Chapter 6 #2
It was at this very moment, when my feet were so sore that they were a little numb and my back felt like it might break in half from standing so still in surgery, that I realized how goddamn long it had been since I’d gotten laid.
Years. And properly laid? Even longer. I couldn’t even remember it.
That was how long it had been, and Cameron looking the way he looked was really reminding me of it.
“You’re not going to find them by staring at me, Natalie.” Cameron’s voice was suddenly deeper, causing me to snap my eyes back to his face.
“What?”
“The flaws,” he said, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a tiny smirk slid onto his face, all while his heated gaze roamed my face.
It didn’t go any further than that, though.
It was like he’d created a barrier; every time his eyes dropped lower, to my mouth or neck, they immediately bounced back up, like an automatic rejection.
Probably because the last time he’d stared at my mouth a little too long, I’d rejected him.
I could feel myself flushing, hot and aware—oh, so very aware. Of Cameron and of the fact that I was no longer moving. I was stuck in a standstill, some kind of trance until Cameron cleared his throat, and I broke out of it.
“Can I get you anything?” I offered. “Something to drink or eat?”
“Natalie.” Cameron said my name with such clarity—a tone that almost hedged on disappointment. “Please don’t think you have to play hostess for me right now.”
“I just feel bad that you came all the way over here.”
He shook his head. “I actually don’t live that far from you, as it turns out.”
Great, as if we needed more circumstances to pull us closer together.
I lifted a brow. “I’m starting to think it’s surprising that we haven’t run into each other more.”
Cameron didn’t respond for a second, waiting until we were both in the kitchen, on opposite sides of the island counter.
“Same,” he said, his voice soft, his eyes wandering over me again.
If he could see the exhaustion on my face, he didn’t mention it.
Which I appreciated. People always seemed to remind me that I must be so tired, even on days when I felt pretty good.
And then I’d start to feel…not so good. “Do you have a pen?”
“Right.” I shuffled to find something to write with. “Yeah, of course.”
We weren’t, I reminded myself, here to just ogle each other.
I found a pen in our junk drawer and returned to the kitchen island just as Cameron was placing a stack of papers on the counter.
He separated the ones I needed to sign, which were already marked by a little sticky next to each line that required my signature.
I focused this time, making sure I wrote the right name.
My name.
Cameron cleared his throat after the last signature, and I looked up to see him shifting on his feet.
“Can I ask you—” He cut short as he watched me launch into the biggest yawn I’d ever yawned.
I covered my mouth and flashed him a sheepish look. “Sorry.”
“No.” He shook his head, running a hand over his short, black hair absently. “I’m sorry. I’ve got what I need. I’ll head out.”
I walked around the island, grabbing a mug from the cabinets next to the refrigerator. “It’s okay. I like to take a little bit of time to wind down after a shift.” I filled my electric kettle and then started it. A whirring sound filled the air. “Tea?” I offered.
He’d told me not to play hostess, but I couldn’t make some for myself and not offer him any.
“I’m okay, thank you,” Cameron said politely. He looked too big, standing in my small kitchen. His shoulders were too broad, his hands too all-encompassing as they splayed across the granite counters. “Why don’t you sit, though. I’ll make it for you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Sit, Natalie.”
I sat.
Something about his voice forced it into existence.
I didn’t know how to not sit when he spoke like that, but I also didn’t really mind.
In fact, I was entirely too tired to care, sliding onto the barstool across from him.
Heaving a sigh, I dropped my head, rubbing my temples, trying not to think about the chemical burn patient whom I’d been treating right before I’d left for the night.
“Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.
No, I didn’t want to talk about work. I didn’t want to think about it.
The only way I survived in my line of work was to compartmentalize and switch my brain into different modes.
Which was why I needed this time before bed, to make sure my mind had fully shut out the things I’d seen at work today before closing my eyes.
I didn’t need any visitors in my dreams.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad shift, not today. The surgery had gone well, and there was nothing that should haunt me. But there were always things that snuck into my synapses that I didn’t want to be there.
“Can I ask why you decided to become a trauma surgeon?” he asked, and suddenly, a mug of tea appeared in my line of vision, steam rising into my face. I breathed it in, the scent of chamomile calming my senses. I hadn’t even told him where to find the tea packets.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“You’re welcome.” His voice had a steady timbre. I bet he could make a killing recording those audio stories that put people to sleep. “It was a lot of work.”
I laughed into my cup, blowing air over the top of it. And then I looked up.
“I knew I wanted to be a doctor very young. It fascinated me, I think. My parents got me a doctor play set, and I’d dress up in scrubs and run around the house.
I took the game Operation way too seriously.
” I chuckled at the memories of sitting on the floor and forcing my brothers to play with me.
“I didn’t decide on my specialty until medical school, though.
I quickly realized how much I enjoyed emergency care and how good I was at it—the quick, complex thinking, the interdisciplinary aspect of it all, the dynamic.
And I decided I wanted to learn all the tools I could to save as many lives as possible. ”
Cameron was listening so intently that I forced myself to take a drink of my tea and drop my gaze.
“It’s pretty amazing,” he said quietly, and I just shrugged, not good with compliments. There were so many talented people working in healthcare, and I was just one of them.
“Some days feel more amazing than others. Those are the days I work for.”
“I can understand that.”
I nodded and then decided to switch the subject. “What were you going to ask me earlier?”
His lips pressed together, a momentary consideration. But then he just said, “It can wait until later.”
I looked at my watchless wrist. “Later, I’m going to be sleeping.”
“Another day, I mean,” Cameron said, the corner of his mouth pulling up.
“Okay,” I sighed and drank more of my tea.
If I had a little more energy, I’d probably press him about it.
Just because I was curious. I was curious about a lot of things when it came to Cameron Bryant, actually.
It seemed like, at this point, he knew a lot about me.
But there were so many things I didn’t know about him. That didn’t seem fair, right?
“What else do you usually do to wind down when you get home?” Cameron asked before I could formulate any of my own thoughts. A shame, really. Now he was going to know even more about me, and I was going to still know next to nothing about him.
But I answered him anyway.
“I give the cat her nighttime treats.”
“You have a cat?”
“Yeah.” I yawned again. “We just got her. I finally caved to Chloe. Well, sorta. She wanted a dog after Noah got Winnie, but a cat is much more our speed. She’s a little shy around new people, though, so she’s probably hiding.
She’s downright terrified of Blake, for some reason.
Loves his wife, Delaney, though. Maybe it’s a man thing. Her name’s Annabeth.”
I realized I was babbling, so I shut myself up by taking another sip from my tea and then staring into the brown liquid.
“Annabeth? Cute.”
There was something about hearing a man like Cameron Bryant—all business and suits and that dangerously deep voice—calling my cat’s name cute.
“Like from Percy Jackson?” he asked, like he’d just made the connection, and I warmed all over.
“Exactly like that,” I confessed.
“Excellent choice.” Cameron’s low chuckle preceded the sound of a cupboard closing, which drew my attention. I glanced up to see that he’d found the cat treats. He gave the little tin a shake, and within a few seconds, Annabeth appeared, strutting across the kitchen floor like she owned the place.
“Well, would you look at that,” I murmured to myself and then watched in awe as she walked right up to Cameron, rubbing her soft orange fur against his ankles. He crouched down to pet her.
Flaws. He had to have flaws, right?
With a groan, I put my head down on the countertop.
At the moment, it felt like the most glorious pillow.
“How many treats do you get, Annabeth?” Cameron cooed, and I shut my eyes.
Couldn’t see how perfect he was if my eyes weren’t open.
“She gets two, and don’t let her fool you into giving her more.”
“I would never.”
The sound of soft meows and cat nibbles filled the room. It was oddly soothing, lulling me further into a sense of calm.
“Anything else?” I heard Cameron ask somewhere in my subconscious.
“Huh?”
“On your list.”
“Coffee,” I listed. “Wash my hair. Find clothes for tomorrow. You know.”
“Well, I can handle one of those, at least,” I heard Cameron say.
But barely.
He sounded distant, far away in my brain—where I was currently going through the motions of preparing my coffee, measuring the grounds and finding the coffee filter in the cabinet. I made sure the water was filled and the time set correctly for the morning. Perfect. Good.
Now, upstairs. It was time to head upstairs. Stuck in a semi-conscious state, I made my way up them, hearing the distinct creaking of the old wood beneath feet. Not my feet, though. No, I sort of felt like I was floating. That was odd, right?
Maybe, but this felt like the easiest nighttime routine I’d ever had, so who was I to complain?
Strong arms supported me like a guide as I entered a room. Chloe’s room first. No, that wasn’t right. I backed out and then reentered a different room. My room. There, that was better. That was—
“I think it’s time for bed, Dr. London,” a gravelly voice said, and that was when I realized that I hadn’t been doing a damn thing at all.
And now, Cameron Bryant was in my bedroom.