Page 38 of Her Braun
Communication is a must in a field as chaotic as medicine could be. But beyond that?
Don’t make waves.
Don’t make drama.
Work hard and everything will be fine.
Until she went back to her house and dealt with the silence.
At one time it had been her solace, but now it was driving her a little out of her mind.
For a few evenings she'd had Gibson there with her.
Which in and of itself had been a bit crazy. She'd never had a man in her space that wasn't a friend, andonlya friend.
College? Med School? Study sessions, late night coffee binging, and bitch sessions when she'd gone through her residency.
Never once had she wanted to kiss any of those men. She admired their minds.
None of them made her think of crossing the line into a relationship or even study partners with benefits. That all seemed so... awkward.
Now, standing in one of the alcoves of Vol. 39 in the Kimpton Gray Hotel, in the middle of almost a hundred other doctors, all she wanted to do was go back to her room and go to sleep.
These were the same men who frowned at her for speaking to one of the presenters and now expected her to smile and talk. They also expected her to laugh at whattheyconsidered the appropriate times. Never mind that she had been a doctor for almost the same amount of time that they had been.
Doctor Moore had been the first one to corner her almost as soon as she’d entered the bar. There was only one word to associate her time with Doctor Thomas Moore.
Bore.
He’d droned on and on about his own practice and how he was so glad that he’d never been sucked into working in an Emergency Room. When he’d come up for air after the fourth story of his latest heroism in diagnosing a bone spur or some such ailment, she’d excused herself to get a drink.
And he'd curled his lip at that.
A drink!
In a bar!
How novel!
Never mind that he had one in his hand. Whatever the drink had been, it was watered-down with the condensation turning the napkin he held under the glass into a shredded mess.
She’d only managed another foot or two when she was suddenly stuck between two doctors this time.
Doctor Smith and Doctor Jones.
She couldn’t remember which was which if her life depended on it.
Both men were the same height.
Had the same coloring.
And if they didn’t have different last names, she would have sworn they were twins.
One was a thoracic surgeon and the other a spinal surgeon.
By the time they stopped making jokes about how they were so good at their craft that they could probably do surgery on both sides of a person at the same time, she was ready to drink a double. One serving for each ridiculous man.
And then, just when she’d extricated herself from that mess and found a table to sit at and get off of her feet, another doctor slid onto the same banquette bench with her, effectively caging her between the table and his rather forceful presence. She’d resigned herself with going thirsty.
