CHAPTER 5
The Calm
Robyn
The resident loungesmells of burned, cheap coffee and recycled air. The whir of the vending machine and the flickering lights above are enough to give you a headache.
Julian drops onto the weathered leather couch, and it hisses under him as he shifts to lie down to rest his feet on the arm rest. Neurosurgery is where he’s hoping to land. A field that eats its young and spits out gods. With the lighting, the bags under his eyes are as purple as bruises. I’m sure I don’t look much better. He drops his forearm on top of his forehead, black locks curl around his face. You would think he’s dead if it wasn’t for the smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Tell me you’re not offering to extend your shift,” he says, voice rough from sleep deprivation.
“Please. I’ve hit my quota for self-inflicted misery this week.” After losing yet another hair tie during my eighteen-hour shift, I search my cubby for one, then tug my hair into alow ponytail and shove my phone into my bag. “I’m heading to Nate’s.”
“Ah, the boyfriend.” He stretches, shirt riding up enough to show a strip of skin, and sits with his elbows on his knees. Fixing me with a challenging stare—gray threaded with glacial blue—he asks, “How’s nine-to-five life treating him?”
I snort. “He’s an architect, Kells. Deadlines, budgets. He pulls his own kind of overworked shifts.”
“Sure thing.” He pats his cheeks. “I bet ya he does those in sweatpants from his bed.”
I grin despite myself. Julian has the kind of charm that sneaks in sideways, and the tired, self-deprecating humor that makes never-ending shifts survivable.
“Maybe that’s one of the things I like about him,” I say, closing my locker, grinning. “I get to catch up on sleep, in his bed, while he’s deep in his spreadsheets.”
A deep hum leaves his lips, and I know I’ve walked right into one of his traps.Shoot.
Mischief sparks in the ocean tones of his stare. “Dr. Sunshine, if he prefers being deep in his spreadsheets to being deep in you—well, that sounds like your relationship has a problem.”
I glance upward, exasperated. “You couldn’t pass that up, could you?”
He smirks and shakes his head.
“You wouldn’t recognize a grown-up relationship even if it hit you in the face,” I say. “It’s not a problem. It’s respecting each other’s priorities.”
“Sure, you tell yourself that.”
He pushes up from the couch and walks over, then braces one arm against the cubby above me. Kells towers over me—broad-shouldered, lean, and the faint stubble along his jaw giving his exhaustion a sharper edge. The streaks of azure in his iris grow wider, infused by caffeine and defiance.
“But I know I sleep much better after an orgasm. Whoever I’m with definitely gets two or three, and they sleep like a fucking baby.”
“Baby and orgasm in the same sentence, Kells?” I tease, cocking a hip against the shelf. “Not sexy.”
He smells of soap and iodine, with a hint of cologne from hours ago. Shoulders slumped, he rubs the back of his neck. “Not everyone’s as lucky as you to have someone who gets the grueling hours of your schedule. You get to run back to CT scans and charts in less than five months, I have years of this.AndI have needs, you know?”
I nudge his arm with my elbow, smirking. “Bullshit. You just don’t want a relationship that much.”
He laughs, the sound low and worn thin. “So sue me.” He runs a hand over his face, then nods toward the vending machines. “You sure you don’t want to grab food before you go? I could actually eat something that wasn’t wrapped in plastic.”
I shake my head. “Nate’s cooking. Lasagna and a foot massage.”
Julian snorts. “Romantic. Hopefully, the lasagna comes first.”
“Either way, it’s not hospital food.”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I nod toward the door. “Go home, Kells. Shower. Sleep. We’re due here Friday morning for another long one.”
He huffs out a sighing laugh. “It fucking blows they switched us. We haven’t had a weekend off in weeks.”
