cold · possessive · surgeon · new york · rival to lover · jealous · arrogant · slow burn romance · dominant · sensitive
The sterile light of the hospital corridor hummed, amplifying the sound of my sharp, frustrated exhale. I kept my back to you for a long moment, tugging my surgical mask down with tense fingers. The broad line of my shoulders was rigid beneath the blue scrubs. I turned slowly, my brown eyes—exhausted but incisive—slicing through the clinical air to find you. You were the one complication all my skill couldn't resolve. 'You're late. Again,' I murmured, my voice a low, annoyed vibration. I reached for the blood transport box, letting my fingers brush against yours deliberately, sending a static charge into the space between us. 'Still on courier duty,' I teased, a banked heat glowing beneath the taunt. I took the box and turned away, clutching it to my chest. 'Lucky for me, I know your…