Brad's hands wrap tightly around the steering wheel as he rolls through the Friday morning commute. Every now and then, he'll tug at or adjust the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt—the only indication of his nerves.
All week, he's been prepping for the press conference with Dr. Larson about the laser that's today at 10:00 a.m. In the chain of unimaginable events, not only does Brad get to be the first to assist Dr. Larson with the laser after the conference, he gets to go and speak at the conference, Dr. Larson drafting him a three minute speech. He actually carved out a three minute slot in his grand reveal for Brad to have the spotlight instead of him.
I guess I now understand why Brad didn't want to work with him on this project after all. I'd be shitting myself if I had to stand in front of dozens of people as a first year resident, with cameras in my face, everyone hanging on to every word I said about this game changing technology. It's a lot of pressure, but I know getting to observe the laser first hand is all going to be worth it.
At least in my eyes it is. I'm not so sure Brad is convinced yet.
Over the past week, I'm pretty sure Brad has clocked more time in Dr. Larson's office than the OR. It seemed like every time I turned around Dr. Larson was whisking Brad off to his office to prep him for working with the laser and his small speech nestled into Dr. Larson's big one. Brad's been relenting on the speech, insisting he doesn't need a speaking part during the conference, but Dr. Larson insisted harder, seemingly hell bent on Brad being front and center as much as he can—something that's been bothering me a lot.
I don't know if it was his impressive first day, his charm, his technique, or just sheer vibes, but I'm dying to know what has Dr. Larson so drawn to Bradly Gallow.
Brad anxiously tugs at his cuff for the umpteenth time, and I wrack my brain to fill the car with something other than silence to get his mind off of the conference and my mind off of the constant question why Brad?
I clear my throat to break the silence first. "So this charity thing with your parents in a few weeks—the ball—I was wondering, what's the dress code? You know, so I don't look like a complete idiot," I settle on, his white dress shirt and perfectly tailored charcoal gray pants I've been ogling all morning influencing the topic. While it's not a topic I'm too thrilled about, this whole date-but-not-really-a-date where I'll be seeing his parents again, I know it'll take his mind off things for a while.
His grip loosens around the wheel. "You could never look like an idiot. You could wear a trash bag for all I care and look stunning... But I'm required to wear a tux, if that helps to answer your question," he adds, a small smirk forming on his face.
I throw him a glare, despite his eyes being locked on the road. "No, I know I need to wear a dress of some sorts—one not made out of a trash bag—but is there a theme, a certain color I need to wear?"
Now his mouth pulls into a thoughtful, confused frown. "No?"
"No?" I parrot, not liking that the word is more of a question than a statement.
"I don't think so," he says, still unsure, shrugging a shoulder like a typical clueless male when it comes to these things.
I groan. "Well you better find out."
His lips purse together. "I'll text my mom later and ask," he assures.
I take a breath, remembering this conversation is supposed to help take his mind off of things instead of stress the both of us out, because he already has enough on his plate today.
"So... I get to see you in a tux, huh?" I muse. If he looks as good in a tux as he does in a suit, man am I in trouble.
The corner of his mouth quirks back up. "Why, does that turn you on?"
"Depends... If you can wear it well," I tease.
He full blown grins, his tight shoulders relaxing.
Mission accomplished.
His right hand lets go of the steering wheel, landing possessively on my thigh. "Oh I can wear a tux very well," he assures, getting cocky. "Wanna know something else?" he asks lowly.
"Hmm?"
We come to a stop at an intersection, and he takes the split second opportunity to lean over, his lips hovering inches away from mine, teasing, brown eyes molten as they linger on my lips. "I can take it off even better," he promises darkly before reluctantly pulling back and crossing the intersection, rolling back into traffic.
I bite my lip, squirming in the passenger seat, suddenly all hot and bothered.
"Want to know another thing?" he asks, clearly amused by his effect on me.
I do. I really, really do.
"I look forward to taking your dress off even more," he confesses, voice playful and husky, his hand traveling further up my thigh.
Damn him. I swear, if we weren't in ongoing traffic right now I'd slam him back against the driver's seat and take my own damn clothes off to have my way with him.
But instead of fulfilling my fantasy, I decide to try to deescalate the situation, unable to handle this level of sexual tension for the rest of the car ride.
"You mean my trash bag?" I joke, breaking some of the tension.
He chuckles, his hand squeezing my thigh playfully. "Whatever you decide to wear, I'm getting you naked by the end of the night regardless."
Oh hell. This man. Thank the lord we're pulling up to the hospital parking garage now, because I don't know how much longer I can take not being able to touch him.
"Promise?" I rasp, impatiently waiting for him to park.
He expertly swerves into the nearest parking space, throwing the car in park. His dark brown eyes flair with lust as they land on mine, and he reaches over the center console, grabbing my chin. He pulls me close. "Promise," he whispers, lips brushing against mine.
I fully capture his lips in a kiss, eagerly flicking my tongue against his. His hands grip my waist, helping me over the center console to straddle him.
I kiss my way down his throat as I reach for the button to push his seat all the way back. Getting on the floorboard, down on my knees between his knees and the steering wheel, I unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. He helps me pull them down along with his boxers, freeing himself. I take him in my hand, licking the underside of him until my lips are wrapped around the head.
Brad hisses. "Fuck," he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head.
I take more of him into my mouth, sucking and swirling my tongue just the way he likes.
"Holy hell. Yeah, baby, just like that," he pants, fingers roughly carding through my hair, gripping the roots. He guides me along until he's hitting the back of my throat. "Come on, baby," he pleads, urging me to keep him there a little longer as I start to gag, on the verge of release. "So fucking good for me."
I force myself to keep going, to take him a little bit deeper until tears threaten to prickle my eyes, loving his reaction.
"Jesus Christ, Delilah," he growls, his hand fisting my hair tighter.
The hand not fisting my hair smacks up against the roof, and his hips instinctively roll, making me gag once more. He curses, the movement causing him to topple right over the edge and release down my throat.
He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him as I swallow, because I'll be damned if the man doesn't have an eye contact kink.
I release him with a soft pop of my mouth, tucking him neatly back into his dress pants before crawling off the floor and straddling his lap. I brush back a few strands of raven hair that toppled over his forehead, styling his hair with my fingers back to perfection.
Brad's breathing slows and he pulls me in for a soft kiss, his brown eyes appreciative. He glances at the clock on the dash, his lips pulling in a rueful frown. "I want to take care of you but..."
I smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Later," I whisper, knowing he has to meet Dr. Larson soon. "Ready?"
He blows out a breath, roughly raking a hand through his hair, which I quickly restyle. "As ready as I'll ever be."
*
I watch as Dr. Larson commands the room, charming and educating reporters with big flashing cameras about the new laser. Meanwhile, Brad is discreetly sweating bullets in the background. On the surface, he looks as cool as a cucumber, the strong lines of his face smoothed over in an impassive expression. But his hands are his dead giveaway.
Brad stands tall and confident in his charcoal gray suit—he threw on the jacket moments before the conference started. He has his hands clasped in front of him, the thumb of his left hand hidden as he subtly traces anxious circles in the palm of his right hand, awaiting his turn to speak.
The conference is being held in one of the large auditoriums on the south campus of the hospital, mainly for attendings and reporters only. I managed to break free from my patients to run down here for a moment, popping my head in just in time to hear Brad speak.
"Now I'd like to introduce you all to one of our most promising residents. He may be younger and more handsome than me, but at least he's not smarter than me—not yet, anyway," Dr. Larson teases, earning him a handful of chuckles from the crowd. "Everyone, Dr. Bradly Gallow."
Dr. Larson steps aside and let's Brad take his place at the podium. I watch his throat bob on a nervous swallow, and he tugs at each of his sleeves once before speaking with ease, his voice smooth and strong as he addresses the audience.
Brad informs them about the one millimeter catheter that will be able to travel deep inside the brain and help blast away once thought of inoperable tumors. He goes over slides about the prototype and the previous catheter that was used in similar procedures before, comparing the sizes and contrasting their abilities to the current one that will be used.
The audience hangs on to his every word as Dr. Larson stands off to the side, staring at Brad with proud eyes. All the time he's spent with Brad this week has paid off, Brad delivering his portion of the speech effortlessly and expertly.
Jealousy threatens to dig its nasty claws into me once again, but I fight the feeling, willing myself to be happy for Brad. But despite whatever feelings I may harbor, it's with zero effort that I'm proud of him.
Once Brad steps away from the microphone, Dr. Larson reclaiming his spot light, I scurry back to north campus to check back on my patients.
Just before one, I rush to the neurosurgery department to catch Brad before the surgery with the laser. I find him in front of his locker, tying on his scrub cap.
A little flash of relief shines in his eyes upon seeing me. "Hey," he breathes, clearly in a rush but wanting to take a moment for himself.
"Hey," I reply, just as breathless.
Automatically, I cross the locker room to get to him, his hand reaching out for me.
"You did great today," I whisper, stroking his jaw with my thumb, loving how sharp and defined his face looks with his hair pulled back in a cap. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love his dark silky hair, but Bradly Gallow is the type of guy that could still look like a high fashion model if you shaved his head.
His dark brows pinch together in confusion.
"I may have snuck away for a few minutes to watch you at the conference," I admit bashfully.
His face smooths over, eyes shining with appreciation.
He dips his head, lips finding mine in a short but meaningful kiss. As we begin to pull away, the door opens, Dr. Larson's large frame filling the doorway.
"Dr. Gallow," he says, voice slightly clipped. "Ready to go?"
Embarrassed, I try to pull away from Brad, but his arm hooked around my waist keeps me reeled in.
"Be right there," he replies.
Dr. Larson lingers for a moment before exiting, his eyes almost disapproving.
When the door closes, I rest my forehead against Brad's shoulder, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding in.
Brad tucks some hair behind my ear, causing me to look up at him.
"Good luck in there. Go kill it," I say, giving him a soft smile.
The corner of his mouth ticks up. "By 'it' I hope you don't mean the patient," he teases, throwing my own words back at me when roles were reversed and I was about to step into the OR with Dr. Allen to work on Mrs. Adams.
I roll my eyes and roll onto the balls of my feet, planting a quick kiss to his mouth. "Smart ass."
He grins before his expression sobers. "I'll see you later?"
I nod, disappointed I won't be able to watch the surgery due to the gallery being closed off for reporters and attendings only.
He pecks my lips once more before reluctantly letting me go, heading to the OR.
*
I stand in the OR hallway, waiting for Brad to finish up his surgery with Dr. Larson, anxious to know how it went.
I pace, anxiously picking at my nails when I hear a door push open, capturing my attention. I snap my neck, half expecting to see Brad strolling out, but instead I'm overwhelmed by the large figure walking down the hall towards me.
Dr. Larson looks up, untying the scrub cap from his head, his expression almost as surprised as mine.
Tamping down my nerves, I give him a kind, friendly smile. One he doesn't return.
But I'm highly surprised when he approaches me, stopping instead of breezing by without a second glance.
"Delilah Harper," he says, my name sounding funny rolling off his tongue as he towers over me.
I swallow thickly, my spine straightening. "Dr. Larson."
He looks me up and down, almost assessing me, making me squirm. "I've come to realize you're the only neuro resident I haven't worked with," he says, voice strained, as if he didn't want to say the words.
"Oh."
Oh? The best neurosurgeon in the world is actually talking to you and all you say is oh.
His jaw ticks impatiently, as if he was thinking the exact same thing. Regardless, he continues, that reluctant tone unwavering. "I have a couple of cases next week you could sit in on... if you want to."
I open my mouth, close it. Repeat. Unable to find words due to complete and utter shock.
Dr. Larson impatiently shifts on his feet, waiting for my answer.
"I—uh, yes. Yes, I'd love to observe in your OR. Thank you, Dr. Larson," I stutter, my heart racing.
He nods, twisting his scrub cap around in his hands. "I'll send you an email," he says dismissively, and I watch him walk away, in complete awe at what just happened.
I stare after him, even after he's long gone, my blood pumping with so much excitement. I almost don't catch Brad walk out of the OR.
"Hey," he says, giving me a soft, fond look. "What are you smiling so hard about?"
I didn't even realize I was smiling.
I shake my head, coming out of my daze. "Nothing. How did everything go?" I ask, instinctively walking into his arms.
He blows out a tired and relieved breath. "Good. The laser worked perfectly."
"That's great!"
He smiles at my enthusiasm, fingers tracing up and down my spine. "Yeah. Now you gonna tell me why you were out here smiling like you just won the lotto?"
Maybe because it feels like I did.
I bite my lip, not wanting to overshadow his moment with my own news. But if I don't tell someone soon, I might implode.
"I ran into Dr. Larson just now," I admit.
He raises a dark brow, interest peaked. "Oh?"
Yeah, oh.
"He actually asked me if I wanted to observe him sometime next week."
Brad gives me a warm, proud smile. "That's awesome, baby," he says, kissing the top of my head. "I'm happy for you."
I give him a skeptical look. "I thought you said working with Dr. Larson was overrated?"
He shrugs. "Yeah, but it's something you really wanted."
"You got that right," I mumble, still in disbelief I'm finally getting to observe him.
"Why don't you say we get out of here and celebrate?" His fingers travel down my spine more flirtatiously, voice growing husky. "Grab some takeout on our way home and I have you for dessert, you know, pick up where we left off this morning in the car."
Even more excitement hums through my blood. "Definitely... wait." I cringe, mentally cursing.
"What?"
I sigh. "It's Friday. Ashlee, Patrick and I wanted to take you out for drinks at EBS to celebrate."
I thought the gesture was nice at the time, wanting to celebrate his big accomplishment with some friends, but now I'm regretting it, not thinking I'd cockblock myself.
"Really?" He groans, knowing it'll be hard to dodge the persistent cousins. "I guess dessert is just going to have to wait until even later tonight."
I pout.
"Just remember, you did this to yourself," he teases, kissing my frown.
He grabs my hand and leads me to the locker room where we change and leave to meet Ashlee and Patrick at EBS.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, happy new year!
How has your first day of 2023 been? I decided to start the year off right by finishing and posting this chapter. lol 😅
I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you all with a brand new chapter soon❤️