Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Leena
I have been off balance for weeks. Equally dreading and anticipating Julian’s return to Bayberry Park and Palmetto Regional.
Charlie knew something had happened in that hallway. However, when I refused to talk about it, she stopped pressing, leaving me to stew in a chaotic swirl of emotions. My feelings swing from one emotion to another like a pendulum, quickly and without warning.
My impromptu hookup with Julian has been replaying in my mind.
At first, I was chagrined at how easy it was to forget our surroundings.
Anyone could have happened upon us—another patron, one of our colleagues from his table, a staff member from my family’s restaurant, or even one of my siblings!
I’m still fighting random waves of mortification when I think about us getting caught.
I was embarrassed by letting myself get wrapped up in the heat of the moment.
Never have I been able to be intimate so quickly before.
I’ve never thought doing so was wrong, I just have never been able to relax or quiet my brain long enough to get carried away in the moment like that.
I’ve always needed to feel comfortable with my partner, which for me takes time.
So, of course, I’m stunned by how easily I was swept away and how little it took Julian to bring me to orgasm.
And that brings me to my frustration. That was the best damn orgasm I have ever had.
I can’t help reliving it, and I find myself aroused all over again.
So why don’t I just take care of myself?
Well, let’s just say it has not gone well would be a huge understatement.
You would think Julian had teased me and left me teetering on the edge with no relief.
No matter how many times I attempt to get off, I can’t!
Or when I do, it’s so unsatisfying, it doesn’t even take the edge off.
My reliable vibrator has met its match, failing me for the first time. Tears of frustration have been shed.
But then, the flowers arrived. On my birthday, no less, but that’s not why they were sent.
Memories of the florals under the fluorescent hospital lights flash through my mind, a small smile touching my lips as I recall the day I received them two and a half weeks ago.
There is a beautiful floral arrangement sitting on the front desk. Joanne’s face lifts from the blooms with eyes closed, nostrils flared, and a soft appreciative smile.
“Who sent you these gorgeous flowers?” I ask.
Her eyes pop open with a laugh. “Oh, honey, these aren’t for me.” She indicates the little lavender envelope with my name typed on the front.
“Really?” I ask, a tentative smile pulling at my lips. I scoop up the heavy arrangement and turn for my office.
“You’re not going to read it now? Here?” Joanne gasps in disappointment.
With a jump of my brows, I smirk. “Nope, definitely gonna do it in private.”
Pushing my door closed with my back, I lower the flowers onto the desk. Plucking at the card, I admire the array of artfully arranged blooms in the most stunning hues of rich purples, deep violets, bold tangerines, and vibrant magentas.
Leena,
I really didn’t expect what happened last week.
When I went after you, I was only hoping to talk.
I’m so sorry for how quickly things got out of hand and for putting both of us in a potentially compromising position had anyone found us.
I want you to know I understand your feelings about workplace personal relationships ,and I was not trying to coerce you into a situation you now no doubt regret.
But I promise you, I will be on my best behavior when I get back.
J.
Julian’s number is typed out beneath his initial.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I bring the card to my lips.
Those beautiful flowers only made the pendulum swing that much harder.
I felt ashamed for the hookup happening in the first place. For going against what has been a hard and fast rule ever since the text message incident with Merritt’s then-wife calling out his affair with a scrub tech during my orientation.
It was chaotic and messy, and the drama from his personal life spilled over into the OR because I hadn’t been the only nurse in that situation.
After that day, his phone regularly blew up during his scheduled surgery days, as if his wife knew other people would be reading those messages.
The difference was that I had only told Charlie, but one of the other nurses shared all the details with someone else, and soon everyone was talking about it.
It still makes me shudder from the nastiness of it all.
From the beginning, there have been a handful of times I’ve witnessed both single and married coworkers get romantically involved.
While not all of those instances have ended badly, they are widely talked about by the staff.
Yes, I’ve been guilty of doing it myself, but only with Charlie, of course.
The Operating Room is a world unto itself.
Being a sterile unit, it is contained and locked away from the rest of the hospital.
Very few people have authorization and access to go beyond the locked doors and red line.
You spend lots of time with the same group of people, all while performing high-pressure jobs.
With our patients mostly unconscious, one of the ways that valve of pressure is relieved is with very unfiltered and lots of times NSFW conversations—ironic, I know.
And the staff gossip about one another. A.
Lot. The thought of being the object of their overly speculative—and many times invasive—gossip makes me feel sick to my stomach.
It had to have been a coincidence when the flowers were delivered.
And I don’t know how, but Julian knew I was spiraling.
In his own way, he was trying to comfort me, take the shame away, and place the blame solely on himself.
But I was an active participant in our encounter—a very eager participant.
So, with that note, I thought, good, we can call it square. But then, why was I disappointed by the thought of that being all I ever got of Julian?
That quickly morphed into annoyance at myself and my rollercoaster of emotions. This is a good thing, I thought wildly, and programmed his number into my phone. I sent him a message with two words.
Me: Thank you.
I tried to ignore the pang of regret that bloomed in my chest, attempting to drown myself in work that evening by bringing home the next staffing schedule.
Except he sent me a text the very next day. And the day after that. Soon, I had a whole string of messages. Nothing too serious. Sometimes it was a joke, a random thought, his favorite cereal, why he preferred Starry to Sprite.
I found myself smiling, soaking up those little pieces of him. I knew it was foolish to let it continue. I should have told him to stop texting me. But . . . I didn’t. I liked his attention. It was steady and sweet, and he was funny and endearing. I began looking forward to what he would say next.
And that brings me back to equally dreading and looking forward to his imminent return.