Dr. Neurotic(12)

As I read through the patient's stats quickly, Fred Marratta, male,  fifty-two, no history of smoking or cardiac distress, and no medical red  flags on either side of his family history, the parameters of this  surgery were shaping up to be manageable. I'd still have to take a good  look at the scans when I got into the OR, but I didn't foresee any  glaring problems. This was a surgery I'd been through literally hundreds  of times. It was never easy, but I'd learned which way the dominoes  normally fell and how to counteract them when necessary.

Gerry, a black-sneaker-wearing male OR nurse from way back, had  everything set up as I stepped inside after scrubbing up, and Mr.  Marratta got transferred from the bed to the operating table.

I studied the scans closely, following the bleed to the source and  satisfying myself with the initial plan I'd created. Surgery almost  always required an audible, but where you started was nine-tenths of the  success in deciding on one.

Gloves on and at the ready, I stepped forward as a nurse placed my head  lamp on over my surgery cap and stepped up to Mr. Marratta's shaved and  prepped head.

"All right, everyone. Let's save one life, not change many."

The reach of a person's death was too extensive to fathom, and I knew  firsthand. The death of my grandfather had shaped my early adulthood.

I'd longed for financial security. Longed for how it felt before I'd  been forced to carry debt. So that's what I'd given my daughter. Money.

Like a stupid fucking asshole.




After a smooth but long surgery and forty-five minutes of making sure  all of the scheduled surgeries were proceeding without a hitch, I made  it back to my office and, in the privacy it provided, checked my phone.  Early in my career, I'd scarcely bothered with it other than to answer a  page, but now that I was here, and Lexi was here, I found I checked it  every opportunity I got.

She liked to text me all sorts of things at random, and I never wanted  to miss the opportunity to acknowledge one. I was determined to be  present.

I smiled as I found a text from her waiting on the screen and clicked to open the content.

A picture of her doing her best gangster pose in front of a dance studio  I recognized from the walk between my apartment and here filled my  screen. I scrolled down after smiling broadly and read the text she'd  sent to accompany it.         

     



 



Lexi: I finally convinced Uncle Remy to take a hip-hop class with me. He declined the opportunity to be photographed.



Oh, shit. I could only fucking imagine Winnie's brother Remy's reaction to his new foray into the world of dance.



Me: I will pay you twenty dollars if you procure a picture during class, no questions asked.



Lexi: Really, Dad? Mom is paying me fifty.



I shook my head at her swindling tactics.



Me: Well, then, all together you'll make 70.



Lexi: Fine. But I'm docking the time of receipt of said photo for you by ten minutes.



I groaned. Jesus Christ, only my daughter.



Me: I'll survive.



Lexi: Of course, you'll survive. Anticipation has no proven ill effects.



Me: Aren't you going to be late for dance?



Lexi: I have fourteen minutes.



I shook my head. Late wasn't in Lexi's vocabulary. It just wasn't possible when your mind was that precise.



Me: Get warmed up, then. I have to work.



Lexi: Bye.



I laughed outright before putting the phone down on my desk, looking at it … and then picking it up again.

I opened a fresh message, clicked on the address box, and searched my contacts. C. H. A. R.

Charlotte.

One click and her name was there, just waiting for me to type up  something witty or charming or in any way interesting and push send.



Me: Hi.



Fucking hell. Well, that went well.





It'd been just a little over a week since I'd met Nick Raines and a few days since I'd seen him in the flesh.

Not bare flesh, sadly.

But, as I was finding out, you could learn an awful lot about someone through text messages.

We'd been messaging each other nonstop over the past several days, slow  and steady, getting to know each other, sharing tidbits of our days, and  little, careful insights into our pasts. It was a nice change of pace  from the usual quick and reckless leap that most people made into the  world of dating.

But, fuck, okay. That's kind of bullshit.

Because I was starting to grow tired of the slow.

I wanted more than just his words through the inbox of my phone. I  wanted to spend actual, face-to-face time with him. I wanted to see that  sexy smile of his in person. I needed to ease this incessant craving  for more.

More bare flesh, my vagina whispered. She wasn't wrong.

Thursday nights were notorious NYC dance club nights, and my closest  girlfriends in the city, Harper and Ivy, had already started their  normal chattering about it since early this morning. They wanted me to  meet them at one of our favorite little dive bars, the Iron Horse, for  some drinks, and most importantly, dancing.



Harper: Just come out, ya loser. It's been forever since we went dancing.



Ivy: YES! Harper's right, Char. You've been back in the city permanently  for almost a month now, and we still haven't had a Thursday dance  night.



I'd really only been back for two weeks, the assholes, but I understood  that excitement sometimes influenced hyperbole. Plus, Ivy wasn't  especially good with things like time and distance. She'd once told me  something was just up the block when it was ten. Ten fucking blocks  instead of one.

Even though they'd been annoying the shit out of me all day, I couldn't  deny that a night out sounded like a much-needed reprieve from a long  week of workweek monotony.

As I sat behind the large desk in my office, I glanced around the room  and got an idea. I tapped out of the group text with the girls and  pulled up my last conversation with Nick.



Me: How's the world of brains?



Nick: Stimulating. How's the hunting of heads?



I grinned at his response and typed another message.



Me: Surprisingly boring. You'd think it'd be messier, but there's nary a stain on me. Is today an office day?



Nick: Keeping my mouth shut about stains on you. And yep. No surgeries scheduled until Monday.



I shivered at his innuendo. Holy fuck, look who brought his A game.

Perfect. I knew Nick's schedule well enough by this point to understand  that an office day meant he wouldn't call it a night until at least  seven. Which meant I could stop by his office on my way to the Iron  Horse and kidnap him for drinks and dancing.

No doubt, he'd be surprised, and probably more than a little hesitant,  but if I'd learned anything from trivia night, he'd eventually come  along.

The man worked his ass off, and when he wasn't working, he was usually  spending time with his daughter. It was all very noble, but at some  point, a person needed to let loose.

Get ready to live a little, Nick.



Me: Mind if I stop by your office on my way home?



Nick: As long as your reason for stopping by doesn't include you trying to convince me to move to Alaska for a job opportunity.         

     



 



Me: LOL. No, smartass. I'm stopping by because I want to see you.



Nick: Then, in that case, please do stop by. And how about we grab dinner together?



Me: Perfect.



Obviously, he didn't know that dinner actually meant alcohol and dancing, but those were just minor details, right?

Once the plan was in place, I opened up the group text again and sent Harper and Ivy a quick text.



Me: Fine. You've convinced me. Iron Horse tonight? Meet there around 8?



Harper: HELL YES!



Ivy: I'm so in!



Me: Just FYI: I might be bringing someone.



Harper: Someone? Details, please.



Me: Honestly, it's all pretty new and fresh. No major details yet.



Ivy: What is his name?



Me: Nick.



Harper: Job?



Me: He's a doctor.



Ivy: And exactly how long has this been going on, missy? I'm a bit peeved you didn't mention anything until today.



Me: Calm your tits. I met him through work a little over a week ago.



Harper: Have you done the sex?



Me: No.



Ivy: Have you at least seen his penis?



Me: No.



Harper: Do you want to see his penis?



My friends were perverts.

I mean, obviously, the answer was a big fat hell yes, but I sure as fuck  wasn't going to get into that with these two. I had work to finish up  before the day was through, and I didn't have time to play "guess what  Nick's penis looks like" for the next hour.



Me: Yeah, I'm done with this insane Q&A. You'll meet him tonight.



Maybe. Probably. No, fuck that. I wouldn't take no for an answer.



Ivy: Boo! You're no fun.



Me: All right, I have to head into a meeting. I'll see you crazy biotches tonight.



There was no meeting. Only me trying to keep my sanity and not regret  the plan of bringing Nick along for a night out with my girlfriends.



Harper: You're such a liar. But I'll let this one slide since I get to see you tonight. :)



Ivy: Woo-hoo! Charlotte is back in NYC, and the equilibrium of the world has finally been restored! See you tonight!



Smiling at the last message, I locked my phone screen and set it down on my desk.

Now, I just had to make a few calls, respond to, like, fifty emails,  schedule six prospect meetings for next week, and top priority out of  everything, figure out what in the hell I was going to wear tonight.