Chapter Text
The sense of calm is so at odds with how the day went.
The condensation of the beer can is chilly against Samira’s palm, the conversation around her a murmur under the distant sirens and bustle of nighttime traffic. Her unfocused gaze somehow zeroes in on an ant idly making its way across the pavement without getting crushed under someone’s unsuspecting shoe, while Samira’s mind tries not to run through every patient she treated today. What started off as a normal, every day shift turned into one of the most horrific experiences she has ever been a part of, and she knows the beer in her hand isn’t going to be enough to let her forget about it.
Not that she ever could. Despite the horror she witnessed, she also did some pretty incredible things—insane things. A burr hole with an EZ IO drill. A pigtail catheter in a patient’s heart to save his life. Risky procedures that shocked those around them, but the rush of it all pushed Samira forward. Kept her from crumbling under the weight of the day, and from thinking too much about how many people’s blood she wore throughout her shift.
Absently, she finishes off her beer and yearns for another. Or maybe some wine. A whole bottle. She’s fairly certain she’s still got a decent amount of red at her apartment.
Her very quiet, very lonely apartment. The thought of returning to a dark, silent home makes her chest clench, throat tightening at the loneliness that awaits her. She worked a few hours past her shift—they all did—and yet she still hadn’t wanted to go home because she knew what was waiting for her there.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing waits for her. Probably a dishwasher that needs to be unloaded and a half stocked fridge—if she’s lucky.
The hospital is where she gets all of her social interactions. Sure, she’s got a couple of friends from college she still hangs out with on occasion, or finds time to spend with her mom. But it’s never much, never enough. Being the best at what she does, learning more and pushing forward, surviving her residency—it’s all she wants. It’s all she needs.
Right?
The doubt of it all always lingers, a voice in the back of her head that crops up when the day has been too heavy and she’s too exhausted to put up her mental wards from herself. And when she loses that battle, she becomes all too aware of the void that exists in her heart; small, yet ever present and always eager to remind Samira of its existence. Yet, if she focuses too much on it, she knows she will get lost in that darkness. The loneliness that has been her partner for the last several years. Her longest relationship ever.
It’s pathetic. It’s painful. She desperately wants more, and she desperately denies herself of it every time.
She’s too much. She’s not enough. People rarely ever stick around. Why bother getting close to them?
They only ever break your heart.
Whatever few bridges she has left, she has kept them safe. Too safe. Rarely traveled on. Samira is the instigator of her own loneliness and the creator of her pain, and no matter how badly she wants to stop, she’s just not sure how. The only thing she has ever done for herself is focus on school and focus on medicine and focus on the job. Too often, she wonders if she’s simply incapable of focusing on anything else.
Her cry—breakdown? Crash out?—in the bathroom was a brutal reminder of that.
“Dr. Mohan?”
Samira blinks and she’s out of her circling thoughts, gaze lifting from the ant that hasn’t made much progress. Just like her, in some ways. But when she looks up, she sees that Mateo, Donahue, Princess, and Javadi are all gone—though, there’s a presence to her right that is unmistakable. One that she has gotten used to in the emergency room.
She turns her head to the right and her muscles twitch under the pointed attention of Dr. Abbot, and Samira is suddenly aware that it’s just the two of them now. He leans back against the bench, relaxed as he holds the can of beer on his knee, his prosthetic sitting in the space between them. They have worked together often enough for her to know he lost it during his time in the army, though she wasn’t privy to the details. But it didn’t change the fact that every little thing she learned about Dr. Jack Abbot made him all the more impressive to her. Especially after today.
“Yes?” she asks, unsure why he said her name, too lost in her own thoughts.
He catches her confused tone and the corner of his mouth twitches, as though he’s tempted to smile but thinks against it. He places the beer can on the bench and reaches for his prosthetic, cutting their gazes. Still, Samira feels the weight of his attention, and it’s not unwelcome. It’s sure and steady, like when they worked together. Very easily, Samira finds comfort in his sure presence, and she’s not sure what to do with that.
“I asked if you were about to head home,” Dr. Abbot says, seemingly repeating himself yet not sounding put off that he did. She watches him effortlessly latch on his prosthetic in sure, practiced movements before letting the leg of his scrub pants fall down to cover it.
She’s not sure when the others left and how long it’s been just her and Dr. Abbot. If he was trying to get her attention for a while and she was too lost in her pity party to notice. Samira presses her teeth together, annoyed with herself. As tragic as today was, she pulled through. She helped many patients. She should be proud of herself. But the grief of this tragedy lingers heavily in her chest and Samira knows that the second she is alone, it will swallow her whole. It’s why she was delaying the inevitability of going home.
“Oh, right,” Samira says. Another ambulance drives by, rolling up to the ER’s entrance, and her throat tightens. She distracts herself by pulling out her phone to check the time and mentally picture the schedule of the bus she sometimes takes. Her car is in the shop after the engine kept misfiring, and the bus is always cheaper than Uber. “Yeah. Yes, I am.”
She clears her throat before taking one last pull of the beer and then tossing it in the trash can next to the bench, aware of Dr. Abbot’s eyes on her. She tells herself the shiver that zips down her spine is from the chilly Pittsburg night air and not from the man who is now on his feet. “Where are you parked?” he asks, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. She wonders how he isn’t at least a little bit cold in this weather.
“I’m not,” Samira answers, standing up with her backpack in hand. When Abbot just looks at her expectantly, the dim glow of the towering lamps making his dark eyes gleam questioningly, she tries not to shift on her feet. “I’m going to catch the bus.”
That has him twitching, his grip on the strap of his backpack tightening subtly. “Little late to be taking the bus.”
She tries not to bristle at that, her nerves too fried to think kindly to the hint of disapproval coloring his tone. Arching an eyebrow, Samira counters, “Better to take public transportation than to get in an Uber with a stranger.”
She doesn’t usually get snappy with attendings—read: ever —except today has been a day. But Abbot doesn’t seem to find offense in her tone. If anything, she’s fairly certain his lips do that twitchy thing again, like he’s forcing himself not to smile. He does that a lot, she’s noticed. Prior to today, she’s worked a number of shifts with Abbot as her attending rather than Robby, and while seeking Robby’s approval has become Samira’s unit of measurement of how well she’s doing, working with Abbot brings a different sort of challenge that Samira is just as eager to rise to.
Samira doesn’t seek Abbot’s approval; part of her feels as though she already has it. What she does seek is the confidence he sees in her, for her to see it herself. The man is a beast in the ER, always sure of every precise movement he makes, working with a certainty that Samira often feels in herself, too, despite whatever doubt she may encounter from others. Seeing the way Abbot took charge today and, what’s more, his confidence in her . . . Well, Samira wouldn’t mind working more shifts with him.
Seeing him work was magic. Working with him? That was intoxicating . Samira’s veins tingle with what she’s pretty sure is withdrawals already.
“Fair enough,” Abbot responds with a chuff that’s almost a laugh, but not quite.
She had heard him laugh, though, earlier. Minutes ago when she remembers everyone was still here. The sound had nearly been lost in the midst of everyone else’s laughter, but Samira heard his. Almost honed in on it so his laugh was the only one she’d hear.
She’s not sure what that means. She’s not sure if she wants to know.
“But I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer you a ride home,” he continues, and despite his casual tone, Samira feels a sudden uptick in her pulse. It’s unexpected and slightly confusing but. . . Not unwelcome.
His words carry on the gentle breeze and when they reach Samira, she can feel the goosebumps break out on her skin under her jacket. Strands of her hair tickle her cheek as she gives a gentle shake of her head. “Oh, that’s alright. I don’t mind taking the bus.”
Even if the number of stops between here and her apartment wouldn’t get her walking through her door for another hour or so, she’s been doing it the last couple of shifts since her car has been in the shop. Of course, none of those shifts included her working three hours overtime.
Dr. Abbot looks unimpressed, lips pursing. The grey of his stubble practically glitters under the dim lamp post and Samira has the insane, bewildering thought of how the scrape of his stubble would feel against her soft skin.
The errant thought has her throat drying and she’s proud of herself for keeping her reaction off her face because what the fuck? She chalks it up to the exhaustion her body is feeling after today, both physically and mentally, but seriously . Fantasizing about Dr. Abbot? There’s nothing professional about that, and that’s all there is that exists between them.
“And I don’t mind driving you home,” he responds with a slight upward tilt of his stubbly chin. “Especially this late at night.”
It was a little after ten p.m. and, God, Samira would be lying if she said she was totally comfortable taking the bus home. She has seen the kind of people that stumble into their ER during the night shifts, and God only knows the kind that wander in the city. And while Samira generally likes to think the best of people, she’s also not naïve. She’s smart enough to see Dr. Abbot’s offer for what it is: chivalrous, not coated in some patriarchal bullshit.
She’s teetering on the edge. A car would be faster in getting home, and she certainly knows him more than a random Uber driver. Samira bites the inside of her cheek briefly. “Are you positive? I’m sure you’d rather get home as fast as you can.”
Another twitch of his mouth, and this time Samira sees the subtle smirk that upturns his lips. An almost triumphant one, like he just knows she’s going to agree, despite her questions. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” Before she can be given any room to argue, or even tell him where she lives, he tilts his head towards the street. “I parked up the block,” is all he says before he starts walking.
Samira’s eyes are on him as he walks in her direction, and as he moves past her, she gets a hint of his scent in the breeze. Mostly, he smells just like she’s sure she does; a little sweaty, laced with antiseptic and hand sanitizer. But there’s something else that carries over, subtle; something like cedar, a little woodsy. Pleasant.
It makes her stomach flip as she hooks her arm through the strap of her bag and follows him, noticing that he shortens his long strides a bit until she falls into step next to him as they make their way down the sidewalk, moving past the nonstop bustle of the hospital. It’s silent between them and that’s just as well as Samira tells herself that this is fine, it’s fine. This is just someone giving a fellow colleague a ride home. It’s perfectly normal. It’s an act of kindness. Nothing more.
They approach a black Chevy Tahoe, the lights of the night reflecting against the paint as the headlights blink once, a beep ringing through as Abbot unlocks the vehicle with the FOB. Her stomach begins to flutter, and the nerves have her opening her mouth right before they’re meant to part to head to the respective doors.
“I live in Shadyside. Are you—is that out of your way?” she asks. Abbot is already at the driver’s side door while Samira lingers in front of the car. His gaze slides over to her and he’s so good at keeping his expressions stoic, unreadable. While it’s an asset in the ER, Samira really fucking wishes she could tell what he’s thinking. The desire of it hits her out of her nowhere, but she doesn’t question it just yet. “Seriously, I can catch the bus otherwise—”
“Dr. Mohan.” His gravelly voice sounds as coarse as his stubble looks, effectively cutting off her words. If she strains her ears, she’s sure she can hear a hint of amused exasperation in his voice in just those two words he uttered. He tilts his head towards the passenger side door. “Get in the car. Please.”
He adds the please almost as an afterthought, like he’s not too used to saying the word, and she tries not to think of the subtly intensifying flutter in her stomach at the thought of him saying it for her.
She exhales sharply but does what he says, like she has all day, and walks to the passenger door before climbing into his car. She smells him, everywhere, and it’s dizzying and intoxicating. That cedar, pine scent tickles her nose as she shuts the door, Abbot tossing his backpack in the backseat before getting in next to her as she settles her own backpack at her feet. Their doors shut, simultaneously, and suddenly it’s just Samira and Abbot in the enclosed space of his car, and her pulse has definitely gone tachy.
If she’s in his car long enough, next to him, will she smell like him when she gets out? Will his scent cling to her clothes, her hair? She wouldn’t mind it. Almost hopes for it.
What the fuck is going on?
Exhaustion. She’s tired. The day wiped her out—it’s why she’s having insane, out of the ordinary thoughts about him. And she shouldn’t. He’s an attending—not hers, but could be. He’s older than her, fifteen years, maybe more.
And yet the fluttering doesn’t ease. She thinks of when the last time she had sex was.
It’s been a while.
Once again, she’s surprised at how steady her voice sounds when she gives him her address. Abbot doesn’t even put it into the GPS, just starts driving in the direction of her neighborhood. Samira always uses the GPS when she’s driving somewhere new, even if it’s in Pittsburgh. She does note, however, a device that is hooked against one of the vents; something along the lines of an old school radio. Is that a police scanner?
The man gets more and more intriguing by the minute.
The lights of the street lamp posts, buildings, and other cars blur past them as Abbot drives, the car blanketed in a silence that Samira finds comforting. It’s not awkward or stiff, and she figures it’s because they’re just coming off the shift from hell, and feeling anything but a bone deep tiredness in the aftermath of it all is expecting too much.
Her gaze flickers when she senses Abbot move, watching as he reaches towards the dashboard and flicks on the seat warmer—for her seat. In seconds, her butt is pleasantly warm, her glutes relaxing, and it takes all of her power to not fucking moan in this man’s car. “Thank you,” she murmurs in the quiet of the car. He merely gives a noncommittal hum in response.
It has Samira’s eyes sliding over to him, hoping to be subtle. Her gaze takes in his profile; shadows and light dance over him as he drives, yet she’s still able to make out the hint of crows feet at the corner of his eye, his brow relaxed after being scrunched in concentration all day, the way the grey of his stubble combines with a brown so light it’s difficult to see the difference unless one really focuses—and Samira focuses. She admires his straight nose, the way his short hair that seems like multiple different shades of brown and grey curls at the top. One of his dexterous hands grips the steering wheel, his grip casual but firm. And, oh, it’s so easy to see him for the handsome man he is, but it’s another to know how steadfast and capable he is in addition to that.
It only makes him all the more attractive.
“Something I can help you with, Dr. Mohan?”
He doesn’t look her way when he speaks and it takes all of Samira’s willpower not to startle at getting caught. Her cheeks flush with an embarrassed heat, the previously relaxed muscles of her body growing rigid. Fuck, he caught her staring, and as the car rolls to a stop at a red light, Dr. Abbot turns his head to stare right back.
The red light bathes across his face and despite the straight line of his lips, it doesn’t hide the amusement she sees dancing in his eyes. She curses him for being attractive and curses herself for getting caught, and her overworked brain works a mile a minute to figure the least embarrassing way out of this. Her quickened pulse makes it a bit difficult to think, but Samira is always willing to rise to a challenge.
“How are you doing?” It’s a simple, safe question. One she would ask any number of her colleagues after a shift like today’s. She had worked alongside Dr. Abbot for a lot of it, the ease of which he worked in such an intense, rapidly changing environment something Samira admires. He never slowed, never thought twice. He just did , much like Samira herself, and maybe she’s getting ahead of herself, but it’s so easy to see some of herself in him. A twin flame.
If her question catches Abbot by surprise, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his eyes remain steady on hers, softening when she refuses to look away. Eye contact has never been an issue for Samira, it’s one of her secret weapons that ensures her high patient satisfaction scores, but there’s something about the way Abbot stares. Deeply. Full of intent. Enough to make her pulse kick up. Yet another challenge she’s eager to meet.
“Nothing a couple hours of rest won’t fix,” is his easy reply.
Samira blinks at him, slightly stunned. “Seriously?” she asks in disbelief. The adrenaline from the day has tapered off and Samira is well aware that the second she gets home, she’s going to down a glass of wine, take a shower—probably both at the same time—and cry herself to sleep. Or maybe cry in the shower. Either way, the tears to feel the grief of today are inevitable, so Abbot’s nonchalant response leaves her more than a little surprised.
The ghost of a smile returns to his mouth, barely there but Samira catches sight of it. She’s very quickly—and dangerously—realizing that she quite enjoys looking at him. “Days like today are hell, but they come with the job. I wish I could tell you they get easier, but that’s not the case. You just get better at handling them with time.”
With time . Because he’s a veteran. Because he’s been doing this for a long time, longer than her. Because he’s learned to keep a cool head and focus on what’s in front of him. Yet Samira still sees bits of herself in him. A sort of mirror, funnily enough. But admiring the image of him is easier to gaze upon her own reflection. At least tonight.
He gives her a smile, then—a real one, small as it is, though gentle. It eases any lingering tension in Samira’s chest, spreads a warmth that has her relaxing in her seat as the traffic light switches to green. Abbot tears his gaze away from her to continue driving, and Samira tries not to shift under the loss of the pleasant weight of his eyes.
She turns her head, throat working. The city passes by in a blur as Samira thinks of all the faces that came into their ER today. A hundred and twelve victims. Six they couldn’t save. But focusing on the losses will eat her alive, even if they weren’t her patients. Lives still lost. People who will be missed. Yet—
“We saved a lot of people today.” She damn near startles at Abbot’s words and, for a hysterical second, she wonders if he’s capable of reading minds, too. With his skillset, she wouldn’t be surprised. Samira looks at him as he flicks the blinker on before making a left turn and once it’s made, he glances over at her. As brief as his stare is, she revels in the weight of his gaze as she watches the way his hand slides along the steering wheel. Nice hands. Capable hands. “Focus on the good, Dr. Mohan.”
Samira , she wants to tell him for the simple reason of wanting to hear what her name sounds like from those lips, in that voice. His words are spoken in the same tone he used earlier at the hospital. Take the win, Dr. Mohan . It revives the same feeling she had gotten in that trauma room, though the adrenaline of performing a risky procedure had overshadowed it; the faint flutter in her belly, borne out of the need for appraisal from a more experienced doctor who doubles as a supervisor.
And yet, she doesn’t get that same silly flutter when she’s on the receiving end of Robby’s approval. No, that’s only present with Abbot, and maybe it doubles as the validation she craves on a baser, more primal level. Fuck .
Her throat works and before she can talk herself out of it, she says lightly, “I appreciated the lesson.”
Her words deliberately carry an undertone that toes the line of professionalism. Perhaps the bone deep tiredness has made the words easier to come out, but now they’re out there, and she waits with bated breath for his reaction.
Abbot’s eyes remain on the road ahead, but Samira notices the way his fingers flex on the steering wheel, tightening his grip. A lazy smile threatens to tug on her lips as she watches him lift his chin slightly, the clench of his mandible noticeable against the shadows and lights bathing in from outside. The air between them stirs. “I was just reminding you of what you’re capable of.”
His words have more of an effect than she cares to admit, pulse jumping as she presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. The way Abbot speaks alone, along with the complete faith he showed in her at work, tells Samira he thinks highly of her, and it’s a truth that heats her skin far beyond the scope of professionalism. The praise from him is dizzying, and Samira faintly wonders if that’s an unexplored kink of hers.
If anyone were to awaken it, it’d be Dr. Abbot. Just her fucking luck.
“You seem to have a lot of faith in me,” she comments idly. She’s too tired to regret the words. But she wants to know: is he another Robby in her life, or something else entirely? Samira knows how she sees Abbot, how she feels around him. She wonders if it’s the same for him.
She wonders if this is all only because they’re coming off the shift from hell and her nerves and emotions are fried but Abbot is solid and straight shouldered and, God, she hasn’t had sex— good sex—in way too long. Only having a life within the hospital is biting her in the ass, even if that’s what she likes. Or thought that’s what she liked.
The car pauses at a stop sign—a little too long, because Abbot turns to look at her, but it’s fine because there are no cars behind them and he looks her in the eye for a moment, his gaze searching, and she looks right back to give him the answer she hopes he wants.
And maybe he sees that, because he answers in that gravely tone, “Because I like what I see.”
Her heart launches to her throat and Samira is subtle in the way her thighs clench, heat beginning to thrum in her veins. She wonders for a second if he can hear the hitch of her breath and then remembers that this is Abbot, so of course he does. She knows he does because her lips part when it happens, and his gaze instantly flickers to her lips. The pounding of her heart echoes in her head and Samira’s fingers suddenly itch with the urge—need, desire—to touch him.
She wonders what the scrape of his stubble will be like under her touch, if his lips are firm or soft, how the stands of his curls might feel between her fingers. She wants her touch to wander farther down and, God, she wants him to touch her just the same. Samira has seen how skillful those fingers are, how steady and sure. She’s seen how they put a person back together. She wants those same fingers to make her fall apart.
When was the last time she did something for herself outside of work? Would it be so wrong if, when she finally decides to give into her desires, they involve Abbot?
It’s dangerous territory, she knows. But it makes it all the more enticing. She’s a risk taker, just like him. The question is—would he take the risk with her?
I like what I see . Maybe he would.
She wants him to kiss her, to lean over and close the gap between them. But he starts driving again and this time the silence in the car is suffocating in an achingly sweet way. Samira has half a mind to roll down the window to cool her flushed cheeks, but all too soon, the car is pulling up in front of her apartment building.
Disappointment throbs through her as he parks the car, engine idling as she unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for her backpack off the floor. When she straightens, he says, “Get some rest, Samira.”
Her heart thuds at the sound of her name, a whisper of his voice as her name softly rolls off his tongue. It’s as intoxicating as she thought it would be, her grip on the backpack strap tightening as she meets his gaze, still bright from the vigorous day. Samira does her best to appear unaffected as she arches an eyebrow and asks, “We’re on a first name basis now?”
That subtle, barely there smile. “Aren’t we?”
Is he aware of the intensity of his gaze? He probably is, and is testing her to see if she will squirm under it. Blood and guts don’t make her squirm but Abbot’s eyes? Damn straight. “I guess we are,” Samira responds, hoping she doesn’t sound as faint as she feels. Her hand grips the door handle and before she opens it—she’s definitely not stalling leaving, even if her glass of wine and shower and bed call for her—she says, “Thank you for the ride, Jack.” His eyes flash when she utters his name and that fluttering in her stomach intensifies in return. A call and response that she wants to prolong. Did he have the same reaction when she said his name, as she did when he said hers? “Hope you don’t get too much traffic on your way home,” she adds a little lamely, a foolish attempt to drag on the conversation.
Abbot— Jack —doesn’t look in too much of a hurry to get home. “There’s not too much traffic this time of night to Brookline.”
Samira freezes in place, eyes widening as she gapes at him. Did he just say— “Brookline?” she repeats, her voice coming out as a squeak before she can help it. Jack merely raises an eyebrow at her display of shock, but Samira can’t help it. She trips over her words as she sputters, “T-That’s on the other side of the city.” Oh, God, her place was completely out of the way for him. It was going to take him another twenty minutes or so to get home. Not terrible, but every minute counts in their lives. He hadn’t even blinked when she told him where she lives! Gave no indication that it was the opposite way of where he needed to go.
“I’m aware.” His tone is wry, carrying a hint of amusement that reflects in his eyes as he watches her.
Samira shakes her head, still stunned. She desperately tries to regain her composure, but for some reason she will probably later analyze in bed, this is completely flooring her. “Why would you—”
Jack gives a slight tilt of his head, gaze never wandering from hers as she sits with her back half against the door, watching him in disbelief. His own body is slightly turned towards her, elbow resting on the steering wheel. “I’d like to think I’m a better option than the bus or an Uber.”
She feels dizzy. “You think rather highly of yourself,” she chokes out.
“Comes with the territory.” He smirks, then, and it knocks whatever air is remaining in her lungs right out. The curve of his lips is a little too sinful, and she’s suddenly too hot, her clothes too restrictive. “Couldn’t let my favorite resident take questionable transport home this late at night.”
Samira’s lips part, pulse beginning to throb between her legs. “We’re rarely on the same shift,” she replies, perhaps foolishly. But she’s trying to see his line of thinking, what path this conversation is going to set them on.
That smirk becomes a little more prominent as he shrugs a single shoulder. “I don’t see why that matters.” Those eyes lock onto her dark brown ones once more and something shifts in his gaze. “I think it’s for the better that we’re not.”
He’s too far away, even in the limited space of the car. Samira’s eyes are on Jack’s lips, desperate to know what they feel like, taste like. “Why?”
“You’re smart enough to figure that out yourself,” is Jack’s response, making her eyes snap back up to meet his. A light dances in his irises, even if his gaze is heated. Restraint. She’s got a feeling he’s good at that, because of course he is. At this moment, she wishes he wasn’t.
His words echo in her mind, holding onto the undertone of promise that colors his words. Samira knows, in that moment, that whatever she is feeling, Jack is, too. But this man won’t act on it. Not until she does. And she is both grateful and frustrated by it.
Except when she sucks in a breath to respond, he cuts her off. “Not tonight, though.” Her mouth clamps shut, teeth pressing together as the heat in her body is doused by cold disappointment. The smile Jack grants her is gentle, understanding. He nods to the apartment building behind her. “Get some rest, Samira. You’ve earned it.”
The disappointment eases away, chased by her own sense of understanding. He’s giving her time; time to sleep, time to grieve, time to get a clear head before deciding if they want to take that step. Samira isn’t sure how she knows that’s what he’s saying, but she does . She sees it in his unwavering gaze glimmering with promise, hears it in his warm tone, fucking feels it in the air between them.
It’s all accompanied by a newfound wave of admirance of the man before her. Makes him even more attractive, if that’s possible.
So Samira nods and opens the door, welcoming the cold rush of air against her heated skin. She gets out of the car, feeling his gaze on her back before turning to look at him. “Goodnight, Jack,” she says with a gentle smile of her own.
“Goodnight, Samira.” Third time he’s said her name, and the butterflies living in her belly flutter in enthusiastic response.
She refuses to make a fool out of herself by lingering, so Samira shuts the door and heads to the front door of her building, not quite jogging up the steps. Unlocking the door, she steps inside and turns, catching Jack still sitting in his car, watching her. Waiting for her to be safely inside before he drives off. It pulls another smile out of her as she raises her hand in a single wave. He doesn’t drive off until she shuts the door, seeing the blurred Chevy pull away through the frosted glass of the door.
Samira goes to bed that night with the promise of more lingering in her mind, wondering when, exactly, that promise will be met.
The last thing she decides as her eyelids get too heavy is that she will make it happen sooner rather than later.
She falls asleep with the faint scent of cedar tickling her nose.