Still thinking about you backing me against my caris too forward.
When can I see you again?reeks of desperation.
I settle on staring at the blank message field until my break ends, then shove the phone back into my pocket with a frustrated groan.
The afternoon brings a multi-car accident that keeps me busy for hours.Still, between critical cases and rushing patients to surgery, my mind keeps circling back to Zach.The intensity in those dark eyes.The promise in his voice.The heat of his body pressing me against the car.
“Dr.Blane, need you in Trauma Two,” a voice calls over the intercom, snapping me back to reality.
By six p.m., I’ve resorted to leaving my phone in my locker.The constant temptation to check it, to message Zach, was affecting my concentration.I’d nearly prescribed the wrong dosage to an elderly patient because I’d been mentally composing yet another text.
“You’re off in an hour,” I remind myself, washing blood from my hands after setting a teenage skateboarder’s broken wrist.“You can call him then.Like a normal person.”
At six forty-five p.m., while updating my last patient’s chart, my resolve finally breaks.I slip into an empty consultation room, pull out my phone, and type quickly before I can second-guess myself.
It’s Xavier.Just finishing my shift.Still want to talk?
My thumb hovers over the send button for three full breaths before I press it.
The message whooshes away, and my stomach twists into knots.
What if Zach has changed his mind?What if last night had been adrenaline-induced and nothing more?What if?—
My phone vibrates.One new message.
Been waiting all day to hear from you, Doc.Where and when?
The relief that floods me is so intense I have to sit down.I stare at the message, reading it three times to make sure I haven’t misinterpreted.
My place?8pm?I type back, adding my address before I can overthink it.
The response comes immediately.
I’ll be there.
I pocket my phone, a ridiculous smile spreading across my face.I have exactly one hour to get home, shower, and make my apartment look like it wasn’t inhabited by a doctor who works eighty-hour weeks.
As I sign out my charts and head for the locker room, I feel lighter than I have in years.
I race home, breaking at least three traffic laws in my haste to get my apartment ready.The moment I unlock my door, I head straight for the shower, letting scalding water wash away twelve hours of hospital grime and the lingering ache in my muscles from last night’s fight.
My mind races as I shampoo my hair.
Zach is coming here.To my apartment.In less than an hour.
The thought sends a jolt through me that has nothing to do with the hot water.
After toweling off, I stand in front of my closet, suddenly conscious of how little attention I’d paid to my wardrobe in recent years.Most of my clothes are either scrubs or comfortable basics for my rare days off.Nothing that screams,I’ve been fantasizing about you for years, please be impressed.
I settle on a pair of dark jeans that Samantha once said made my ass look good and a simple white t-shirt that is slightly more fitted than my usual choices.Casual but not sloppy.I run a hand through my damp hair, trying to style it into something that looks intentional rather than just air-dried.
A glance at my phone shows it’s seven forty-two p.m.Eighteen minutes.My stomach twists with nerves as I hurry around the apartment, throwing discarded scrubs into my bedroom and closing the door, stacking medical journals into a somewhat orderly pile, and wiping down countertops that haven’t seen a cleaning cloth in days.
I pause in the middle of my living room, suddenly realizing I haven’t thought about food.My refrigerator contains exactly three condiments, half a carton of orange juice, and something in a takeout container that might have once been Chinese food but is now probably classified as a biological hazard.
“We can order takeout,” I mutter to myself, grabbing my phone to check which places deliver to my neighborhood.Pizza would be too messy.Chinese too cliché.Maybe that Thai place on Fourth Street?
A knock at the door freezes me in place.
