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Samira was exhausted before the shift had even really started. She sat catty-corner to Santos, dictating charts before shift change, manifesting some source of caffeine other than shitty breakroom coffee magically appearing in front of her to get her through the second half of her double when she heard Abbot and Al-Hashimi. She looked up as they meandered her direction, clearly covering the hand-off from day to night shit.
"There's a boarder in BH 1 waiting for a room upstairs. He's ativaned out at the moment, but apparently, he's a biter, so just keep an eye on him," Al-Hashimi warned, a knowing quirk to the set of her lips as she gave Abbot the rundown of what exactly he was coming on shift to.
"He any cute? Biting can be fun," Abbot quipped back, matching her smirk.
"Not sure he's your type."
Jack's face dipped into a parody of a frown. "Oh, you know I don't have a type." The posture between the two of them betrayed an easy friendliness that had existed since Al-Hashimi's first shift.
That was the thing about Abbot. He seemed to have that kind of chemistry with everyone—always a joke ready to go, a flirty smile or a wink received with a laugh. He wasn't sleazy about it. It wasn't the kind of thing that warranted a note to HR. He was congenial to a fault, but much to Samira's dismay, he never seemed to direct that kind of flirting her direction.
It was for the best, probably. For all she knew, he had shrewdly intuited her less than professional feelings towards him and was trying not to make things harder on her. And it should have made it easier. The buzzing feeling that wracked her brain when he was around would certainly be exacerbated by suggestive comments, but something about the way her brain was wired had her wondering what was wrong with her that excepted her from his charm.
A disposable brown coffee cup was set in front of her pulling her from her reverie, Jack's large hand placing it at her workstation without a word in her direction.
"Anything else exciting waiting for Dr. Mohan, Dr. Santos and myself?" Abbot asked.
Al-Hashimi sighed exaggeratedly. "Not unless you consider a priapism in north six that needs to be handled exciting."
"Handled! Ha!" Santos exclaimed, perking up from the adjacent station.
"Sold to Dr. Santos!" Abbot shot off with a chuckle.
Trinity made a face. "Not exactly my area of expertise. Samira?" she tried, redirecting her attention.
"Su–" Samira began to agree, but at the same moment, Abbot interrupted, cheeks flushed pink.
"We all gotta learn and grow, Santos."
"Well, I tried," Trinity laughed fondly.
Abbot turned deep hazel eyes on Samira, and her belly did a pleasant flip. "You good? You'll let me know if you need anything?"
She smiled up at him, only a little embarrassed by the abruptness of his sincerity. "Yeah, I'm good. I'll find you if I need you. And thanks," she added, nodding to the cup.
"No problem, Mohan," he answered before turning and gesturing to Al-Hashimi to lead the way to where Lena was setting up for the night.
Samira sighed. "What is his deal?"
Santos shot her a puzzled look. "You mean between him and Al-Hashimi? You think there's something going on there?"
"I didn't mean between them specifically. Just in general. But you think?" Samira asked, a sinking feeling dropping in her stomach.
"Nah. That's just Abbot. He's a slut." Santos answered with a shrug.
Samira was taken aback. She'd never thought of Jack in that light. He had a way with people was all. She didn't consider that his connections translated into conquests.
"Really?"
Trinity shrugged. "I just mean he flirts with everyone. That's who he is. But McKay did tell me once that a few of her divorced friends had gone there and were not disappointed. Al-Hashimi’s divorced so who knows."
Samira's gut twisted. "He does like to flirt." She paused before adding under her breath, "Just not with everyone."
Santos raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Just like he doesn't bring everyone coffee at shift change. But if it bothers you, try to initiate it. Why? You thinking about going there?"
"That's not—I'm not going anywhere. Just—I don't know. It's weird," Samira grumbled. "Do you think maybe I'm just not. Uggh. I don't know, banterable? Is that why he doesn't banter with me?"
"Banterable..." Santos repeated slowly. "I've seen that man banter with coma patients. If he's distant with you—which for the record I don't think he is—there's probably a good reason."
Samira sighed, resigned. She raised the paper cup to her lips, finally taking a sip of what turned out to be a dirty chai, her go-to order for getting through a night shift when she swung for coffee from the shop around the corner, and she smiled in spite of herself. She couldn't remember ever telling Abbot her coffee order, but he'd hit the nail on the head anyway.
"If you want the old man to be quippy with you, just try it with him," Santos dismissed, rising from her station. "Speaking of old man dick..." she drawled, nodding down the hall.
"Have fun." Samira winked, trying for suggestive.
Trinity raised her brows in apprehension before making her way across central, voice not quite a shout. "On second thought, maybe it is you. That was weird. Work on it."
Samira cringed to no one in particular. She knew she wasn't exactly a practiced flirt, but she had perfected a vertical mattress suture in three hours. Surely if she put her mind to it, she could get Abbot to match her energy or at the very least, figure out what it was about her that kept him from reciprocating. It would be fun, she told herself. Nothing serious. Low stakes. She decided right there to wait for moments to present themselves with Abbot. In this regard at least.
Her first opportunity came a few hours later.
Samira approached where Santos sat charting, Princess standing by, as they chatted in Tagalog, switching to English when they caught sight of her.
"So anyway, I am actively draining blood from this guy's dick with a syringe, and he asked me for my number. He was like sixty," Santos relayed, disgust apparent on her face. "What part of this reads interested in old men?" she gestured to herself.
Princess chuckled. "Men are oblivious. They think just because they're interested, it's reciprocated. Especially the old ones. I once got hit on by a boomer whose wife I was actively taking to CT," she informed them. This did not surprise Samira. She'd been working this job a long time—long enough to know it came with the territory.
"What about you, Mohan? You have the face of a Disney princess and considered geriatrics. I bet old dudes hit on you all the time. What's your oldest?" Trinity asked.
"Octogenarian for sure," She answered with a laugh. "There's one guy who comes in every couple weeks and asks for me specifically. I think he's just lonely," she added, kindly.
Abbot chose that moment to pull up to where they were standing.
"What's the chismis?" he asked conspiratorially. Abbot had great relationships with all the nurses on staff—had picked up enough Tagalog gossiping with Princess and Perlah to be a liability to a betting pool.
Santos looked delighted by the question, flashing eyes to Samira before answering. "Priapism guy asked me out. During the procedure."
Abbot let out a hearty laugh, the sound sending a spark up Samira's spine. "Well. That takes some balls. You should go for it," he told Trinity with a wink.
Santos rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Of course. Why not give an old guy a shot, right? We were discussing the oldest patients who've hit on us."
Samira saw the opportunity and took it, turning her gaze on Abbot and smirking. "I think I took the cake for the oldest. Apparently, I have a way with the elderly," she drawled, eyes flicking to his silver curls then back to his face.
Abbot's complexion shaded a faint pink, and his eyes went soft. "If a patient is making you uncomfortable, you know you can always tag me in, right?" he asked Samira, his tone genuinely concerned.
Samira gave it another shot. "I can handle older men, Abbot."
"Right. Okay. Good." He swallowed. It was so odd. Abbot didn't flirt with her the way he did with everyone else, but this was different. Her deliberate flirting had turned him awkward in a way she wasn't accustomed to. She felt strange, a little guilty for putting him on the back foot, so she changed the subject to something she knew he'd engage with, giving him an out.
"You pick out a gift for Maggie yet? You still planning to go to Wheeling next week?" she asked.
One of Jack's nieces was turning eighteen, and they'd discussed that he was uncharacteristically taking PTO to go celebrate her at his family home in West Virginia.
Abbot's shoulders relaxed, an easy, crooked grin settling over his handsome face. "Yeah. I settled on some UPitt swag, including one of those big cups kids carry everywhere stuffed with a wad of cash. Heather would have my balls if I bailed," he said of his oldest sister.
Samira eyed him dubiously. "Right. As if there was any world where you'd bail on any of your nieces." Samira knew that he would move heaven and earth for any of his nieces or nephews, a fact that plucked at her heartstrings.
"Point," he acknowledged with a tilt of his head.
"Do kids even use cash anymore? I feel like everything is tap to pay with Gen Z. I don't even keep cash," she challenged.
Jack looked momentarily horrified at what Samira assumed was his choice of gift, but his response took her by surprise. "You're not—Are you Gen Z?"
She barked out a laugh. "Solidly millennial. Just on the young end of it. Don't worry. It's our job to bridge the gap between boomers and the youngins," she reassured him.
He mimed offense, clutching his chest. "I'm Gen X and you know it!" They shared a look of humor before Trinity interjected.
"I'm Gen Z if anyone was curious." Samira snapped back to attention. If she was honest, she had forgotten that Princess and Santos were there, too entranced in conversation with Abbot. The world had a way of fading to the background when he directed his attention her way, like she was his singular focus.
"Right," Abbot shook his head, and turned his attention to Santos. "So you would know. Cash still fine for a gift?"
"Yeah. You're fine. She'll probably just have her mom take it to the bank for her," she agreed.
"Great. Well. I'm gonna get back to it. Let me know if anything weird rolls through," he told Princess.
"You got it, boss," she agreed and Abbot nodded before walking away.
Princess and Santos waited until Abbot was out of earshot before exchanging mischievous looks and turning their attention to Samira.
"What was that?" Santos asked, looking delighted.
Samira dipped her chin. "What do you mean?"
"I have never heard him talk about his family at work. And you know not only their names, but his time off plans with them?" Princess asked, looking for all the world like she was about to come into a great deal of money.
"Like you said," Samira shrugged. "Abbot gets along with everyone. I'm sure other people know about them."
Trinity exchanged another look with Princess before answering. "Right...."
Samira suddenly felt self conscious. She confided in Abbot—troubles with Robby, with her mom, missing her dad, her disappointment in her research being defunded—and she had never offered up information about herself unreciprocated. He was quick to share details of his relationships with his sisters, his determination to work through the anniversary of his wife's death, times that he had thought his medical career were over, that looking back they'd been mere blips. She'd never considered that these were things he was only sharing with her. Still, her attempts at flirting had been shut down.
She didn't want to stand around and try to parse the reasons with the Princess and Santos, though. They already seemed to be drawing preposterous conclusions.
"I've got patients," she murmured to the two of them, who were still looking at her curiously, before making her way to an exam room.
She thought about the exchange and it made her giddy and uneasy all at once. Sharing details, personal details of his life seemed to indicate he was comfortable with her, but when she’d made a joking pass at him, his discomfort was palpable. She tried to think it through logically but decided she simply needed more data. She couldn't understand what any of it meant , but she vowed to try again.
—
She stepped out of an exam room around 3 a.m., rubbing foam sanitizer in her hands after stitching up a wound from a man who had played fast and loose with a box cutter working warehouse overnights, when she heard Abbot's voice call out, urgent but without panic.
"Mohan! Nazely. Trauma 2," he called, and Samira looked up to see Abbot wheeling a man a little older than her, clad in running gear through the doors.
Samira followed him on instinct.
"Ethan Barker, thirty five, runner verse e-bike collision. Loss of consciousness in the field with multiple tire spokes penetrating the abdomen," Abbot rattled off.
Samira made quick work of hooking the man up, checking his vitals. "Blood pressure 100/60, heart rate 70, pulse ox 97."
"Why aren't we worried about the low blood pressure and heart rate, Dr. Toomarian?" Abbot prompted.
Nazely hesitated, eyes fixed on the metal wire sticking out from the man's belly. "Uhh—"
Samira offered her a life line. "Context clues, Nazely. What do you see?"
Nazely shook back to attention. "Athletes tend to have lower blood pressure and heart rate, so it isn't necessarily indicative of intraabdominal blood loss."
"Very good–"
"–Great work."
Jack and Samira encouraged at the same time, sharing a small smile before returning attention to the patient who had stirred into consciousness, looking around.
"Breath sounds?" Abbot prompted.
"Clear and even," Samira answered, pulling back her stethoscope. She and Abbot had a way of working in tandem that felt like dancing. She’d never been able to hit a rhythm when Robby supervised her. She was perfectly competent, but with Abbot, the way they orbited each other had a grace to it she hadn’t experienced with anyone else.
The man stirred into consciousness, his handsome face a little pallid, green eyes wide in alarm. "Am I delirious from hitting my head or is everyone that works here bizarrely good-looking," he prompted, humor clear even through the groaning tone of his voice.
"Welcome back, Mr. Barker," Abbot answered good naturedly. "You're not so bad looking yourself."
"I try to–" he inhaled with a wince. "Try to stay in shape in the event I run into handsome doctors."
Abbot let out a hearty chuckle which was promptly interrupted by a yelp of panic as Ethan looked down and noticed the metal protruding from his stomach. "Hey. Hey, eyes on me, okay. We're gonna take care of it. We've got you. Your vitals are a little on the low side. How often do you run, Mr. Barker?"
"Ethan, please," he insisted, breathing deeply, like he was trying to calm himself. His eyes didn't leave Abbot. "I try for forty to–uhhh–fifty miles a week."
"You training for something?" Abbot asked before turning to Samira. "Check for–"
Samira already had the ultrasound wand in her hand, and she pressed it around the man’s stomach, navigating between the spokes best as she could. "I'm not seeing signs of substantial blood loss in the abdomen."
"I run two–two marathons a year," Ethan answered, voice still a little shaky but somewhat more composed.
"Well, it looks like you got pretty lucky, Ethan," Abbot smiled. "The metal didn't seem to penetrate anything major." Ethan's eyes fluttered closed with a groan, and Abbot's cadence turned slightly more tense. "Ethan? Ethan, you with me?"
Ethan's eyes blinked open. "Don't think it's fair for you to use the words penetrate and got lucky when you look like that, and I'm laid out on a gurney bleeding from my stomach."
Abbot laughed again, clearly relieved. "We're gonna get these out of you, and get you a CT. I'm a little worried about a brain bleed from your head injury. Mohan?"
"You want surgery to take these out or are we doing it ourselves?" Samira asked with a raised brow.
"I say we make it Walsh's problem, how about you?" He smirked.
"As long as you're the one calling her," Samira laughed in return.
"I can do that," Abbot answered. "How are you doing Ethan?"
"Been better. Been worse," he answered with a furrowed brow.
Nazely's large eyes went wide. "You've been worse?"
"Got rhabdo after a triathlon once. That was worse," he answered.
"We gotta get you another hobby, man," Abbot said with a shake of his head. "Go see a movie or something."
"You offering?" Ethan quipped.
"Let's get you back in fighting shape first? Surgery’s gonna come down and get you. Nazely you wanna push hydromorphone to keep him comfortable? Keep an eye on him?" Abbot instructed, pulling off his gloves.
"Yes sir," she agreed with a nod.
"Mohan," he prompted, nodding his head towards the door.
Samira followed Abbot out of the trauma room, dropping her gloves in a bin and reapplying sanitizer.
"Great work in there, Mohan. Both with Dr. Toomarian and the patient. It's good to see you trust your instincts. Glad Robby hasn't managed to beat that out of you." It was half praise and half apology.
"I basically stopped caring what Robby thinks months ago. I'm leaving the Pitt soon, so it doesn't really matter," she shrugged. That particular wound was still closing but no longer fresh.
"You'll be missed around here." Abbot's hazel eyes burned with sincerity, his expression falling a little.
"It's Presby. I won't be far," she promised. She, too, hated the reminder of the looming lack of proximity, so she figured it was as good a time as any to try again—that maybe harmless flirting would raise both their spirits.
"Ethan seemed to be into you," she offered, apropos of nothing. Abbot raised an inquisitive brow but said nothing. "What? He was hot. You guys were vibing," she added, eyes wide, with a bat of her lashes.
Abbot's stance turned sheepish, almost defensive. "Just keeping him talking. Alert and oriented."
"So he's not your type?" Samira tried.
Abbot chuckled, but it lacked his usual spark. "Uhhh, Once upon a time, maybe. Not sure I'm actually his type, guy was full of dilaudid and adrenaline. But good spirits mean good outcomes so I'll take it."
It didn't seem to be helping but Samira pushed. "I think handsome doctor is everyone's type."
"Maybe once upon a time," he repeated with a detached shrug. "The whole traumatized widow with one leg who spends his free time getting shot at... Well. Let's just say these days I'm more appealing in passing."
This was worse than flustering him. Her second attempt at flirting had just turned him somber. Five minutes ago, he was easily bantering with a trauma patient and two minutes of her charm had obliterated that good mood completely. She thought about his phrasing, more appealing in passing—considered Santos’s implication that he slept around—that maybe in passing was his approach to relationships in general.
Not that she was thinking about relationships where Abbot was concerned. She just wanted to feel normal around him. That's what the flirting had been about. But even in a world where she considered it, she knew casual wasn't something she could handle—especially with Abbot. Though she felt no sense of judgement, the idea of Abbot having a series of flings soured her stomach, twisting her heart unpleasantly.
It didn't seem to matter. Her attempts at flirting had been abject failures. Clearly something about her excluded her from the running anyway. She found herself at a loss for words.
"Right," Abbot muttered, sheepish. "Well, like I said. Good work in there," he nodded, eyes catching on hers before turning and walking away.
Samira let out a sigh. She didn't love failing but it was possible she liked the feeling that had set over her even less. Still, she couldn’t stomach the thought of quitting, of being perpetually stuck in a space where she felt like some kind of oddity, the only person Abbot treated differently, but the repeated lack of reciprocation bore the sting of rejection. Rejection from Abbot burned in a way that it wouldn’t from others and she didn’t care to examine it too closely. Dismayed, she decided to try one more time before she resigned herself to the weird othering she still didn’t totally understand.
—
Samira pulled her backpack over her shoulder. Though she was planning to head straight home, she'd changed back into street clothes, just a pair of joggers and a waffled thermal to keep out the last vestiges of April chill. She pulled her hair from the bun fastened at the base of her skull threatening a tension headache. After twenty-five hours in the building, her bones ached with exhaustion and emotionally, she wasn’t faring much better.
She'd not seen much of Abbot for the rest of shift which was perhaps for the best. The headspace she found herself in was muddy, confusion and disappointment woven through perennially repressed longing. Maybe she would have given it one last go with Abbot had their paths crossed before her shift ended but that's not how her luck had played out. Then again, she wasn't sure she could stomach more of his gentle rejection. Abbot was appallingly kind to her, even in this regard. It made it worse, somehow.
She made for the front entrance, dreading the bus ride ahead of her, when Abbot appeared as if from nowhere at all, still scrub clad, silver curls mussed and a little sweaty, panting slightly. "Breakfast?"
She nodded to the security guard as she exited, Abbot keeping pace with her, his own go-bag thrown over his shoulder.
It wasn't unusual for Abbot to take his subordinates out of breakfast following shift, though it was a little odd for him to ask only her. She was dead on her feet after a double, more than a little emotionally exhausted from her exploits, but the sliver of her brain overrode her own self-preservation instinct. She smirked, her best attempt at tired but alluring. "What's in it for me?"
Abbot's face remained neutral as he shrugged. "Coffee. Pancakes and eggs because I know you've probably eaten nothing but protein bars and peanut butter crackers in the last twenty four hours."
Another abrupt shutdown. Samira was so over this day she could cry.
Her tone was less than kind when she answered, stopping in her tracks. "Look, it's nice of you to offer, but I'm coming off a double and I just–" She sighed. "Thanks but no thanks."
His face fell slightly, but he quickly composed himself. "Yeah. No. Of course. You must be zonked. You have my number if you need anything, right?"
She'd had it. The mixed signals he was giving her had her brain spiraling in knots she didn't have the energy to untangle. He cared enough to offer to buy her breakfast, to make sure she had his number, but her attempts at matching the energy he seemed to offer everyone around her had been resoundingly shut down.
She decided she could plausibly blame what came out of her mouth next on fatigue. "What the hell is wrong with me?"
A kind smile overtook Abbot's features, "Other than the fact that you've been awake for like 30 thirty hours, nothing. Absolutely nothing." He paused. "I mean, you also have quite the temper, but I find it endearing."
"Then why won't you flirt with me?"
Abbot looked shocked but it quickly gave way to restrained amusement. "What?"
"You're a slut. You flirt with everyone. So what the fuck is wrong with me specifically?"
Abbot's expression rearranged, clearly intrigued, strong brows raised in question.
"Do you want me to flirt with you?"
"I've been trying to flirt with you all day, and you give me nothing. Well. Not nothing. I know your niece's birthday and the name of your therapist and I have your number saved in my phone which is apparently anomalous but in terms of cheeky come-ons, nothing!" She bemoaned. She didn't even have the energy to be mortified that she was basically begging him for something like romantic attention.
"And your solution was to slut-shame me?" he chuckled fondly. She wanted to strangle him.
"Uggggggh. I wasn't— It's not even the word I would use. That's all Santos. And I don't even care if you are slut! I mean. I do care. I want—You flirt with Robby and Baran and Santos even though she's gay. Patients. Nurses–"
Abbot thankfully cut off her rambling. "I'm not—a slut, for the record. I have been. There was a period after Gen died where I fucked around. A lot. But I haven't slept with anyone in years," he explained in the gentle tone he seemed to reserve just for her. Honest, painfully sincere, but the answer took her aback nonetheless.
"Years?"
"About four, yeah," he shrugged, the tips of his ears pinking.
"You don't need..."
He ignored her half-asked question. "I like banter, Samira. My therapist says it's my way of connecting while still keeping people at arm's length. I tried to do that with sex, but it made me feel like shit. So, I flirt."
She knew her expression was pleading, desperate in a way that would ordinarily embarrass her. "But not with me."
He sighed, and for a moment, he looked tired in a way that reminded her of his age, of the distance between them in years she tried not to let her thoughts linger on. "No. I don't seem to be capable of that with you."
"Flirting?"
"Keeping you at arms length," he corrected.
Samira tried to contextualize what he was saying, what he was implying about who she was to him. The shock on Santos's and Princess's face when they'd seen the easy way Abbot divulged personal plans with her. The way he checked in with her. The coffee order he delivered without a word, perfect despite never having been told. All of these things reoriented in her mind under new life as she saw them for what they could be. Offerings. Invitations. Connection, real connection, not just clever word play but pieces of himself handed over bit by bit.
"Oh," was all she could manage.
"If that's not something you want..." he trailed off, looking resigned. "I can try to treat you like everyone else. It can be jokey and playful between us. Insincere. And if it's the slut thing you're looking for, I can do that, too. I could sweet talk my way into your pants. I could, sweetheart. I still remember how. I could talk about all the ways I could make you cum until the gears in that beautiful brain of yours grind to a halt if that's what you want. I'd feel like a scumbag, but I'd do it, if you needed it."
"But you don't–” she paused, a little choked up. “You don't want to?" Uncertainty wove its way through the question, even as his words sent a zip of excitement to her core.
His already gravelly baritone took on a rough, breathier edge. "Oh, I want to. I've wanted to for a long time."
"But you just said–"
"I don't want Robby or Dana or Baran or anyone else I flirt with," he explained. "I want to make them laugh. I want their comradery. I want to skirt the line with jokes about empty sex. But I don't want empty sex with you. I don't even want to joke about it. I don't want you at arms length. It wouldn't just be empty. It would be agony."
She considered his words for a moment. She'd already gotten more than she'd gone looking for with this conversation so she figured, in for a penny.
"What is it that you do want from me?" she asked gently.
A glint of mischief touched his face, a spark in gold flecked hazel, the crinkle of the crows feet, his posture shifting, still unsure, but almost daring in spite of it. "Ideally?"
She decided to allow him the indulgence, just to see what came of that look. "Sure. In a perfect world."
His eyes narrowed, boring into hers. "In a perfect world, I want your next thirty years."
It clicked into place. Abbot didn't think there was something wrong with her, at least nothing that posed a deterrent. The feelings she'd nursed, a hidden pipe dream, a silly dalliance, were by some miracle reciprocated. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, smiling in spite of herself.
"Just thirty?" she hedged.
A laugh lurched from Abbot's throat, his face looking like he hadn't expected her question or his own response to it. The playfulness she'd been searching for all day replaced his solemnity, but there was something more to it. It was deeper somehow. He gave her an earnest smile, a little crooked, goofy in a way that was normally concealed beneath layers of charm.
"Have to start somewhere. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm already pretty old," he countered, and Samira relished the feeling of being in on the joke.
"Your advanced age notwithstanding," she began with a fond roll of her eyes. "What would starting somewhere look like?"
His answer was immediate. "It looks like whatever you want it to, sweetheart."
"That's...generous."
"I can show you generous if you want to start there," he quipped, a faux lascivious lilt to his tone.
Samira looked to sky. "Now he flirts with me."
"I'm happy to flirt with you as much as you'd like. I really am. But I'm hoping you want more than just the flirting."
Hope, too, swelled in her chest. "If I promise I do, what would you do about it?"
The crinkles by his eyes tightened, and Samira couldn't blame him for glancing around. He was attuned enough to the Pitt's gossip mill to be aware of the dangers it posed, but when he looked satisfied with his sweep of the perimeter, he smiled at her again, wild and bright.
He wove a broad hand into the curls at the back of her skull, but the hand he placed at her hip was gentle, almost tentative, and something about the juxtaposition of the two gestures sent hot pleasure between her legs. He pulled her face to his with as much tenderness as his strength allowed, and Samira sighed as his lips pressed to hers.
The scratch of his stubble should have been abrasive, and it was, but it was also lovely. As their mouths moved in sync, Samira didn't trouble herself with the thought that she tasted like acrid breakroom coffee. It didn't matter. He did, too. It was perfect anyway, his tongue sweeping across hers, his hands anchoring her close, gripping tight when she nipped at his lower lip.
She pulled away, feeling pleased with herself. She hadn't succeeded at what she'd set out to do but she'd found something so much better. "What now?" she asked, feeling almost dizzy, the exhaustion that permeated her bones quieted but not entirely sated.
He unwove his hand from her hair, tucking a curl behind her ear and letting his thumb graze her cheekbone. Her head tilted into the movement, waiting.
"Well, pancakes are out, apparently," he teased.
Truthfully, pancakes sounded great, but low on her hierarchy of needs at the moment. "Any chance you'll let me take it back? We could still do breakfast, but maybe after some sleep. Maybe after something else..." she hedged.
Jack surprised her, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to her lips.
"After something else sounds enticing," he answered with a suave bravado that couldn't quite conceal his giddiness. Looking back, Samira couldn't begrudge the cheesy line that followed. It was exactly what she'd gone looking for. "Your place or mine?"