Page 91 of Love Sick

A tiny smile brightens his face. “Honestly? I wouldn’t mind seeing her again. It’s easy work.”

I laugh. This boy is the best.

“Then listen to this one. One patient today insisted she had a mutation called Demaglobin that would make her baby come out a different race.”

“No!”

His smile grows. “Conveniently discussed in front of her boyfriend, who’s the same race as her.”

I flick his knee. “Sounds like you had an eventful day.”

“Mmm. I did deliver a very sweet patient today. Room nineteen. You’ll love her. But I pulled a Grace and wound up with bloody scrubs after.”

“Ha, ha.” I smile as he stands. “Have a good night.”

He nudges my chin with his knuckle, a quick affectionate gesture that sets my blood on fire. “Night, Grace. Call if you need help.”

He does that every night. The same sweet little brush of skin that makes his face linger in my mind all night long. He smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing before stepping out. The heat takes several minutes to fade after he leaves, and I blink at the bare wall before me.

So.

Okay.

I admit it.

It isn’t a fantasy. It isn’t a passing fancy.

I amsohot for Julian Santini.

And I think he knows it.

* * *

Three weeks later, nights have obliterated my spirit. My circadian rhythm is so confused that even when I have the opportunity to sleep, I lack the ability. Every night is filled with midnight Oreos and 2:00 a.m. quesadillas. In quiet moments, I curl up in the call-room bed and bingeThe Handmaid’s Tale—not an ideal show for work on L&D.

My morning and evening sign-outs with Julian are the bright spots in my day, and I wish they were longer. Having opposite schedules has only proven that I crave his presence like a drug.

I miss him.

Does he miss me?

Our sign-out on interview day takes place in the residency clinic. I hand him the list, and we review the patients before he’s swept off to Dr. DeBakey’s interview room.

I’m placed in Dr. Chen’s room with Lexie, a third-year. A glance at our schedule shows we have twelve interviews today. After suffering Dr. Echols’s temper all night, my quad venti Starbucks is doing nothing to hide the puffy dark circles under my eyes or quell my yawns.

Lexie gives my shoulder a gentle shake. “You gonna make it?”

“I’m in the astral plane right now. My soul is sleeping.”

She chuckles. “It’ll all be over soon.”

I glance at my phone. Sixteen hours to go…

Dr. Chen sits at his desk, and Lexie and I pull up chairs beside him. Between interviewees, we scarf the candy he hides in his desk drawer while he looks on fondly.

The first three candidates smear together in my mind. They’re all women. All wearing black power suits. All answer “flying” when asked what superpower they’d want.

Who the hell would want to fly? Think before you speak, people. It’s cold. There are bugs. People could see up your dress. No thanks.

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