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Miles: I don't want to assume you're on birth control. But I figured you'd like the option of skipping condoms.
Meg: I'm on the pill. It seemed like a good idea when I went to college.
Miles: I'll bring condoms. It's up to you.
Meg: Okay. I'll think about it.
Miles: I want to take you somewhere Friday. What time do you get off work?
Meg: Ten.
Miles: Send the address and I'm there.
* * *
After work Friday, I change in one of the handicapped bathrooms. This is the sexiest outfit I own—low cut chiffon blouse, tight black skirt, black wedges—but I don't feel like it fits. Eyeliner and red lipstick do little to help matters.
It's strange. I felt sexy when I was with him. I felt totally irresistible. But the outfit makes me feel awkward and stiff.
Oh, well. I'm not planning to spend much time in my clothes. Damn, I'd like to skip straight to me and Miles in bed together. It made sense. It felt good. I want to feel that good again.
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I make my way through the ER.
A nurse winks at me. "About time you went out. You're too young to work so hard."
I nod a polite goodnight. The older nurses are always teasing me about wasting my youth. They don't understand that bars and parties aren't fun for me. They make me think about Rosie losing herself. I don't want to explain it to anyone.
But I do want to explain to Miles. I want him to understand. My heartbeat picks up. It's scary, how much I want him to understand.
The ER is quiet for a Friday night. The waiting room is sparse. The counter is empty except for a man with a bandage over his nose. He got into a fight.
He looks familiar.
He's shorter than I am. His hair is light. He's wearing one of those button-up shirts. The same that Rosie's boyfriend always wore.
No.
No, no, no.
That is Rosie's boyfriend. Jared.
What the hell is he doing here? He lives on the other side of town, closer to a dozen different hospitals.
He should be in jail by now. Or dead from an overdose. Not standing in the ER with a broken nose.
My breath picks up. My heart pounds against my chest. I turn so my back is to him. I can't risk him recognizing me. If he offers his condolences, I'll break another one of his bones.
He's hurt. Thank God. I shouldn't smirk—future doctors should never smirk over people's injuries—but it feels good to see him bruised. He deserves every bit of pain in the world. If it weren't for him, Rosie would still be alive.
"I've never seen that look before." It's Miles. He's three feet away, spread out on one of the ugly gray chairs.
"It's nothing."
"It's something." He stands and moves close enough to whisper. "You may as well tell me. You know I'll drag it out of you."
"Maybe I'm smirking because we're going to have sex."
