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One day, last week, we found an empty conference room during our lunch break and nearly shredded each other’s white coats while we kissed like our lives depended on it—right up until my beeper started vibrating on my hip. We even fooled around a little in a call room the other day, but the second his hand slipped down into my scrubs, an intern knocked on the door, apologizing in a shaky voice and telling Connor he was needed urgently.
You know who needs Connor urgently? ME.
Two weeks is not that long, and at the same time, it might as well be two hundred years of waiting.
This morning I woke up with a plan, a scheme so hot and so sexy I’m sure to sear Connor’s underwear right off him. I’m expecting a package in the mail, and it will be filled with what can only be described as Amazon’s sexiest bedroom toys. This isn’t your mom’s G-rated Amazon order filled with knitting supplies and foot cream. No, no. I bought fancy edible lube that tastes like strawberries. (I’m still unsure how I feel about this. Sounds kind of gross? But okay.) I included a small pink vibrator that has over a thousand glowing five-star reviews and I remembered the necessary pack of AAA batteries. I also wanted to include some furry handcuffs, but the only pair I could find came in a set filled with other sexual accoutrement: a cheap plastic crop, a blindfold, and a chain of pearls I was confused about until I read the product description, discovered their intended use, and immediately exed out of my internet browser. Those beads will be going nowhere near my butt. Ever.
Beads aside, I’m excited.
The package is necessary.
The package is part of my plan to seduce Connor after two weeks of us seeking stolen kisses and enduring the tumultuous hardships of horrible schedules. No more dancing around one another like we aren’t sure how our sexual organs work.
The package should be waiting on the doorstep of the townhouse when I get home.
I’m giddy with excitement as I walk into the BICU, prepared to start rounds. Sure, I woke up feeling a little off today. Queasy, I think, but I ate some oatmeal and am hoping that settles my stomach. I know it’s just nerves. After all, tonight is going to be quite an event. I need to keep my energy up.
It’s Thursday, which means we’re doing grand rounds. The entire care team is amassing at the nurses’ station in the BICU: physical therapists, occupational therapists, respiratory therapists, nutritionists, nurses, medical students, interns, residents, fellows, and attendings. Altogether, there are nearly twenty of us. Connor is on the other side of the group, talking to one of the residents.
I step up to the outskirts of the circle and press a hand to my stomach as another wave of nausea passes over me. This is not part of the plan. I cannot be sick today. Today is meant for sexy seduction. I even wrote it on my calendar. I set my tea on the edge of the nurses’ desk and prop my hand beside it, closing my eyes and willing my body to get it together.
Connor’s voice quiets the group as he begins the day’s proceedings. We currently have eight patients admitted in our unit. We need to round on each of them as a group to confirm everyone is on the same page concerning treatment plans and expected outcomes as well as scheduled surgeries and clearances.
I inhale a steadying breath and nausea moves through my stomach like a rolling wave of lava. Urgently, I round the nurses’ desk just in time to reach for a trash can right at Lois’ feet.
I wretch inside of it while the entire BICU medical staff listens on.
I don’t have a choice. I can’t stop it from happening. I empty my stomach into the trash can. Someone’s hand holds my ponytail up so it doesn’t fall into the line of fire, and that person deserves an award.
I don’t register Connor’s voice until the bout of nausea has passed.
I sit back on my ankles, taking a deep breath, and then gratefully accept the handful of napkins Lois passes down to me.
“Are you okay?” Connor asks in a quiet voice as he stays bent down beside me.
I nod. Now that the immediate emergency has passed, I’m left feeling a hot flush of embarrassment as twenty pairs of eyes stare at the scene I’ve created. I clear my throat, wipe my face, and stand with Connor’s help, though I don’t actually need him to assist me. I feel much better now. Normal, in fact.
I just need some mouthwash and I’ll be good to go. That’s what I tell Connor, and his eyes narrow.
“I’m fine,” I assure him again.
“Do you want to go lie down?”
