Julian
JULY, YEAR 2
July in Texas is death.
I grew up by the Gulf and have a fair understanding of heat. I’m convinced Texas is in a competition with the sun to see who can melt its population fastest, and they’re both winning.
The shitty AC in my apartment isn’t cutting it, so my only respite is the apartment pool. I throw on my trunks and head downstairs. Approximately one million people have the same idea as me. The pool is packed, but it’s large. I pad toward the lounge chairs to throw down my towel and shirt when someone calls my name. My head turns, and I’m inundated by a heat beyond anything a Texas summer can do.
I trip over a lounge chair. “Whaa—”
Grace springs up from it. She wears a bright turquoise bikini with little white daisies all over it. It’s more straps than material and tosses me no Hail Mary in the form of unsightly rashes or unexplained lumps.
Her body is made for sex. Now, I’m a gynecologist. Logic tells me that all bodies are made for sex—prolongation of the species and all that—but Grace’s body is like someone poured an Ariana Grande song into an hourglass. She’s rivaling the fantasy of Gal Gadot in my head.
And now I’m picturing Grace in full Wonder Woman regalia, and that’s just—
“What?” She looks down at herself like she’s done something wrong.
“You’re—flowers.”
“What?”
I wave vaguely at her suit without looking at it again. “You’re swimming?”
She grins. “This is my only day off for the next three weeks, and I plan to spend it with a White Claw, melting under the sun until my skin blisters.”
I swallow against the flames in my throat and stare at her hairline. “That’s—good plan.”
“Are you hurt?”
“What?”
She points at my foot. Ah. Yes. I stubbed my toe, didn’t I?
Her eyes narrow, and I laugh. Don’t know why. It just bursts out of me, uncontrollable.
I have never been this awkward. I am a total sleaze brought low by simple white daisies.
And fantastic breasts.
And delusions.
Throwing the towel on her chair, I mumble something about being hot before ripping off my shirt. I hop into the pool and stay submerged in the coolish water until the desire for her ebbs and my lungs beg for air. Breaking the surface, I’ve regained my composure.
My hands clasp the edge of the pool, and I sneak a peek at her.
She’s sitting at the end of her lounge chair, head cocked, staring at me in question. “Did I just witness a heatstroke?”
It coaxes a smile from me. “Something like that.”
Sweat has gathered on her brow and in her cleavage, but unlike me, she’s luxuriating in it.
Her bare feet bring her closer, and she sits at the edge to dip her feet in the water beside me. “Is the great Santini, Golden Boy, really made speechless by the sight of a woman in a bikini?”
My forehead falls to the backs of my hands where they grasp the pool edge. “I plead the fifth.” I pause. “But like… Have you seen that bikini?”
She chuckles. “I’m starting to believe Adorable does exist.”
I pinch her toe beneath the water, and she screeches, jerking her foot away, but I grab both ankles.
She gives me a warning look. “, don’t.”
The smirk on my face grows, and I tug. “What? Afraid you’ll melt?”
She shrieks as I pull until she’s at the edge, bracing her weight on my shoulders.
Her eyes widen. “No—”
Sinking beneath the surface, I snicker inwardly and she follows me underwater. The splash of her plunging below the surface reverberates, and bubbles float around my skin along with the brush of her legs as she kicks to the surface.
I come up for air again, already laughing.
She pushes my shoulder and wipes water out of her eyes. “This is cruel punishment for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“I’m sure if you dig deep, you’ll find you deserved it.”
She splashes me. “Is this what you wanted, ? You happy now?” She rolls her eyes before dropping her voice to a falsely seductive tone. “You got me all wet.”
Sarcasm, but my dick still responds—a situation not improved by her hoisting herself out of the water, droplets streaming down her smooth skin, over the curves of her ass. She returns to her post at the edge of the pool, only now she’s dripping wet.
I am an idiot.
She flicks water over me. “Well, Adorable lasted all of thirty seconds. Now that that’s out of your system, can I have normal back?”
“Yes. I am back to functioning capacity.”
She gives a satisfied nod. “I heard you’re doing well on GYN.”
I hoist myself out of the pool and sit next to her, feet dangling in the water. “Did you?”
“Chen said he was impressed.”
Impressed for a DO, probably. I recently overheard some dickhead at the hospital joking that MD was the Coca-Cola and DO was the RC Cola of medicine. Off-brand doctors who couldn’t afford the good letters.
So I shrug away the compliment, even though it might ease the quiet voice inside chanting I’m somehow deficient. I’ve always been good with my hands. Even as a student, I picked up on surgical techniques and anatomy quickly. It’s never been hard, so it isn’t all that impressive to me.
If only I knew how to study without being distracted by four hundred other things…
“Don’t just shrug at me.” Grace bumps her shoulder into mine.
“What do you want me to say? Yay, I slay at cutting people open and sewing them back together.”
She scrunches her freckled nose. “That’s a large portion of our job.”
“Yeah, but I’m trash at the rest of it.”
She looks out over the water where a group of kids play water tag, their exertions sprinkling us with droplets. “I’m good at the rest of it.”
She is good. She always knows the answer in didactics. She completes her notes on time. Her instincts are on point. She’d never question when to stop blood thinners.
Grace Rose has the kind of intelligence that drips from every word she says. She can organize in ways my easily distracted mind can’t even fathom.
So I nod. “I know.”
“But no one cares because they still think I don’t deserve to be here.”
“That’s not—”
“Yes, it is.”
I press my lips together, forcing myself not to offer platitudes that won’t help. Instead, I say, “Sometimes I wonder if they don’t think I deserve to be here, either.”
She pats my arm. “Because you’re a DO?”
I nod-shrug because I don’t want to say it out loud. Insecurities are a bitch.
“Well, at least you’ve got the surgery thing. I’m terrible at surgery. There’s too much art to it. So I was thinking…”
Bracing my elbows on my knees, I trace her profile as she gazes over the water. “What were you thinking?”
“Maybe we could work together.” She meets my eyes. “I could help you with the book stuff, and you could help me with the surgical stuff.”
Blank. My mind goes blank. She wants me to teach her surgery?
“Why wouldn’t you ask one of the attendings? Or the upper levels? I’m the same level as you.”
She looks away, hiding her expression entirely. “Dr. K told me to wait until my GYN month. The uppers aren’t really receptive. I could ask Asher, but he doesn’t have the best surgical reputation.” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’ll just ask him.”
The idea of Asher in close proximity to her, intimate and alone, makes me want to vomit.
“I’m not an expert,” I say. “I have a knack for it. That’s all.”
She sighs. “If you don’t want to do it, just say so.”
Another awkward laugh escapes me. “I want to do it. You’re a genius. I’d be lucky to have your help. So…yeah, let’s glow up our flaws. I just—I don’t know if I’ll help you as much as you’ll help me.”
She hides her proud smile by turning away, but I don’t know why. She should be proud of her hard work and intelligence.
“Trust me.” She grabs my hand and lifts it in the air. “With these, you can help me plenty.”
Ugh.
So many double entendres there.
Without releasing me, she says, “You won’t spare my feelings like Asher would. This will help us both.”
Neither of us let go. Our connected hands fall to the concrete between us. She doesn’t pull away.
Why isn’t she pulling away?
Why don’t I?
We’re holding hands, half-naked. My brain short-circuits again.
This unrequited attraction to her is disastrous for my self-esteem, and now I’ll spend more time in close proximity to her, constantly reminded of how—surgical skills notwithstanding—she’s smarter and more competent than me and so fucking beautiful it makes my head hurt.
When did I develop this self-destructive streak? She’s a wildfire, but I’m running straight toward her, knowing she’ll destroy me.
We both stare down at our joined hands, and like a masochist, I slowly lace our fingers, one by one. She doesn’t stop me.
Why doesn’t she stop me?
Her tiny hand fits in mine like it belongs there.
She clears her throat, breaking the spell, then murmurs something about being hot. She slips into the water again, escaping my grasp.
Yep.
I’m doomed.
* * *
The only difference between intern year on June 30th and second year on July 1st is my medical license—and the fact that all my shifts are worked without a senior resident. I’m alone now, and my first twenty-four-hour shift by myself in the middle of July is a sleep-deprived marathon of reminders that I’m not ready to be by myself.
“The baby’s in the sixties, Dr. Santini…”
“She’s bleeding, Dr. Santini…”
“Methergine or Hemabate, Dr. Santini…”
“You forgot to put in orders, Dr. Santini…”
Maxwell is the only reason I’m able to survive the first part of the shift, but then he reminds me he’s on vacation, and to leave him alone, so I switch to Pit It or Quit It.
Me: What is the dose of Methergine?
Sapphire : 0.2mg IM
Me: That’s what I told them! They acted like I was an idiot.
Me: Morphine safe in 2nd tri yes?
Sapphire : Yes.
Me: Patient ate eleven Big Macs. Now vomiting profusely. Zofran?
Kai: wtf is happening.
Sapphire : Yes, zofran fine.
Me: Syphilis, pregnant and allergic to penicillin
Alesha: Sucks for her.
Sapphire : Consult infectious disease
Me: I need help!
Kai: You need an exorcist
Sapphire : Come to my apartment when you get home. I have a bunch of apps that will help you.
“I need help now!” I yell at my phone, startling the nurse beside me.
She gives me an unsure smile.
“Sorry.” I rub my face. “Hectic day.”
“Yeah, it’s busy for a Saturday.” She touches my shoulder. “Did you get sleep last night?”
I take a quick glance at her name tag. So many nurses work this floor, and I swear half of them are named Ashley. This one is Ariel. I search her face for one feature I might remember.
Blue eyes like the ocean. Ariel the mermaid.
“Not really.” I blink, sleepy and slow.
I’m pretty sure I look like a more exhausted version of death, but she gives a thirsty smile, hand still on my shoulder. “Well, if I can help with anything, just let me know.”
My eyebrows lift. Seriously? Am I being hit on right now?
“Here. I’ll give you my number.” She slides my unlocked phone from my weak grasp and brazenly proceeds to text herself, stealing my phone number.
“Thanks.” I grab my phone with stiff fingers when she offers it. Sort of rude, just filching it like that. I would have given her my number willingly if she’d asked.
“No problem. You’ll get better sleep tonight.”
Yeah. Because I’ll be in my own bed. Without an ASCOM.
In the last three hours of my shift, things slow and I sneak away to the call room to lay down. No sooner does my head hit the pillow than the ASCOM lets out a loud beep indicating its battery is low.
If I was a crying man, I’d cry. I really would.
Instead, I heave myself from the bed and return to the nursing desk to change the battery.
Later that night, I shower and eat, then head to Grace’s apartment like she requested. Because I’m a good puppy who follows directions.
I’m pathetic.
She opens the door, a knockout in her red dress and devil-red lipstick, hair half up and curled.
“Oh.” I blink at the vision before me. “Are you going out?”
“Yeah, remember? A bunch of us are going to that vodka bar. You said no because you had to work today.”
I rub my eyes. “Right. I forgot.”
A soft laugh precedes her hand grasping my wrist and dragging me inside. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Maybe like thirty minutes. I don’t know.”
She holds her hand out. “Give me your phone.”
In Grace’s hands, my phone feels safe. It’s worlds different than seeing it in Ariel’s. My entire life is on that device. I trust Grace not to snoop or send crude text messages to important people, which means I’m free to collapse onto her couch, eyes falling shut. Her whole apartment smells like her, but her furniture is a heady dose. I turn my face into the fabric, breathing deep.
She plops onto the sofa next to my head. “I’m going to download a bunch of apps, okay?”
“Mmm.”
“This one helps with dosing and drug reactions. This one calculates DVT risk. This one tells you how to manage abnormal Paps. This one…”
She continues, but I drift, letting her dulcet voice be a lullaby. Stuck in the between world before sleep, I barely groan as fingers comb through my hair, gently scratching, lulling me further into the void. They slide my glasses off and I’m gone.
* * *
I wake to the smell of coffee, and blink at a ceiling that isn’t mine.
“You are so lucky I’m nice and didn’t draw a dick on your forehead last night.”
Sitting up, I find Grace clean-faced, rumpled wavy hair flowing around her, wearing a loose T-shirt and pajama shorts, proffering a cup of black coffee.
She has never been more fuckable.
“I thought we could start our first lesson today, since your panicked lack of knowledge drove you to such extremes as to sleep in the enemy’s lair last night.”
“Technically, the lair would be your bedroom. I slept in the enemy’s antechamber.”
She laughs and settles next to me with her own much lighter cup of coffee, topped in whipped cream.
“How was the vodka bar?” I ask.
Blowing on her coffee, she smirks. “I didn’t stay long since I had a sleeping dragon in my apartment.”
I pull a face. “Did I ruin your night?”
“Nah. I got to flex the dress. That’s all that matters.”
I tip my head in concession. “That dress is a gift to mankind.”
She stares at me, wide-eyed. “Was that a compliment?”
“It was a fact.”
A smile breaks over her face, bright and buoyant, and my stomach doesn’t fall. It disappears.
“I have to go.” The words fall from my mouth.
Her smile fades to confusion.
I shake my head, trying to clear away this persistent impression that my entire life is syncing to her heartbeat. “I’ll be right back.” I set down my coffee and swipe my glasses from the table. “Brush my teeth. Get contacts.”
“Oh.” She settles deeper into the couch. “Don’t take long. I’ve got plans for you.”
I freeze. “Why does that sound like I might not survive it?”
She smiles into her coffee, evil and suggestive, and I leave before I do something stupid.
Like hit on her.
When did I become such a huge Grace Rose stan?
Forty-five minutes later, I’m glaring as she sits cross-legged on the couch beside me. “Homework?” I say. “Seriously?”
“Did you think I could mindfuck the information into your head, ? You have to work for it.”
A wide grin grows on my face. “Hearing Miss Goody Two-shoes say fuck is always the highlight of my day.”
She rolls her eyes. “I made it so easy. I gave you my flashcards! You know how lucky you are right now? I don’t share my flashcards with anyone.”
“Such a greedy girl.”
She smacks my shoulder. “Be serious.”
“Fine!” I slump into the cushions of her couch. “I’ll do your stupid flashcards.”
What a waste of that satisfied smile. I can think of so many other things I could do to make her smile like that.
Ugh. Maybe studying with Grace is a bad idea. All I think about is sex.
I need to get laid.
Maybe she’ll be into the idea of study-break stress relief.
“—then you won’t forget.” She finishes her speech with a nod of her head. That’s that .
“What?”
She growls. “Are you listening?”
I offer a contrite expression, and she lifts her gaze to the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
Nah. She definitely won’t be into casual sex. I doubt I could do casual sex with her. Well, if that’s all she’d give me, I would, but that fantasy of her sleep-tousled and proffering morning coffee is irrevocable now. That’s something I could wake up to every day for the rest of my life.
“!”
I jolt.
She blinks at me. “Wow. How did you make it through med school?”
“A lot of Adderall and being okay with mediocre grades.”
Her shoulders droop.
“Oh, and I slept with the dean.”
For two seconds, she stares, owl-eyed. At my teasing wink, she descends into giggles, and I preen internally. It wakes a new craving inside me—the desire to make her laugh.
My phone buzzes.
Ariel (L&D): Hey Dr. Santini. You free tonight?
With an adorable and determined notch between her brows, Grace organizes papers into stacks to study. “Okay. We can work around your concentration issues. I’ll get this in your head if it’s the last thing I do. I promise.”
She’s so cute, this little bookworm. So sweet. Something inside warms and turns molten, asking me to stay by her side.
I leave Ariel on read.