Page 9 of Dr. Baby Daddy

I rake my fingers through my hair as we make our way out of the locker room. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help, but I don’t need it.”

“Think about spending time with someone other than the patients, Oliver. You might think that you don’t need it, but you do.”

The doors to the parking lot slide open and people filter into the emergency room. My entire body twitches, wanting to turn around and go back in to see what I can help with.

Victor clamps his hand on my shoulder and gives me a push outside. “The last thing you need to do right now is work a double. Stop throwing yourself into work. You’re going to get burnt out, and then you’ll be no use to anybody.”

“And yet you think that the solution to exhaustion is to spend time trying to get to know the infuriating woman next door.”

Victor smirks as he walks through the parking lot with me. “Yes. From the sounds of it, she could be good for you.”

“I told you that all she does is play that damn piano and annoy me. How is that good for me? What I need is a full day of sleep without her noise.”

Hopefully, when I get home, she will have decided that New York is too much for her. Maybe she’ll have decided that the people are too rude and gone back to wherever she’s from.

I can only dream.

Victor sighs. “You’re being dramatic because you’re having a bad day. I get it. But I’m serious. You need someone in your life other than patients. Even if all she’s going to be is a friend, at leastshe’s tried to talk to you. That’s more than anyone else in that building has done.”

“With good reason. I don’t want them to talk to me.”

Cars rush by as we reach the intersection. The rest of the walk home will be done in silence while Victor goes the opposite way to catch the subway.

“Think about talking to her.” Victor pulls his subway pass out of his pocket. “She wants to make amends with you. I think she’ll be good for you.”

And I think she’ll be nothing but trouble.

A beautiful woman with the ability to get beneath my skin is a dangerous mix. I’ve been there before, and I nearly didn’t make it out of medical school.

Though I would be lying if I said there isn’t a part of me that’s curious about the woman who lives next door. Not that I would spend my time getting to know her.

Victor raises his hand before heading down the steps to the subway. I turn and walk the other way, eager to get to my bed.

People crowd the street as I stick close to the buildings. All of them are too involved with their own lives to notice anyone else, which I’m thankful for. I’m sure that I look like death. Twelve hours in the emergency room and losing a patient does that to a person.

As I open the front door to the building, a woman walks by with a bright flyer in her hand. More of those flyers litter the stairs, discarded by people who got their mail and didn’t want it — a sure sign that there is going to be mail waiting for me.

I take a quick stop at the mailroom, opening my box to see the same neon orange flyer in there.

The Gilded Raven

This Friday at 7

Izzy Erickson will be playing jazz favorites, pop covers and more.

Come for a good time, stellar drinks, and Broadway’s next big pianist.

The paper crumples as I crush it, heading out of the mailroom and straight for the stairs. I take them two at a time, throwing the door open to my floor when I get to the top. A couple more people leave with flyers in their hands.

I pass them and head straight for Izzy’s door. Before knocking, I take a deep breath. Though I don’t want her trash in my mailbox, I don’t feel like screaming at her either. I don’t have the energy tonight to start an argument.

The knock echoes through the hallway as I listen for a sound on the other side of the door. It’s still early enough in the evening that she should be home, even if she is performing tonight.

When the door doesn’t open, I knock again. Still no answer.

Though I could keep knocking in hopes that she will open the door so I can tell her not to shove flyers in my mailbox, it’s clear she’s not there.

Or avoiding me after the way I’ve treated her.

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