Page 59 of We Were Something
Plus, too many back-to-back days filled with emergency after trauma after surgery…it’ll take even the best doctor’s mental acuity down a few notches if there are too many days like that in a row.
So an average, no-fuss day like today is exactly what I need, and I glide calmly in and out of my kids’ rooms, making sure they and their families get my full time and attention.
Besides, the calm of today means I get a few moments here and there to myself. Whether it’s because I’m walking through the halls without anyone bothering me, or because I’m able to take an unusual lunch break, it allows my mind the rare gift ofnotthinking about just work.
Instead, I get to think about this…different me.
I don’t entirely recognize the man I see in the mirror, the faint smile and brightness in my eyes something I haven’t exuded in a long time on any kind of regular basis. But that’s who I see as I change into my scrubs each morning, or when I catch my reflection in the windows that separate my patients’ rooms from the hallway.
Someone happy.
And happiness, in any kind of consistent form, has seemed to elude me for quite some time.
I’ve tried to pinpoint the change, the circumstances that have created some sort of impact on my natural disposition. But as much as I try to attribute my internal modification to something—my divorce, my move, my new job—the only real answer I can seem to come up with isn’t something, it’s someone.
Paige.
It’s been four days since our ‘date to nowhere’ and we’ve somehow created a routine of talking on the phone every evening and exchange texts throughout the day. It’s been so long since I’ve had any kind of confidant that I nearly forgot what it was like to share so much of who I am with someone else.
I’ve told her about the rough time I had at Roth Prep, about my passion for sailing, about the struggles of medical school. She’s been divulging her own experiences at our alma mater, some of the convoluted history between her friends, and some fascinating stories about her childhood with what seem to be very interesting, but uninvolved, parents.
Of course, it’s not all seriousness. There’s also the teasing. I mean, she wouldn’t be Paige if she didn’t pop those innuendo-laced jokes into our conversation. To be honest, I’m growing to love it, because it always catches me entirely by surprise, resulting in this deep laughter that feels soul-cleansing and one hundred percent necessary. But she’s also not pushing ittoofar, respecting the fact I’m still negotiating with myself on what feels natural and what feels too fast.
So yeah, Paige seems to be the reason for why I’m rolling out of bed with a smile on my face this week. Maybe part of last week as well. And thankfully, I don’t foresee this thing between us going away any time soon.
Eventually, I’m drawn out of my rounds when Carrie calls my cell to let me know the people fromSouth Bay Lifestylehave arrived and are getting set up in the sixth-floor conference room. I take that as a cue to head back to my office and grab my Paige-approved bag of clothing.
I startle as I walk through the door and find the woman herself sitting behind my desk, wearing a pair of hot pink glasses and a devilish expression.
“Hey there,Dr. Becker,” she says, swiveling in my desk chair so she’s looking straight at me. “Time to get ready for your interview?”
I lick my lips and close the door behind me, feeling a somewhat frozen in place by the sight of her in my office looking sexy as hell.
It’s amazing how my interactions with almost every other person I come into contact with—other doctors, nurses, patients, random people at the gym or the gas station or grocery store—are so seamless. So simple. Comfortable and easy.
And yet the minute Paige is standing in front of me, it feels like my tongue swells up and my brain malfunctions. Like I need a few extra minutes to collect myself before I can say anything.
When Idon’tsay anything, Paige pushes out of my chair and rounds the desk, coming toward me with the kind of confidence that makes me want to fall on my knees for her. The kind of confidence I wish I could exude when she’s in front of me.
Once she’s standing just inches away, I give in to the desire thrumming through me and reach out for her, tugging her against me and placing a deep, wet kiss on her lips.
She moans and loops her arms around my neck, her tongue tangling with mine in a way that feels both supremely indecent and delicious in the best way. When I pull back, I see that familiar hazy look in her eyes. The one she had on her face after we made out in the dressing room.Beforewe got dirty in my kitchen.
I love seeing that look in her eyes. Being able to visibly see the way I make her feel is such an aphrodisiac, but unfortunately, now is not the time for it.
Thelastthing I need is to go into this interview distracted and with a hard-on.
“Well, that’s the kind of hello I like to receive,” she says, grinning at me. Then she reaches up and uses her thumb to wipe at the edges of my mouth. “Sorry. Got a little lipstick on you.”
I let her finish, taking the quiet moment to study her. Her smooth skin, her warm brown eyes. The perfectly sculpted eyebrows that are just a bit darker than her artfully messy hair. Her plump bottom lip, slightly swollen from our kiss. Her funky glasses that have no actual glass in them.
I chuckle, tapping the rim.
“Having trouble seeing?”
She gives me a smirk. “Sometimes a girl just likes to look sexy.”
“And hot pink glasses are sexy?” I ask, not denying it but just curious about her thought process.
