Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Yeah?” she asks softly, and I know that honesty here is the only way to put the punctuation on my motive.
This isn’t a game for me. And Sammy should know it.
“Sammy, I really like you. Hell, since the moment I left your apartment this morning, I’ve been thinking about you. So, yeah. I wanted to hear your voice.”
Silence stretches between us for what feels like an eternity, but for something this important, I’m willing to bend until she breaks.
“I’ve been thinking about you too.” Her voice is still quiet, and I can’t decide if it’s because she’s unsure about my feelings for her or if she’s unsure about her feelings for me.
Frankly, neither of those seems like a good option.
Last night wasn’t some casual-hookup bullshit for me. It was real. It meant something. And I’m going to prove it to her.
“When can I see you again?” I ask, choosing to show her how serious I am through actions rather than words.
“My life is pretty dang complicated, Noah,” she answers on a sigh that borders on a cry. “Honestly, I’m not sure when I’ll have an actual night off without the boys again, and—”
“Sammy, I’m not expecting that,” I interject gently. “We can do something together with the boys.”
“Oh. Are you sure? I, well… This is kind of embarrassing, but I thought you were talking about a date.”
“I was. I am. But when the woman you’re interested in is the mother to two awesome boys, dates come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Noah.”
“Aren’t you off on Sundays?” I question. “There’s a Yankees game this Sunday, and I know I can get four tickets for us from one of the doctors I work with.”
“You want to take me and my two heathens to a Yankees game?”
“Of course I do.”
“That’s…really sweet of you. Possibly a little sadistic, but also very, very sweet.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
“Yeah. It’s a yes,” she says, and I love the way I can hear an actual smile in her voice. “Though, I’m just letting you know that the last time Chase took the boys to a Yankees game, there was a bit of a tussle with one of the mascots that ended in tears.”
“Let me guess… Seth initiated it?”
“Of course he did.” She guffaws. “He’s my instigator.”
“Who cried, then? Grant?”
She scoffs. “No. The mascot.”
I laugh. “Well, I can promise you we’ll handle whatever they throw our way. And we’ll even manage to have a good time too.”
“I can’t wait. But I’m not telling the boys about this until the day of. Otherwise, I’ll have to live through one thousand questions about the Yankees game for the whole week. Every minute of every day, they’ll be asking me if it’s Yankees game day. The struggle of having kids who haven’t quite grasped a sense of time is real, Noah.”
I chuckle again. “I fully support your decision.”
“So… I guess I’ll see you Sunday…”
Hell yes, you will. “See you then, Sammy.”
When we end the call a few moments later, I may as well be walking on cloud fucking nine. I barely register the fact that Chase texted back to confirm our doggy playdate for Friday evening, and my sandwich is no longer the center of my world.
I’m officially in the game with Sammy Baker.
Sunday can’t come soon enough.
Tuesday, May 17th
“That went better than expected,” Dr. Weller announces, stepping up to the sink beside mine as I finish scrubbing my hands.
“I’m just happy I managed to keep her blood pressure stable for that last hour.”
Valve replacements are a difficult surgery as it is, but performing them on a ten-year-old girl who should have a whole life ahead of her is in an entirely different bracket.
I’m used to surgery on kids, but the difficult cases? They never get easier.
“You and me both,” he remarks. “It’s always a blessing when I’ve got you at the head of my table.”
“Aw, come on, Milton. If you keep saying sweet things like that to me, I might have to buy you lunch.”
“Smartass.” He chuckles, and I give him a sturdy pat on the back before I head through the OR exit doors.
My stomach grumbles as I make my way down the hall, and one quick glance to my watch explains why. It’s nearing noon, and I’ve been up and at ’em since five this morning. Thankfully, this was my last surgery of the day, and all that’s left are patient rounds.
“Dr. Philips, do you mind signing off on some orders for me?” Darla, one of my favorite recovery nurses, asks when I make a pit stop at the nurses station. “The patient in Room Eight needs an extra dose of Zofran to curb his nausea. And the patient in Room Three could use a little fluid boost before I send her to the ICU.”
“You got it.” I head over to one of the empty computers to make good on her requests.