Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
ELLIE
Holy fudgenuts it’s cold.
I hate to admit it, but Clark Kent was a little bit right. My Bostonian blood is failing me. According to my weather app, the “feels like” temperature is negative fifteen with the wind chill. Negative fifteen.
Would it be morally wrong to call out of work today? Maybe. Also, I’m already fully bundled up for the very daunting thirteen-minute walk to the hospital. Turning back would be illogical. And yet…
I longingly look at my door down the block, imagining my warm bed.
I’d like to curl up and rub my legs like a cricket until the cold fades.
I turn around and spot the skyway up the road.
Boston could take note of the indoor walkways Minneapolis has around the city to help pedestrians when it’s freezing.
I forge ahead and try not to think about my bed. Being an adult is hard.
I’m on the last of my three, twelve-hour shifts for the week, and holy moly, I can feel it. People think having four days off per week sounds cushy. Pssshh. I welcome every single one of them to try working my shift in an emergency room and then talk to me.
The absolute chaos and nonstop nature of the ER is both exhausting and thrilling.
Back when I decided to pursue being an emergency room nurse, I hadn’t thought about the schedule too much, but it’s proved to be one of my favorite things.
With virtually no lulls, the shifts fly by, and by the time I get home I’m so tired I could fall asleep brushing my teeth.
And then on my days off I can focus on catching up on reading, trash TV, grocery shopping and sleep, and, occasionally, going out.
I glance over at the bar parallel to where I’m walking now. It’s been almost four weeks since I embarrassed myself in there with Nate the bartender and hot Hat Guy.
I take a moment to study it as I pass by. It’s—I glance at my watch—two thirty-four. That’s right around the time I was in there shooting tequila. I wonder if Superman is in there now.
I get little butterflies thinking of his handsome face and have a momentary pang of regret for not taking him up on his offer to walk me home.
I have Dev here and I’ve made friends with some of the other nurses too, but a little bit of loneliness is inevitable with such a big move.
And the idea of a partner is…daunting, I guess, but also appealing.
I don’t necessarily miss my ex, Josh, but I do miss having someone to talk to about my day, try new hole-in-the-wall restaurants with, and just plain old hang out with. Solitude has its limits.
And, god, I miss sex.
It’s been over six months and I’m starting to worry I’ll forget what to do. Is that possible? Oh god, what if I’m bad at it? Josh never complained, but he would never do anything like that anyway.
I just need to rip the Band-Aid off, I suppose. Maybe I’ll go out this weekend and find a proper suitor. That phrasing classes it up a bit, right?
Tearing my gaze away from the bar that’s now almost behind me, I realize it doesn’t even have a name visible from the outside.
I wonder what it’s called. I don’t remember seeing any branding inside and the door just has a neon Open sign out front.
Ooh, maybe it’s one of those secret places only locals know about! Cool points for Ellie.
I make a mental note to find out the name at some point and focus on getting to work without freezing.
I know this would go a lot faster—and be a lot warmer—if I drove.
But I don’t like driving. Scratch that. I hate driving.
Driving in the snow? My personal hell. My old therapist told me it should get better with time, but I haven’t seemed to shake the aversion over the past five years.
So I picked an apartment within walking distance to the hospital. And thankfully the walkways mean the feels-like-negative-fifteen-degrees weather doesn’t give me frostbite. I glance at my car parked down the street behind me.
And at least I can drive. If I have to. I guess time did help with that part.
Mentally fortifying myself for the last few minutes of the cold, I put my head down and power walk up the sidewalk. Just twelve hours of work today and then rip-the-Band-Aid sex is next on the list. After a shower. And sleep. And finding some much-needed boldness for such a task.
Piece of cake.
Why is this so hard?
My internal whining is not productive, but it is making me feel slightly better. It’s Thursday night, and Dev—another nurse and one of the reasons I moved here—and I are at a newish bar close to where I live that she promised would have “lots of cute guys.” I should’ve asked for more qualifiers.
Aside from being moderately attractive, all of the guys I’ve talked to have been too grabby or too drunk or way too eager.
Not once have I even considered picking one for practice sex.
I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I did not think it would be this hard to even find an option to get back on the proverbial horse with.
I haven’t even had the chance to be nervous about my elevator pitch I rehearsed.
Maybe my standards are too high? I really don’t think they are.
Although…
It’s possible Clark Kent from a few weeks ago has set an unfairly high bar in terms of looks. Sometimes I think I made him up. Like my brain needed something else to focus on that day and delivered what I would consider a perfect specimen to obsess over for a little while.
Why can’t he be here tonight?
It comes out as another whine in my head and I almost physically pout just thinking it.
I know it’s still early, but I’m feeling so hopeless I might call it a night.
Too bad my fancy matching lingerie is going to waste.
At least I got to show off my new chunky thrifted boots.
I kick them out from my stool to admire them.
Guess I should tell Dev I’m ready to go.
I’m startled from my personal boot-admiring session when the bartender drops two fresh mojitos in front of us.
“From the guys over there,” he says with a quick point to two guys at the other end of the bar. They look mid- to late-twenties, and fine, they’re cute, but there is just something missing. I don’t feel excited looking at either of them. Neither is particularly…superhero-y.
Dammit, Ellie.
Normally there’s at least a little rush of pleasure at the attention when you get hit on, but I now feel so committed to not practicing with anyone here that I don’t really feel anything.
Well, maybe some frustration at now having to deal with these drinks and those men.
I mean, what is the protocol? Do we say thanks and drink them and hope they don’t want some kind of reciprocation?
Or do we refuse drinks that have already been set in front of us and look rude?
I feel so out of practice. I know, poor me, getting free drinks. But it feels like a lose-lose when you don’t want the extra drink, the extra attention, or the potential extra responsibility of handling someone’s fragile masculinity.
I look over at Dev so we can game plan, but she’s smiling at one of the guys that sent us the drinks.
Well, then. Guess I’ll be sticking this one out. I follow her lead and hold my drink up in thanks before taking a quick sip and putting it back down. Avoiding eye contact like it’s my job, I grab my phone to check the time. Barely ten. We’ve only been here an hour.
“You trying to go home?” Dev asks me.
I put my phone down and give her an angelic, guilty smile. “That obvious?” I laugh.
“Only to me.” She winks.
“I can just walk home though. You don’t have to bail,” I tell her, feeling bad for cutting her night short too.
“No way, I’m leaving if you do. My bed sounds amazing right now,” she says. “Wanna finish these and then head out?” She lightly shakes the new mojito.
“You’re the best.”
“I know,” she says while she bats her eyelashes dramatically. “So now that you’ve been here for a bit, you still liking the neighborhood? You missing Boston? I’m gonna feel bad if I sold you on Minny and you hate it.”
I laugh at Dev’s nickname for the city. “She’s pretty different from Boston, but it’s been good.
Neighborhood’s close to work and takeout options are awesome.
Those were my only two requirements. So check and check.
” I joke with her, even though that is mostly what I cared about when choosing a place.
“And I miss some specific things, yeah, but it’s okay. Minny treats me well.”
“Okay, phew. I obviously love it here, but I’m biased of course.
” Dev’s parents immigrated to Minnesota from India when she was three, so it’s home to her.
She only left here for nursing school in Boston, where we met just before we graduated.
Once we became friends we both wished we’d gotten closer sooner.
“All right, let’s get outta here. Just give me a sec. ”
I watch her slam the rest of her drink, get up from her seat, and walk over to the guys who bought them. She pulls out her phone and, presumably, either gets the hotter guy’s number or gives hers to him.
Devna Mathur is a boss. A petite, dark-haired, cute-as-a-button boss. Don’t tell her I said that.
I quickly take a few more sips of my drink and signal to the bartender that I want to close our tab. Dev makes her way back over and starts putting her jacket on while I’m signing. I watch her pull up an app to call a ride on her phone.
“You sure you don’t want to share with me? It’s fucking freezing and I doubt they’d mind dropping you on the way,” Dev offers.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s only a couple blocks.” I grin at her and jerk my chin at the bar. “You gonna call him?”
“Eh, not sure. My vibrator has been a little boring lately,” Dev says as she looks up from her phone at me with a mischievous smile.
I laugh at her candor and feel a swell of warmth that I have a friend like her here. Dev is bold and fun and extremely kind. She often surprises me with her honesty, but I’ve found she’s still never anything but nice.
“You could just get a new toy,” I tell her as I pull on my beanie.
“I feel like I own them all,” she huffs.
“I bet Drink Guy would like to see them.” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“I bet he would.” She flips her hair out of her scarf and sashays to the door.
Gosh, I love her.