Chapter 3The "Mechanics" Club

It felt like a wad of cotton was shoved down my throat. I gripped the tablet and stood up, planning to back up the chat history to the cloud. But my lower back bumped into the bookshelf, and a heavy Clinical Anatomy textbook hit the floor with a loud thud.

Footsteps immediately echoed down the hallway.

My heart stopped. In a panic, I shoved the tablet into the storage bin on the highest shelf.

Just as I turned around, the office door was pushed open.

Mark stood in the doorway. He didn't turn on the light. The hallway illumination cut his face into sharp halves of light and shadow. He stared at me intently. "Honey? What are you doing in the office in the middle of the night?"

I stretched my back. "I have an aortic dissection surgery tomorrow. Just reviewing some anatomy charts."

I bent down to pick up the book, my fingertips trembling so badly I almost dropped it again.

"The top surgeon at City General still gets nervous?"

Mark walked in, resting his hand on the edge of the desk, his thumb brushing over the surgical diagrams in the open book. "I heard a crash. I thought someone broke in."

I slid the book back onto the shelf, deliberately letting the spine hit the wood with a soft clatter. "I was rushing to find some reference material and knocked it over."

When I looked up, my eyes met his. There was a cloudy look in his eyes—I couldn't tell if it was confusion or suspicion. I took the initiative and asked, "Why are you awake? Did I make too much noise?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he took two steps closer to the bookshelf. Sweat instantly soaked the back of my pajamas, making the fabric cling to my skin.

The tablet was right above his head. The silver edge was glaringly obvious nestled among the row of books.

But he suddenly stopped and reached out to tug at my hair. "Your hair is a mess."

His fingertips brushed behind my ear, carrying the scent of his usual aftershave. But I couldn't shake the feeling that underneath it was the faint smell of massage candle wax, exactly like the kind the guys in the group chat were just discussing.

"Let's go back to sleep. Getting enough rest is the most important thing." He wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me toward the door, his hand sliding up and down my waistline, almost as if he was checking to see if I was hiding anything.

As we reached the doorway, he suddenly looked back at the bookshelf. His gaze swept over it like a searchlight. I wasn't sure if he had spotted the tablet. If he had, he would have caught me red-handed looking at his chat history. What would I even say?

Confront him directly?

"Let's sleep. I'm exhausted." I let out a fake yawn, flicked off the office light, and naturally took his hand, leading him back to the bedroom.

He didn't notice the tablet and followed me back to bed.

When we lay back down, he turned his back to me, but his breathing never leveled out.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind flooded with memories of him dropping to his knees, begging me to be with him.