Chapter 3 Chloe #2
I smile back—then step out of the curtain and nearly walk straight into him.
Shit.
He’s still here, lurking like a very attractive gargoyle, just outside the bay. Arms crossed. Stance wide. Carved from stone.
Jesus. Green scrubs should not look that good.
His expression gives nothing away, but his eyes lock onto mine and don’t let go. I feel it like a burn, crawling under my skin. My mouth goes dry. My fingers twitch to fidget, to smooth down my coat or adjust my stethoscope, but I don’t. I hold my ground.
He flicks his head to the side. “Follow me.”
It’s not a question. It never is with him.
My legs are like jelly as I head down the hallway behind him, but I refuse to let him see it. If I faint now, he’ll think I’m not cut out for this.
He holds the door open to the empty staff lounge. “After you.”
I walk in, tearing off my gloves and tossing them in the bin. I slap some sanitizer on my hands, purely to have something to do.
The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us into something I’m not ready for.
I keep my eyes on my hands, rubbing them together, too aware of him, and how it feels to be this close, alone together.
It’s stupid. We’ve seen each other naked.
We’ve touched, kissed, crossed lines most people never even get close to. And yet, this feels like the real risk.
He’s just standing there—feet planted, arms still folded.
I let my eyes do what they’ve wanted to since this morning.
I drink him in. His thigh muscles are straining those scrub pants, which are fighting for their life, and those arms?
They’re practically auditioning for a Marvel movie.
But it’s his hair—dark, just enough gray at the temples to make him look distinguished as hell.
I know exactly how many of those grays there are, too.
I’ve counted them like a bedtime ritual.
And the best part? He’s not just hot. He’s apparently brilliant, too.
And that right there is what does me in.
He could be the prettiest man alive, but if he’s as dumb as a brick, I’d be drier than the Sahara.
But this one? Seems he’s got the brains to back it up.
It’s almost unfair. My ovaries don’t stand a chance.
He clears his throat. “Doctor Chloe Monroe.”
“Doctor Zachery Bennett,” I echo, a smirk on my lips.
“Did you know?”
I shake my head. “No. You?”
He huffs a laugh. “No. But… a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.” His mouth curves into a smile that’s all crinkled eyes and crow’s feet, and my insides flutter. He’s older. Smarter. But if I let myself think about it, I’ll liquefy right here.
“I can’t believe you’re here, little one.” His voice drops, and that name crawls up my spine like a sin.
There it is.
The name. The voice.
My body remembers faster than my brain. It doesn’t belong here, yet it fits too perfectly to deny. I should say something professional, draw a line in the sand—but the words won’t come.
“Same, Z,” I breathe. “Or should I say… Zaddy?”
It slips out before I can stop it. Zac freezes, then completely breaks, shoulders shaking with laughter as he chokes, “You did not just call me that.” I’m gone too, laughing so hard I nearly have tears in my eyes.
It’s one thing to say it in the dark at Eden.
But here? Under fluorescent lights, it’s absurd. And yet, perfect.
It suits him. Maybe too well.
Hell, I might need to upgrade it—Dr. Zaddy has a certain ring to it.
He sobers up and lets out a long breath, raking a hand through his hair. “And that’s exactly why you can’t be here. Why you can’t be working in my ER.”
Just like that, the laughter dissolves into a full-body chill. My stomach dips, the free-fall catching me off guard.
My smile vanishes. “What? Oh no. No, you don’t.” I cross my arms, pushing my tits up, and his gaze flicks down for a half-second before snapping back to mine.
He clenches his jaw like he’s punishing himself. Good. Let him squirm.
“Our time at Eden has nothing to do with this. We’re consenting adults. We can keep them separate.”
“Look—”
“I worked my ass off to be here. I’ve earned this. You’re not taking it from me.” My voice is steady, but my mind is a panicked mess. “I’m not looking for special treatment.”
“Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t give it.” A muscle tics in his cheek, as he studies me, calculating and quiet.
I step closer. “Then it’s settled,” I reply, determined.
Is this where he tells me to go? To leave?
I won’t let him. Not when I’ve fought hard to be here.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His eyes pin me in place like a scalpel to flesh.
“You think you can handle it?” he murmurs, voice rough. “Handle me?” His words drop into the air as a challenge.
My lips twitch. “I’m not some wide-eyed newbie. I’m young, yeah. But I’m not fragile. I won’t break if you push me.”
His mouth curves slightly. “No,” he says softly. “You won’t.”
There’s a pause between us—longer than it should be. A stare too loaded to be professional.
We stand there, in the quiet of the staff lounge, the tension between us so dense it vibrates in the air. Finally he shifts an inch closer, enough that I feel the heat radiating off him.
“Come find me when you’re ready to present your next case,” he instructs, both a command and a promise.
I swallow. “Yes, Doctor.”
He nods once, eyes lingering before he steps back and opens the door. And just like that, the moment ends—he’s gone, but the air he leaves behind tastes like a dare.
And I’m too stubborn to back down.