If I weren’t OCD about being on time, I would have dilly-dallied a little longer. It was seriously gorgeous out—one of those days when the sky was so crystal clear it looked fake, and the air was so crisp you wished you could bottle it. I couldn’t fill my lungs enough. It was a perfect beach day. But not today. Today duty called. I headbanded my hair with my wide framed sunglasses and pushed through the revolving doors. The hospital was already buzzing, and it was obscenely early.
My vibrating side interrupted my autopilot trek toward the elevators. I reached into the depths of a seriously oversized bag to find the damn thing.
“Hey, everything okay?” I finally answered.
“Hey, Asspuck. How’s it going so far? Did you meet him yet?”
“Sierra, are you for real? Why are you awake and what possessed you to call me so early?” My best friend didn’t do early—EVER. Uneasiness settled in the pit of my stomach. “Everything okay with the baby?”
“Don’t worry, the baby’s totally fine, kicking the crap out of me and wreaking havoc on my body, but great. Lil, you need to see my boobs, they’re like a road map with green lines everywhere ... and you’re gonna love this-”
“Um, Sier? I’m at work, can this wait?” I tried to whisper since there was a cluster of people waiting with me at the elevator.
“A hemorrhoid. A. Fucking. Hemorrhoid.” She had no shame. “It’s so disgusting. Don’t get me wrong, I love being pregnant, and I knew my body would take a serious hit, but I never expected a baboon ass.”
I sucked back the snort that threatened to escape from my nose while I pushed the button for my floor.
“You’re a freak!” That was an understatement. And why I loved her. All five feet of her. Sierra had more personality in her left calf than anyone I’d ever met and was not afraid to show it. If she were any taller, it wouldn’t be fair to the female race. Slim but blessed with top curves and Neutrogena fair skin.
“Are you really calling me at the crack of dawn to tell me about this little discovery? Where’s Dodd? Shouldn’t you be sharing your woes of pregnancy with that hunky husband of-”
“Umm, who do you think found it? I sure as fuck wasn’t the one down there investigating.”
Too much information.
“Gross. My eyes hurt. I could’ve done without that visual.” I chuckled so hard I didn’t have a prayer of holding back a snort this time. So much for being discreet on a crowded elevator.
Sierra was beyond comfortable talking about all things sex, and if there was a gene responsible for embarrassment, she was congenitally deficient. No detail was too personal. For as cosmopolitan as she played it, Sierra was blessed with diarrhea of the mouth within her intimate circle. A circle that started and ended with me since we were seven years old.
“Honestly, you need more than a visual, you need a freakin’ tutorial. Just saying. Maybe it’s time to mount the horse again-”
“You need serious help,” I quipped while shaking my head.
Time to change the topic. That didn’t mean she was wrong. She was more right than I would admit. Sierra knew enough about my past not to push the issue, but I appreciated her brutal honesty. It came from a good place.
“Anyway, I really called to remind you ‘bout tonight and make sure you don’t let the new guy get your panties in a bunch. He’s supposedly a real ball of sunshine. So since your day’s basically gonna suck, just look forward to happy hour instead.”
“And this is making me feel better how? Wait. How do you know about him?” I balanced my cell in the crook of my neck and pushed my office door open. I lucked out; I didn’t have to share my office like the six other case managers did. In reality, it was a converted storage closet attached to the security office, but it served its purpose.
“Dodd was at the hospital yesterday working on an endowment contract, and he said all the nurses couldn’t shut up about the new guy. I meant to call you last night, but placenta brain took over.”
Basically, a brain surgeon and a dick was what she was saying.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Who are you kidding? It wouldn’t matter if he was Mr. Rogers, you’d still be running to the bathroom all morning. Is it sick and twisted that I’m jealous? Bet you’re feeling skinny.”
“Sierra. Do me a favor and just stop talking.” She knew me too well.
“You know I’m right. You’re awesome at your job, and sure, it sucks you have to start from scratch every month with all new people, but whatever. You’ll have your shit figured out by noon and then you’ll be back to saving the world. It probably works in your favor. You totally thrive under pressure. And tonight you get to pig out on Rosa’s guacamole and not worry about gaining a pound ‘cause you made plenty of room. Bitch! I’m jealous!”
“Just. Stop. Talking.”
“Fine. I’ll see your skinny ass at six-thirty. Wa-hoo, favorite night of the month!” She sounded entirely too bubbly for this hour.
“Of course I’ll be there. Now can I go to work?” My huff was half-hearted at best.
“Fine, you’re no fun, but if there are any hotties on your team this month, I’m gonna want details. Your eyes still work, right? Even if your vagina’s sealed shut by now.”
“I’m hanging up now. Go gestate or something, see ya tonight.”
I ended the call and dropped my stuff in a desk drawer. The clock read 6:20. Sierra was right. I was all twisted for no reason. Much like the night before the first day of school, anticipation was the killer. Once you got there, you realized it was pretty much the same story, different day.
My actual job stayed the same every month, just the characters changed. I was good at it too, despite the fact it had little to do with social work. And technically, I didn’t need to play into the hierarchical ass-kissing that the residents did, but the whole vibe still affected me. Everything depended on the team. Basically a mishmosh of ambitious personalities dictated the tone of the month. Some months it worked, some months it sucked. Either way, a margarita and killer tacos waited for me on the flip side of the day.
The nurses’ station was quiet when I got there. Rounds didn’t start for another five minutes, so I booted up my tablet and checked email. Suddenly a strong nudge to my hip sent me flying. My left foot jetted out to stop myself from face planting. I blushed from the near miss and glanced up to a familiar cocky smile and a pair of dimples to die for.
“Two rotations in a row, how’d I get so lucky?” Dr. Guy Hunter said in his raspy voice and tilted his head to the side.
“Hey you! I thought you were going to plastics this month.” My voice jumped two octaves, and my grin reached halfway up to my eyes.
“Sorry, doll. You’re stuck with me again!”
As if. Stuck was not the word I would use.
My feet wanted to break into a happy dance. Guy was a kickass third year surgery resident who I was lucky enough to work with a few times—last month on pediatrics being the most recent. He was one part arrogant, two parts awesome and looked like he stepped out of a California surf magazine. His disheveled blonde hair was a little on the long side, with slightly darker roots screaming for a little sunshine. He had to be a solid six feet and he fell in the lean and toned category. His face and arms were lightly tanned. I only imagined what he would look like if he didn’t work eighty-five hours a week and actually had the chance to see the light of day. His pale blue scrubs fell loose and low on his hips and he wore burnt orange crocs. He epitomized laidback and even slipped in a “dude” from time to time. No question, he was good looking. Add in the ocean blue eyes and the dimples, and he was more like hurt-your-eyes good looking. But what made him awesome was that he was one of the smartest residents in the surgery program with a great bedside manner. By third year most of the residents had adopted cocky and started trying out different styles of arrogant. Not Guy, he was grounded and his patients adored him, especially the women whose panties seemed to melt when he flashed his dimple.