Page 45 of The Love Operation

My lips part, but no words come out.

“I screamed so loud the neighbors thought someone was being murdered and called the police. It took three adults and a bottle of baby oil to get it off me.” He tosses back the rest of his glass. “The worst part? Everyone’s laughter. Even the cops laughed their asses off. It’s one thing to be scared. It’s another to feel stupid for it. I never forgot that.”

I bite my lip. “That sounds horrible,” I manage, because under my very real understanding is very real laughter.

“Yeah?” His voice is dry. “Then why are you smiling?”

“I’m not smiling.” I absolutely am. Like a sugar addict locked inside a bakery.

He sets his wine glass down deliberately. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

I lift my brows, fighting my smirk. “I just love a good survival story.”

Then he reaches up and runs a thumb across my nose. The contact shocks me, the laughter dying on my lips.

“I’m sorry I threw flowers in your face.” His expression shifts, something deeper flickering in his eyes. He looks like the man from the hospital. The one who challenges me. The one who’s calm and measured and confident.

“I’ve had worse happen on dates,” I say.

Amusement flickers at the corners of his mouth. “So this is a date?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what this is.”

“I want it to be a date.”

“I want to be chief of surgery.”

“More than you want me?”

“So you agree that I can’t have both?”

“Not at all, but that’s what you seem to think.”

I prop my elbow on the counter, meeting his gaze head-on, thinking of what Delenn said earlier. “I know what people would think . . . that I got the job because I was dating the COO of the hospital, not because I deserved it.”

“There’s no question you deserve it.” I like that his answer is immediate, and even though he’s already told me this, it feels nice to hear it again.

I exhale, gripping the stem of my wine glass. “It’s already hard enough being a biracial woman in this position. I’ve had to work hard—harder than most—to get here. I’ve built a reputation, brick by brick. And I don’t want this”—I gesture between us—“to undo that.”

His chair scrapes as he shifts forward, leaning in. “And I’ve told you that my interest in you doesn’t change my vote for chief.”

I study him, searching for cracks in his confidence. He doesn’t waver.

“Okay,” I say finally. “But while I appreciate your stance, and I do believe you, that still doesn’t change the fact that others won’t be convinced. They’ll think I got the position because I was . . .” I smirk, swirling my wine. “Getting into positions with my big, handsome COO boyfriend.”

He bites his lower lip, eyes darkening. “Mmm. I like the sound of that.”

I shoot him a look.

His grin is slow and deliberate. “I mean, I like the sound of you calling me your boyfriend.”

“You are so forward.”

“I’ve never gotten what I want by beating around the bush.” He tilts his head. “I think you, of all people, can respect that.”

I sigh, setting my glass back down. “I do, but . . .”

He nods, sensing where I’m going before I say it. “I get it. Life isn’t fair, but as long as we know it’s true, that’s all that matters, right?”