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I might have been a son of a bitch in the past, but my intentions were originally pure.
Regardless, I wasn’t going to leave her last night to sleep outside in the cold, so I did the right thing by inviting her in. What happened after that was never on the docket, but for some reason, we both seemed intent on making it so.
I wanted it.
She wanted it.
And it was fucking magic.
Best night of my life, if I’m being honest.
The kind of night a man would sell his soul for just to experience all over again.
Sober, hung-over Stassi might feel differently though.
Leaving her sound asleep and buried under my covers, I head out. It’s only when I get outside and see an empty parking spot that I realize I left my car in the parking garage.
Icy wind slaps my face as I stare at the spot where my wheels should be.
Yanking my gloves off, I grab my phone and order yet another Uber.
Pretty sure I’m keeping them in business around here now.
While I’m waiting, I check my watch every two seconds—I’m already late. Then I think about what’s upstairs in my bed. Every fiber of my body wants nothing more than to strip down and crawl back in, next to her, naked, our legs intertwined as we inhale the soft, heady scent of arousal and skin.
I climb the steps and quietly head inside to check on her, greedily wanting one more fix of this image in case it never happens again—because odds are it won’t.
Stassi hasn’t moved. She looks so comfortable, lying there, dreaming.
I pile her purse and clothes on the edge of the bed, find a piece of mail on the counter, and scribble her a note on the back of the envelope:
Stassi,
No roses are red in this message. But last night was a shock.
Anyway, here’s the number of someone who can fix your lock.
Sorry, couldn’t help myself.
Yours Cruelly,
A
P.S. Had to go to work—see you later?
I look up the number of the nearest locksmith with the best ratings and include it on the bottom of the note, then fold it and place it on top of her clothes.
Outside, a car honks.
Stassi doesn’t stir.
I jog downstairs and climb into my waiting Uber.
“You having a good morning so far?” I attempt to make small talk with the bristly older man in a fedora who drives with his hands at ten and two and his speedometer clocking five miles below the speed limit at all times.
I know I am …
He mumbles something I can’t make out with the heat on full blast.
I lean back, close my eyes, and replay last night like a movie in my head—anything to keep from thinking about the wrath that awaits me once I show up late.
The great thing about the ER during the day is that it’s dead. Overnight, they might get a couple of ODs, a suspected heart attack, an old lady with symptoms of pneumonia. Things like that are typical. But those patients are usually resting comfortably when I arrive, waiting to be transferred to another floor.
Today, though, the ER is so quiet that no one notices I’m twenty minutes late.
Damn. With all this luck I’m having lately, maybe I should buy a lottery ticket?
“Good morning,” Dr. Burns greets me. He’s coming out of triage when I arrive. “Slow shift so far. Hope you brought your Sudoku.”
Dr. Burns is a fixture at Maine Medical Center. He’s in his early sixties, on the verge of retirement, and he’s one of the board members who interviewed me for the position.
I’m relieved he doesn’t mention my tardiness.
As he briefs me, I think back to the way Stassi decorated my bedroom, lying there, tangled in sheets that snaked around her creamy thighs.
I’m going to need something a lot stronger than Sudoku to occupy my mind during these next twelve hours.
If I’m lucky, maybe someone will come in with a hard case. Nothing life-threatening of course, but something with such a strange set of symptoms that it’ll take a lot of mental focus and a handful of consults to narrow it down. Nothing like a good medical mystery to occupy a busy mind.
Except my first patient of the day is a five-year-old little boy named Timmy who shoved a Lego up his nose. After about fifteen minutes of excitement, encouraging the boy to snort it out, I fill out the discharge forms and my mind goes right back to what’s sprawled out in my bed.
Though, as I check my watch, I realize she’s probably not even there anymore. It’s after noon. She probably got my note by now and vacated my apartment. I bet she even had the locksmith do his magic, and now she’s back at her place.
Stealing a glance at my phone. I check the app for any messages.
