Julian
DECEMBER, YEAR 2
I can’t concentrate.
Nothing new, right? Nope. I am beyond distracted.
Grace has invaded my life. Every thought, every idea…they filter through her first.
Focused on the laptop before her, her fingers fly over the keys while Ling Ferris-Smith lectures at didactics. The screen of her computer glows in her eyes, and she chews on the inside of her lip, then reaches for the Starbucks cup beside her.
“Dr. Santini?”
I jerk my head to the side, meeting Ling’s stare.
She raises her eyebrows. “Can you name the causes of abnormal uterine bleeding?”
Grace’s flashcard appears in my head, and I recite the causes from memory. Hey, look at that. Is all the sex-free studying paying off?
Ling’s mouth tightens. She nods and continues her lecture.
I return to Grace, who’s now smiling triumphantly at me. I’m magnetized to her. If the lights disappeared and plunged us into blackness, I’d still find her. She’d glow, a glittering star illuminating the dark.
CREOGs are next month, the yearly assessment exams for OB-GYN residents nationwide. I’m meant to study. To concentrate.
Instead, I’m haunted by the imprint of her in my mind.
My watch buzzes.
Grace : Pay attention, Dr. Santini
I cock my head and stare at her. Her skin dyes an exquisite shade of pink. The vibration at my wrist pulls my attention down.
Grace : You’re being very obvious, .
I pick up my phone to reply.
Me: I want you.
Her face goes crimson, and she slams her computer shut. She presses her palm over her mouth, pretending to pay attention to the lecture. The hungry predator deep inside me growls in rapture.
She won’t go public. Won’t let others know about us. I try not to think about that, to worry that she’s somehow ashamed of me, but the thoughts are there anyway. Is she keeping me a secret because I’m the embarrassing fling she’ll look back on and cringe? The dumb guy she settled for when nothing else was available, who couldn’t even afford the good letters?
Flirting with her like this—in plain view of all our colleagues—-satisfies the purely male portion of my brain that wants to claim her as mine.
Such a primitive desire, but I can’t help it.
I want her the way I want oxygen, and I’m desperately trying to maintain her boundaries until she’s ready—if she’s ever ready. I guess growing up in an overly affectionate household with four sisters who never stopped telling me how much they love me turned me into an incredibly needy man.
But I just like words of affirmation! Come at me.
So here are my rules:
1) No pressure allowed.
2) Follow her cues.
3) Don’t ask for more.
The lecture ends, and Ling begins the usual program announcements. I pay less attention to them than I did the lecture.
Until she says, “We have a scheduling issue we need to talk about.”
All eyes turn to Ling, and silence falls.
The schedule.
The scourge.
The bane of our existence.
As the scheduling chief, Ling owns the unfortunate task of assigning residents to each service line—L&D, surgery, weekend call, etc. She chooses what we do each month and which hospital we cover on the weekends. It’s a piteous, thankless job.
We all hate her for it.
She makes us do the shit we don’t want to do.
All services must be covered, and all residents should receive equal call. Should is a loose term, though. Hierarchy plays a large role in the schedule. As the most newly licensed physicians, the five of us second-years have it worst.
Ling’s unfriendly face stares around the room. “One of the second-years has decided to take an extended leave this year.”
Beside me, Raven shrinks in her seat. By law, she’s allowed twelve weeks maternity leave. It’s unpaid, but it’s law. When she broached the subject with Dr. Levine, he told her residents only take four weeks. She argued and was shut down.
She elevated the argument to GME. They confirmed twelve weeks is indeed allowed for parental leave.
Levine laughed at that, and spat, “You’re going to regret this.”
Now, all stares bore into Raven as Ling continues. “One month of L&D shifts, six weekend calls and a month of oncology need to be covered. Does anyone have an idea how we can manage this?”
My jaw clenches. “You could rearrange the schedule.”
Ling’s cold stare lands on me. “I’ve reworked this schedule four times. I’m not messing with it again.”
“Maybe you could use the float person the way they’re meant to be used.” Kai shoots Ling a death glare. “For coverage .”
As she’s the float person for one of those months, Ling’s eye twitches. “I have an idea.” Her tone is flat. “Since it’s a second-year who’s taking off, maybe the second-years should cover the slack.”
The five of us exchange glances.
Alesha glares at Ling. “ That’s your solution? There are fourteen available residents, and you’re going to split the work amongst four of us?”
Ling blinks twice at Alesha, then turns to Raven. “Since your fellow second-years will be covering for you, it would behoove you to ingratiate yourself to them now.” She stands. “I’ll be sending the revised schedule out in the next few days.”
* * *
Group Therapy that week is expectedly heated. We’ve gathered at Grace’s apartment, crammed together on her sectional. Linkin Park plays through her sound bar.
Linkin Park is Grace’s I’m-angry music.
Unicorn Blood in hand, Kai growls. “I’ve had pathologic fantasies about drowning that bitch. I’m serious.”
Alesha eyes him. “You need a therapist.”
“Psh. Don’t pretend you weren’t sharpening your scalpel.”
Alesha takes a sip and shrugs one shoulder.
“I’m really sorry, you guys.” Raven sniffs, worrying the tissue in her hand.
Of all the unjust things in this situation, Raven’s tears make my blood simmer the hottest. Raven is nothing but kind.
“Oh, Raven.” Grace hugs her tight. “Please don’t cry. It’s fine! It’s just a few weeks of work.”
Raven wipes her face. “But it isn’t fair.”
My phone buzzes.
Maxwell: Sorry, man. No luck.
I sigh. I’d asked him to talk to Levine and Chen. See if he could do anything.
Me: What did they say?
Maxwell: “We back the chief 100%”
Me: Fuckers
Maxwell: You surprised? The path of least resistance bro. That’s their motto.
Kai jumps to his feet, pacing and ranting while steadily draining his glass.
Alesha’s gaze follows his path. She leans toward me. “Should we be worried about him?”
I shake my head. “Let him vent. It makes him feel better.”
The pager on the table explodes in beeps and all five of us flinch. Raven’s on Mommy Call tonight, meaning she takes all the patient calls overnight.
Mommy Call is a special form of torture. I once spent forty minutes on the phone with an eighteen-year-old who decided 3:00 a.m. was the best time to learn about her contraceptive options.
Raven reaches for the pager, but Kai snaps it up. “Nuh-uhh. You ain’t talking to no one with those tears.” He yanks out his phone and dials the number, ranting the whole time. As soon as the patient answers, his voice softens to a professional hum. “Hi. Yes. This is Dr. Campisi. I received a page.”
Alesha giggles silently beside me. “He is one of my favorite humans.”
Grace rocks Raven, who’s now crying into her shoulder.
We drink our Unicorn Blood in silence while Kai drones on.
“Mmm-hmm. Yes. Okay. Great. Thanks. Bye.” Kai hangs up and roars at his phone. “If I get one more call about the goddamn mucus plug, I’m gonna lose my shit. I mean it. I will smear the walls with my shit.”
Alesha snorts. “His anger is like a special form of comedy.”
Kai paces again. “I’m gonna write a book. Mucus Plug Myth: The Kai Campisi Story. Chapter one. Please stop calling.”
Raven gives a watery laugh. “They’re first-time moms. Give them a break.”
Kai sits on the coffee table in front of Raven. “I’ll give them a break when someone gives you a break.”
She bursts into tears again and hugs Kai.
The night proceeds similarly from there. I’m the last to leave, lingering in Grace’s doorway.
Let me stay.
Her finger slides down the placket of my black Henley. “Long day.”
“You should get some sleep,” I say. “Those babies won’t deliver themselves tomorrow.”
She smiles, her gaze riveted to her finger as it trails down my chest. “You busy tomorrow?”
“There are a few cases in the morning. I’ll be done by noon.”
“You want to come visit me?” A shy glance flashes. “We could eat lunch.”
“Why don’t I bring you lunch so you don’t have to eat TUMC food?”
She beams. “Chipotle?”
I chuckle and kiss her cheek. “Sure, beautiful. See you tomorrow.”
* * *
As I climb the stairs to L&D, the bag of food in my hand reminds me it’s been two weeks since we first kissed, and I need to take Grace on a real date. Takeout at the hospital doesn’t count.
Where, though?
Somewhere with margaritas.
If lime was a drug, Grace would be an addict.
In the call room, I set down the bag.
Me: I’m here.
Grace : I’m coming.
I stare at that text. If only…
Me: That’s what she said.
Grace : You wish.
Truer words.
She smiles when she enters. The door clicks behind her.
I stand and slide my phone into my pocket. “You busy today?”
She lifts her shoulder. “I don’t want to jinx it, if you know what I mean.”
Grace abides by the common medical myth—saying you’re not busy will make you busy. Chuckling, I pass her the fountain drink I brought. “So superstitious. I got you Mountain Dew.”
She glows as she takes it, smiling bright. “We should study while we eat. CREOGs are coming. Alesha works tonight, but she might meet us here.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I drag her closer and press a kiss to her cheek.
She sets the drink on a small table beside us and rises to her tiptoes. Her soft lips land on mine. Gentle. Chaste.
Unlike her desire to keep me a secret, I haven’t taken her hesitation with the sex stuff so personally. Something clearly happened in her past that makes her shrink away from intimacy. Grace’s anxiety is a fundamental part of her, one that takes finesse to dissipate. One day, she’ll tell me why she’s nervous, and earning her trust in the meantime has been an entertaining and rewarding adventure.
As usual, I hold back from the kiss, but her hand caresses my throat, sliding around my neck and into my hair. She pulls me closer.
My sanity is on such a thin thread. Her eagerness is all it takes to snap it.
She hums her desire as I deepen the kiss. My arms encircle her, pull her close, and she’s flush against me, but not like that first kiss when she was clad in flimsy, stretchy cotton. Braless. Nothing but warm, soft curves molded to my body.
Now, the starched scrubs scratch as we move. The rainbow pens in her pocket poke my chest. The pager clipped at her waist digs into my hip.
I don’t care.
Her tongue touches mine, and I’m gone. My hand slides beneath her shirt, skimming her ribs, and she steps backward. She retreats. A cold disappointment swells before her hands clench onto the fabric of my shirt and drag me with her.
We reach the bed. She pulls me down on top of her. The kiss has its own motive, running away from me as my body acts on pure instinct. The scent of her skin travels deep into the fabric of my being, weaving throughout.
Her legs part to make room for me. They stretch wide, and we fit together. The scrubs do nothing to hide how much I want her, but she doesn’t balk when I drive that point home against her.
The kiss breaks, and we stare at each other. Hazel eyes have gone forest green, and a fever-bright gleam radiates across her skin. Her hands fall away, landing beside her face, and her body undulates against mine.
She doesn’t break eye contact, but the dazed, thirsty glint in her gaze burns like white-hot steel through my limbs, making me impossibly hard—a torturous pleasure-pain only tolerable because she craves the friction I can give her. She nips my lip and rocks against me, and her breath catches as her eyes flutter closed.
“I was thinking about you all day,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Yeah?” We find a rhythm together. “What were you thinking about?”
“This.”
I stare at her face. “Grace, are you…close?”
“I was close before you even touched me, .”
Fire catches in my bones at that admission. She was hot before she walked in the room just from thoughts of me.
The smallest pressure has her right at the edge. I would rip apart the fabric between us if it could get her there faster. This pleasure on her face is exquisite. Priceless. I need this image burned into my memory, this proof that I can make her want it. Want me.
I move faster, and she stifles a strangled cry, then whispers my name.
My lips find hers again in a messy kiss. Wet. Hot.
A rattle behind me sinks into the cacophony of desire. “Grace—Oh my god!”
We both freeze and twist toward Alesha as she looks everywhere but at us, pink hair flying around her face.
“Oh my god.” She retreats enough that the door closes, but her muted voice filters through. “Stop dry humping my friend at work, you perv.”
Grace turns to ice beneath me. Her wide eyes stare at me. “Shit. We’re at work! What are we doing?”
No, no, no. Don’t panic.
I brush her still-flushed cheek. “Um. I think you were about to come.”
She smacks my shoulder, but the frazzled tension melts from her body. “I was not!”
“I really think you were.”
On the other side of the door, Alesha clears her throat. “I can hear you.”
I roll off Grace and wince at the pressure below. Fuuuuck. “Go away, Alesha.”
Grace’s uncertain hand touches my shoulder. “I’m sorry. Do you need—”
I curl onto my side. “I just need a minute.”
“Can I come in now?” Alesha calls.
Grace stands, then wobbles on unsteady legs a moment before she reaches the door. Alesha slips into the crack Grace provides.
I glare at her.
Cockblocker.
She glares right back. “I expected better from you.”
“Why? Because I’ve always been so good at controlling myself around her?”
She rolls her eyes and turns to Grace. “What were you thinking? What if I’d been Chen?”
Grace stares at the floor and shuffles her feet. “Oh. Um. I—”
The pressure finally eases off, and I sit up. “Don’t lecture her. This really isn’t your business.”
“No. You’re right. It’s not.” Alesha’s shoulders droop. Her voice lowers. “Aren’t there already enough rumors floating around, though?”
I compel myself not to growl. Don’t mention the rumors right now! God, Grace is already a hunkering ball of nerves. Did we need to remind her of her insecurities?
I stand and take Grace’s elbows. She looks into my face, lip clamped between her teeth.
“You did nothing wrong.”
She nods and forces a smile.
A notch forms between Alesha’s brows as she stares at Grace, and her mouth tightens. “Girl, you don’t need to feel guilty. It’s just…maybe your apartment is a better place for this sort of activity .”
The tiny smile on Grace’s face eases the tightening knot in my chest. She narrows her eyes at Alesha. “Why don’t you seem surprised?”
Alesha laughs outright. “Grace, I’ve known this was coming since our first Group Therapy. I take it this wasn’t the first time?”
Grace turns bright red.
Alesha settles into the rolling chair at the desk. “That’s what I thought. Now, you guys eat that delicious food, and we’ll pretend I never saw what I saw.”
Grace glances at me. “Uh—”
“One question, though.” Alesha holds up a finger. “Are you guys dating , or are you just…you know…” She forms a circle with one hand and slides her index finger in and out a few times.
Grace’s mouth drops open. “Ew! Alesha!”
Unapologetic, Alesha raises her eyebrows.
Grace sputters.
Her innocence is torturously adorable, and laughter has overtaken me, but I scowl at Alesha. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we aren’t fucking.”
Grace smacks my arm. “!”
Wincing, I rub my shoulder. “What? We’re not. But we could be dating.” I give her the smile that always flusters her. “Tonight?”
Her glowing cheeks go brighter. “Really? Tonight?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Unless you have plans with your other boyfriend.”
Her grin is infectious, and she shakes her head. “No. He’s busy tonight. I’m free.”
I’m locked into her again, unable to look away. “Good. It’s a date.”
“Aww!” Alesha jumps up. “You guys are so cute.”