2. Lilith
LILITH
These intake forms are going to be the end of me. It’ll take forever to fill them out when I could be out there looking for Alaric.
According to my PI, he’s still in trauma. That unit requires clearance, but it doesn’t mean he’ll never leave. At some point, he’ll need to use the bathroom.
And if that happens while I’m stuck in the HR office…
It’ll suck.
I mean, it won’t be the worst thing ever. It’s not like we won’t see each other soon. I fully intend to talk to him, to make him mine at some point.
But since I can’t stop him for a long conversation on my first day when I have to make a good impression, I’ll settle for getting a quick look at him.
“Hey, Lil.” Hope’s hand covers mine. “You okay?”
It’s only when she asks that I notice my foot tapping against the linoleum floor in time with my quick pulse.
Bam, bam, bam, bam.
“Yeah, definitely. I’m fine.” I give her what I hope passes for a reassuring smile as I pull my hand away. “I was daydreaming, that’s all. I’ll fill these out now.”
“Or I could do it for you.”
Taking her up on the offer is tempting. The pull toward Alaric grows stronger, more demanding by the second.
Before I say yes, though, I sneak a glance at Reba, the HR rep. Her green eyes stay glued to her screen, her red hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, a sharp contrast to her white blouse.
If she heard Hope, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Okay, then. “I guess I could use some fresh air.”
Hope gives me a knowing wink. “Meet you in the cafeteria in fifteen?”
Heat sears my cheeks as I nod and get up. “Sounds good.”
“Want me to hold on to your bag?”
Though it’d be easier to move through the hospital in my cafeteria uniform—a simple pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt—and nothing else, I shake my head.
The desire to take a piece of Alaric—other than just looking at him, of course—is intense.
He must have a change of clothes in his locker. Shirts, pants…
Boxers.
I can’t exactly carry any of it in plain sight. Slipping them into my messenger bag, that’s doable. I have to make room, though, and since my bag is stuffed with the red aprons Reba gave us…
“Here, take these.” I hand them over to Hope, then pat the neat twist at my nape nervously. “Do I look okay?”
“Better than okay.” She wags her eyebrows. “You’re a hottie. Go…” Her eyes skate to Reba, who’s still reading something on the screen of her computer. “Get some fresh air. See you soon.”
“Thanks.” A relieved sigh slips past my lips. “See you.”
Once I’m out in the hall, it’s like my legs have a mind of their own. My sneakers make no sound as I head toward the trauma bay.
With each turn I take through the huge hospital, I remind myself I might not get to see Alaric today after all.
He might have the day off. He could be in surgery. He might even be sitting at a wounded child’s bedside in the ICU, the way he once sat with me.
But what if I get lucky and catch a glimpse of him? Just a quick glance before I slip into the locker room closest to trauma, head to the locker number my PI gave me, pick the lock, and grab whatever I can get my hands on?
It’ll be amazing.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach the farther I go into the hospital.
A few more feet and here I am.
TRAUMA CENTER—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
The sign by the swinging doors stops my thoughts, my feet, my heart.
Awareness bursts through every inch of me, telling me he isn’t home, in the OR, or anywhere else.
He’s here. Within reach.
Swallowing my nerves, I take a step forward. Two. Three.
If someone comes out, I could slip in and—
“You can’t go in there,” a voice calls out from the nurses’ station.
I flinch at being caught.
Just as fast, my eyes widen. My jaw goes slack.
Because through the narrow glass panel in the door, I see someone in navy-blue scrubs getting closer. Coming straight toward me.
Alaric.
Has to be him.
The silhouette belongs to a tall, broad-shouldered man who moves with confidence. The bloodstains on his scrubs make him look like he’s back from a superhero mission, which he probably is.
My heart’s never beaten so fast in my life.
“Ma’am,” the nurse clips, sounding even more impatient than before.
“Sorry.” I hurry toward one of the corners, where I should’ve been hiding in the first place.
One…
I hold my breath.
Two…
My body is on fire.
Three.
The doors fly open, and it’s him walking through them.
I barely have a moment to register how good his messy hair looks or how wet I get from his presence.
No time to waste. I have a doctor to chase.
Pushing off the wall, I follow him, keeping a maddening six-foot distance between us as I take him in.
Alaric is mouthwatering in every sense of the word. His back shifts with each stride, his muscles moving under thin scrubs. The pants hug his ass like they were made for him. When he drags a hand through his hair, his shirt rides up and the dark line of his boxers peeks above the waistband.
Then there’s the scent of his cologne. Manly without being overwhelming or too spicy.
Though I have no recollection of it from seven years ago, I can’t help but feel like it belongs to him.
My fingers itch to touch him. To stroke, squeeze, caress.
“Dr. Lockwood,” a bulky nurse in teal scrubs says as he approaches Alaric. He has green eyes, and his bald head shines beneath the fluorescent lights. “Long night?”
Alaric stops, and so do I. As if I’m supposed to be here, I perch against the wall, pull out my phone, and turn my back to them.
“It was okay.” That voice. Rich, low, and gravelly.
It lands right in my chest. Expanding my lungs.
My teeth lock. My pulse skitters.
My knees nearly buckle.
“Samantha mentioned your critical case almost didn’t make it?” the man comments.
The way he says Samantha is soft, affectionate, like she’s his, not Alaric’s. Good. My PI didn’t miss anything.
“Yes.” Crazy how one word from him has my toes curling. “Sorry to cut this short. I’m gonna grab a shower and head out.”
The showers. In the locker room.
Where I planned to go.
It’s fate.
“Of course. Have a good one, Doc.”
“You too.”
Heavy footfalls approach me, probably the other man.
As soon as he walks past me, I’m back to following Alaric.
Since I’m short on time, I’m grateful when he reaches the locker rooms so quickly. I slow when he does, watching as he taps his hospital ID to the reader and steps inside.
Holding my breath, I wait until the door starts to close, then wedge my foot between it and the wall.
When I sneak in, my gaze sweeps the room. I breathe easier when I find it’s empty except for the two of us. Me pressed into the corner, half-hidden behind a wall, and him heading to his locker.
Oblivious to my existence, he stops in front of one of them, starting to work the lock. My attention stays fixed on the parts of him I can see over the lockers, my eyes drinking in the sight of him.
I listen as his lock rolls some more, then clicks. A second later, the low creak of the locker door swinging open follows.
Then—oh.
Oh.
He’s taking off his scrubs.
I should feel bad about violating his privacy, but I can’t. Can’t turn away either. His bare shoulders, his smooth skin… I’m hypnotized. His.
Just as much as he’s mine.
Not yet, I remind myself.
Right.
Out of nowhere, he stops messing with his locker and turns his head to the left. “Anyone in here?”
Shit. I’ve gotten way too comfortable stalking him.
Even though he isn’t looking directly at me, I drop into a crouch and press myself into the corner by the doorway, using the wall to stay out of sight.
“Hello?”
There’s nothing I want more than to jump into his arms. I resist the urge, not moving a muscle. I don’t even breathe.
A couple of minutes pass before Alaric tsks to himself and then shuts the locker. His footsteps echo, then the water starts.
My heart rages wildly, screaming Now, now, now!
I listen to it.
His lock is still warm from where his fingers were when I reach his locker and start to pick it, a skill I learned back in Maine.
When I transferred schools after being placed with the Griggs, I needed a clean slate. So much so that I chose a locker combination that had nothing to do with the one I used before.
Problem was, my head was a mess. I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember the numbers and kept losing the notes I scribbled them on.
That was when a friend taught me how to listen to a lock while it moves.
To lean in…feel the subtle shifts as it twists, then turns…then…
Yes.
Adrenaline shoots through my veins at the soft click. Since I’ve been conditioned to stay as quiet as possible, it’s easy to bite back a victory yelp as I yank the door to his locker open.
There’s no controlling my pulse, though. It roars when I find three clean pairs of black boxers folded neatly on top of a change of clothes. My breath catches when I grab the first one, my lips shaping the word “mine.”
Pressing the pair to my nose and inhaling his laundry detergent almost makes me come right there.
As much as I want this orgasm, though, it’s the wrong place, wrong fucking time.
“Fuck,” I groan, stuff his boxers into my bag where they belong, and leave.
Yes, I know that stealing is wrong, but not a single part of me agonizes over it.
It’s only fair, since he’s the one who took something from me when I turned eighteen and never gave it back.
My heart.