Page 11 of Doctor Enemy

This guy is a player like no one else I’ve ever met, and I’m still stuck getting butterflies when he touches me.

It’s ridiculous.

“I’m in dire need of a coffee.” I make to step around him, trying not to let my gaze linger too much on the muscles of his exposed arms. “And on a time limit.”

“Aren’t we all?” Kurt counters. “Lori, I think we need to talk.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing over my wrist. I dance out of his reach before they can curl there and remind him, “Time limit.”

If we talk, then I’m going to end up apologizing. I owe him one. Webothlost a patient.

But something–everything–about Kurt rubs me the wrong way.

Not wanting to get pulled into a lecture about how I need to respect him more, I turn and just start hurrying down the hall once more.

The moment that I slip into the doctors’ lounge, I make a beeline toward the young woman over at the coffee station.

My best friend and fellow pediatric resident, Olivia Burke, leans against the counter and wistfully waits for the coffee to finish brewing.

I could ask her about Sawyer. I could even ask her opinion on the “fight” that I got into with Kurt. It just never feels like the right time.

Even now, it doesn’t feel right. I mean, we’re on one of our very few breaks that we get each day! I don’t want to waste it getting all teary-eyed, and I doubt that Olivia wants to waste it doing that, either.

If anything, it looks like she wants to spend the whole time watching her coffee brew.

“Staring at that isn’t going to make it brew any faster.”

“It might. You don’t know that,” says Olivia, with a slight smile. Her wrist sports a bright red and yellow scrunchie—a gift from me for her birthday last year. It matches the bright red and yellow flowers on her otherwise black scrubs.

She taps the side of the pot with one nail. “Come on, magic pot. Show me what you can do.”

“Oh, it’s magic now?” I can’t help but laugh at that, shaking my head. “Which part is magic? The coffee maker, or the coffee itself?”

“Beans that make me feel like I’m not dying. That seems pretty magical to me.” She lets out a sigh. “Now, if only I could get a latte instead. With caramel and almond milk.” Olivia’s eyes flutter shut, as if just the thought is enough to get her a lift. “Oh, and whipped cream on top.”

I have to hand it to her, that does sound pretty good. Not the almond milk—the whole point of a latte is for it to be thick, rich, and creamy—but all the rest.

But…. Neither of us is going to be getting thick, rich, and creamy coffee today. We also won’t be getting caramel or almond milk, and we sure as hell won’t be getting whipped cream.

“You can have half and half from a pod instead,” I tell her, setting down the little black wire basket containing the pods of half and half. “And that’s it. No one’s refilled the actual creamers.”

Olivia groans, tilting her head back. She asks the ceiling, “Why have you forsaken me like this, Mercy General?”

“Come on, you think that the hospital has forsaken you?” I snort and brace a hip against the counter, cracking open the bottle of orange juice that I got from the cafeteria earlier in the night and had shoved in the fridge. “I’m the one that’s been stuck working three doubles so far this week.”

Olivia looks away from me when I say that. My eyes narrow at her. “What do you know?”

“Nothing, nothing. Damn, this coffee pot takes forever to brew, doesn’t it? Remind me to just use the single serve next time.” Olivia says, finally straightening up and moving away from the counter.

She looks like she’s getting ready to head out of the room. “I’ll just come back in and check it later.”

My hand snatches out, and I grab her by the wrist. “I don’t think so. You know why I’m the one being tapped for all of these doubles, and you’re going to spill the beans. Who did I piss off?”

Olivia looks away from me. “Come on, Lori. I’m sure that it’s not going to last forever. How about you just–look, call me next time, and I’ll handle the double.”

“Nuh-uh,” I tell her, with a click of my tongue. I let go of her wrist and put my hand on the coffee pot instead, fingers curling around the handle of it. “You’re going to tell me who pulled these strings, so I can go and get them unpulled.”

There’s no way that I’m going to keep working all these extra hours just because someone’s having a little bit of a power trip. It’s just not going to happen.

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