?”
“Tempting. I’m pretty sure that would only confirm everyone’s suspicions though.”
“Let it. I think I’m starting to give up.”
“Don’t.” I reached up and ran my hand through his hair and tugged. “I need you in this. You’re not done teaching me.”
“Ah, come on. You’re ready.”
“I’m really not.”
“Okay, you’re not, but you’re improving a lot.”
I grinned and kissed him. “Tell me why I put up with you again?”
“Because we have a deal, and because I’m very, very good at what I do. And also in bed.”
“There you go. That’ll do it.”
He kissed me, held it for a long moment, and I felt a spark of desire in me, and maybe we could blow off the rest of the day—what would it matter, really? Let the nurses
