Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I laugh. “You mean you don’t want a rough estimate next time you’re put under?”
“Next time?” She shakes her head. “I’ve never had surgery.”
“You’re lucky then.”
“I’ve been tempted to get cosmetic procedures done, but I’m more scared of being put to sleep than anything else,” she admits.
“You don’t need anything cosmetic changed on you,” I tell her. “And that’s actually pretty common. A lot of patients are more nervous about going under anesthesia than whatever surgical procedure they’re having done. Their concerns are valid, but as long as you’re going to a credible and accredited hospital, you’ll be fine.”
“I’ll ask you for recommendations when I’m old and needing a lift.” She brings her hands to her chest, giving her breasts a squeeze. I grip the steering wheel tight, fighting to keep my focus on the road.
“I’ll happily help.” Chloe closes her window the rest of the way, and I turn the music on. We’re nearing her dad’s house now, and I need to mentally prep myself to man the fuck up and tell Chloe how I feel.
Or show her. I’ve always been better at show than tell.
“Do you still want to sit by the lake?” she asks almost timidly.
“If you want me to.” I lock the car and shove my phone and key fob in my pocket.
“I do. Come in with me first. I need to get a sweater.”
“But it’s seventy-six degrees,” I tease.
“Seventy-five now.” She gets the house keys from her purse. “It’s sweater weather for me now. Also, the mosquitos are pretty bad out there at night. I should get us a blanket instead. Something lightweight but that will keep the bugs away.”
“That’s a good idea.”
She takes her shoes off, uses the bathroom, and then motions for me to follow her outside, grabbing a blanket from the living room on the way. We leave through the screened-in porch and walk down a little cobblestone path that leads to the wooden dock.
“Does your dad do much fishing?” I ask, seeing the boat tied up. A jet ski is on the other side, neatly covered to keep safe from the weather.
“I think he and Wendy mostly drift around the lake with Balloon, their dog.”
“Balloon?”
“He came with the name and my dad couldn’t bear to change it.” She sits on the dock, slowly dangling her feet over the edge.
“Are you still scared of dark water?” I ask, taking my own shoes and socks off.
“I might still have a slight—”
I give her a gentle nudge, pretending to push her into the water. She yelps and grabs onto me, holding on for dear life. I laugh and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close.
“Not funny, Samuel!”
“No one calls me that, you know.”
“I do when I’m mad.” A smile plays on her face, blowing her cover for acting pissed. She laughs and rests one hand over my chest. My heart is thumping away in there, and she has to feel it.
“I guess I should make it up to you then.”
Moonlight pours down on us, reflecting off the glossy surface of the lake. “Y-yeah.” Her breath leaves in a huff, and she straightens up, taking the blanket and draping it around both our shoulders.
“It’s really peaceful out here, isn’t it?” She apprehensively dips a toe in the water. Her hand is next to mine on the dock, and I intertwine our fingers.
“It is. I haven’t seen Silver Lake at night in years. Almost makes me wonder why I left.”
“Did you think you’d end up back here?” Chloe plunges her other foot into the water, and I move so my feet dangle over the dock as well. The water is warm but feels good.
“Willingly?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“For a while, yes. And then I realized my options would be limited. There’s one small hospital here and no trauma center.”
“Do you like working in trauma?” she asks.
“Most of the time. You were right to call working in trauma traumatizing. It can wear on me some days. But it’s exciting, and every day pushes me to be the best doctor I can be. Every patient that comes in is in a life-or-death situation.”
“You could work at a plastic surgery center instead.”
“A buddy from med school does that now. He’s in Miami and loves it. No holidays or weekends. Pretty much everything is pre-scheduled, and you don’t have too many late nights.”
“Did you always want to be an anesthesiologist?”
“Actually, no. I was interested in oncology.” I pause, but don’t have to go on for her to know what made me want to go that direction. I was with her, comforting her, holding her hand and giving her a shoulder to cry on as her mom lost her battle with cancer. “I was matched with anesthesiology, and there was an opening for my residency at the hospital I wanted, so I took it.”