6. CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 6
“ I think that medical student likes you.”
Clara glanced sharply at Helen, her anaesthetic nurse and answered flatly, “I can guarantee he doesn’t.”
“Really?” Helen peered at her over her bifocal glasses.
“Yes. Really.” Clara looked away from her nurse’s knowing gaze.
Helen wasn’t going to let it go though. “He brought you breakfast.”
Clara managed to suppress the flush that tried to rise up her cheeks. She had been surprised when Taylor arrived with an egg and bacon roll and a double shot of coffee for her. She had tried to refuse them, then gruffly thanked him when he insisted.
She had stood in the anaesthetic bay, peering in the window to her theatre, constantly watching the monitor as she gratefully ate the sandwich. The grease and starch helping the exhaustion that dragged at her bones.
“He stayed with me on call yesterday until two in the morning; he obviously felt sorry for me.” Clara’s eyes involuntarily veered to the doors that Taylor had just left through after she had insisted he go for lunch.
“Uh-huh.” Helen’s mask couldn’t hide her smirk as she nudged Clara’s shoulder.
“He doesn’t like me.” Clara’s reply was a little more flustered.
“He keeps touching you.” Helen had a mischievous look on her face.
Clara didn’t answer Helen this time, merely glaring as she didn’t want to admit how aware she was of Taylor.
Whenever he stood near her, she had to force herself to act normally. And when his hand brushed hers or his arm touched her shoulder, her body’s reaction was to freeze and blush.
So every few minutes, she gave herself a stern talking to; he was a very attractive movie star with eyes that, even when hidden behind black-rimmed glasses, twinkled with good humour.
Of course she found him attractive; part of his appeal on screen was that most women found him attractive, and most men wanted to be him.
And maybe she had a small crush, which she found intensely embarrassing. At thirty-five years old, she had a crush on a man because he was handsome. And nice, her inner voice added, which she quickly shushed. It didn’t matter if he was nice or not; he wasn’t for her.
She needed to keep her head out of the clouds and try not to develop crushes on unattainable men.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t an easy task, as no one since Jack had even made her look at them twice.
Clara opened her mouth to deny again that Taylor liked her, when the actor walked back into theatre. She frowned at him and checked the clock. He had only been gone for fifteen minutes, not long enough to eat lunch.
Helen winked at her and spun around, heading back to the anaesthetic bay.
“Why are you back so soon?” Clara snapped at him and cringed. She hadn’t meant to sound so bitchy.
But Taylor took it in his stride and nudged her shoulder with his muscled arm. “Funny story. I took my mask off to eat my sandwich, and a few ladies at the table beside me started whispering and pointing at me. So I, well…” he cleared his throat, “I may have run away and come back up here. Can I eat in the anaesthetic bay?”
Clara peered through the window to the bay, where Helen was wandering around the room, going through all the drawers and checking what equipment and drugs they needed to restock.
She thought quickly. There was no way if Helen saw Taylor without his mask that she wouldn’t recognise him, as they had, in the past, had several very detailed conversations about how if Helen wasn’t sixty and married, Taylor Anderson would be her hall pass.
Clara shuddered at the thought of Helen working out who he was; while she wasn’t Deloris, she did have the horrible feeling that the nurse wouldn’t be able to stop herself from doing or saying something inappropriate.
“Yeah. Hang on.” Clara pushed the doors to the anaesthetic bay open. “I’m sorry to be a massive pain, but the next patient has a risk of phaeochromocytoma, and I’ll need some phentolamine just in case. Do you think you can nip up to ICU now and grab some?”
Helen stared at her hard. “The skin cancer man?”
“Yeah.” Clara kept a straight face. “I know it’s super unlikely as it’s only local and sedation, but I think we should have it.”
Helen huffed and put down the list she had been making for missing equipment that needed replacing. “Fine. I’ll go grab it now.”
“Thanks, Helen. I appreciate it.” Clara waited until Helen had left the anaesthetic bay before she went back into theatre and whispered, “The coast is clear, Superman. You can eat your lunch in safety.”
“Thanks.” Taylor grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it.
Clara looked down at his fingers, staring at the huge hand enveloping hers and marvelling at the muscles that bulged and tensed in his forearm as his fingers flexed on hers.
“No problems,” she muttered without looking up at him.
She was so embarrassed; she felt a jolt of electricity run up her arm at his contact, and it confirmed what she already knew, she had a crush—a huge, bloody crush on him. She was such an idiot. She wanted to squeeze his fingers back. She wanted to hold hands with him; however, she stopped herself and made her hand remain limp in his.
She glanced up in time to see him staring at her, a frown pulling his brows together.
It felt like forever before he let go of her hand and walked out to eat his sandwich.
“When are you going to eat?”
Clara blinked a couple of times at Taylor; she hadn’t noticed him come and stand so close to her.
She checked her watch. It was two forty-five, and she hadn’t had time to stop and get some lunch on the way to work, as after the whole hot coffee and baring her boobs to a movie star debacle, she had been running late, so she had no food in her bag to snack on.
“I’m sure someone will come soon and give me a break.”
“When?” Taylor frowned at her.
“When they have time,” she snapped.
She knew it was exhaustion and hunger causing her voice to be so sharp. It wasn’t his fault she had a shit job that meant some days she didn’t get to stop for lunch.
He held his hands up defensively. “Do you want me to get you something?”
Clara wished she could say yes. Wished that he would nip down and grab her a sandwich, but her pride, the pride that didn’t let anyone do anything for her, had her automatically answering.
“No, that’s really nice of you. They’ll come soon, and I’ll go and grab something then.”
“It’s not a problem.” Taylor pushed as he examined her face. The skin around her eyes was tight, and dark circles marred the area under them.
“Really. It’s okay. They’ll be here soon,” she reassured him.
However minutes ticked by, then hours, and Clara was still working. Her face became increasingly drawn; nonetheless, her cheery attitude didn’t falter, and her work didn’t slow down.
By the time they took the last patient to recovery, it was six pm. She had worked solidly from seven-thirty that morning, with no break, and the only food she had consumed had been the egg and bacon roll Taylor had brought her in the morning.
Clara could feel Taylor’s eyes on her as she trudged back to her operating theatre, not disguising the exhaustion she felt, although as soon as she walked back in the door, she hid her feelings and thanked everyone for a good day.
Then, she threw her leftover drugs away and packed her diary and computer back into her bag.
She dragged her hand wearily over her eyes before she checked her phone and was about to put it in her pocket when Taylor grabbed it out of her hand.
“Hey.” She lunged out to snatch it back, but he held it above her head so she couldn’t reach it.
She had unlocked it before he snatched it, so he immediately opened her contacts and began to type.
“I’m giving you my number.”
“Why?” The words were out of Clara’s mouth before she could stop them. “Shit, sorry that was rude.”
“It’s all good. I know you’re hungry. You should have let me bring you food.” He finished typing the digits in, “And as you wouldn’t let me. I plan on taking you for dinner tonight. This is my number, so we can text.” He pressed a couple more buttons, and she heard his phone ring. “And now I have your number too.”
Clara blinked at him a few times, unsure what to say to a movie star telling her he was taking her for dinner. Before she could formulate an answer, a giant yawn cracked her face, so big that even her mask didn’t hide it.
Finally, her exhausted brain clicked into gear, “That’s so lovely of you. But to be honest. I don’t think I’m going to be awake for more than a couple of hours after I arrive home, and I can guarantee I’ll be bad company if I go out for dinner.” She yawned again. “I’d probably fall asleep on the table.”
“Oh. Right. Sure, no worries.” He rubbed at his eyes, which looked as tired as hers.
“I’ll be in theatre seven tomorrow. I’ll see you at eight-thirty.”
She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and gave him a small wave before she strode out of the theatre. Trying to forget the image playing across her mind of the muscles in his arm tensing as he lifted his hand to return her wave.
“You’re an idiot,” Clara berated herself as she tried to shake off the fluttering in her chest that had been present for the whole time he had been in the theatre with her.