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You prided yourself on never lying, so when Ellis asked if you were in love with Dr. Jack Abbot, you responded with,
“Of course. Who wouldn’t love a man with a crike kit in his pocket at all times?”
It wasn’t your business if Ellis read that as sarcastic.
And that’s how you managed to survive the first year of your junior attending position at PTMC—never lying, but never correcting the misconception that Jack Abbot had not thoroughly charmed you. The Pitt at night had its own rhythm: it was filled with bizarre injuries, sundowning patients, sharp but well-intentioned banter, and the constant rattle of gurneys being pushed to and fro. The air was always vaguely stale and the coffee machine never quite worked the way you wanted it to.
Jack hadn’t intended to charm you, that was clear. He had about as much game as an empty and abandoned Chuck-E-Cheese. Still, he was earnest, dry-humored, and ferocious when it came to patients. There was never a battle he was unwilling to wage or a line he couldn’t creatively fudge. It had been Jack, after all, who had shown you how to finagle ultrasounds in order to ensure the measurements were within the cutoff, standing just close enough at the machine that his shoulder brushed yours while he murmured, “Angle it like this,” as if it were a secret—in a way, it kind of was.
But a year in, the man was clearly hung up over his ex-wife, and no matter how much you’d worked on your self-esteem and confidence, you couldn’t compete with a ghost. Still, you found yourself enjoying the night shift because you were around Jack. He wasn’t laugh-out-loud fun like some of your friends, but he always had a sharp comment or knowing look that seemed to buoy you through lulls or rough moments. He lingered when you talked, leaned against counters instead of walking away, and somehow always ended up beside you during the slow stretches, even when there was no obvious reason for it.
“Tell me something,” he said, sliding his phone over to you across the cluttered workstation. The plastic surface was covered in old tape residue and a half-wiped coffee ring. “You’re young.”
You didn’t look at him, fingers still moving as you scrolled through a chart. “Tell that to the bartender who didn’t card me. I am not forty-five and I sure as hell don’t look it.”
“Hospital lighting is unflattering for everyone. I’m afraid I can’t comment,” he said balefully, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.
“Fuck off, Abbot. What can I and my Gen Alpha niece translate for you today?”
“The fuck is 6-7? My nephew texted it to me and I cannot for the life of me figure it out.”
“Not a clue. My niece is a little too old for that.”
“Damn. You’re the only person I’m willing to ask.”
“You could just Google it,” you suggested. He gave you a flat look over the tops of his glasses, unmoving.
“Remember what happened last time I Googled something you suggested?”
You snorted. “It is not my fault you kept asking me about omegaverse.”
“The patient kept saying I had ‘alpha’ energy. Ellis said it was something about omegaverse, not that I was going to ask her to clarify. Also, if anything, I’m an omega. I’m like catnip to strong and tough people.”
“This is an insane conversation. And I’m pretty certain we determined the patient meant it in an incel way, not a horny wolf-adjacent way,” you replied, trying to keep your eyes on your chart. The insurance company was not going to like this test. You mentally cycled through the billing department’s preferred phrasing, trying to find language that might convince the evil overlords of healthcare not to immediately deny everything.
“I think you’ll recall you brought it up.”
“It is not my fault you caught me after watching a two-hour YouTube video about how an omegaverse porn copyright case made it in front of a federal judge.”
“Your viewing habits are baffling.”
“Didn’t have a lot of TV time growing up. Gotta watch my weird shit now.”
“I thought everyone in your generation was raised on iPads,” he shot back.
“How old do you think I am?” You finally looked up.
He gave you a shit-eating grin, one corner of his mouth pulling higher than the other.
“I dunno. Twelve?”
“Damn. Must be the next Doogie Howser then,” you replied, angrily backspacing your notes.
“Never mind. With that reference, you gotta be seventy-five,” he laughed, the sound surprising you with how nice it floated through your ears. There was always a little bit of pride when you got the normally serious man to laugh.
“You got that reference too, babe,” you laughed back.
It was a habit—calling people babe. It started with your sister, then your friends, and now your coworkers. Most of them found it amusing. Cassie loved it. Jesse got a cute little blush whenever it slipped out. Jack hadn’t been subjected to your HR-violation habit until now.
You hadn’t even realized you’d done it until the silence lasted far longer than you expected. The monitors beeped steadily behind you. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed too loudly.
“You good, Abbot?” you asked.
He was looking at you inscrutably, brows drawn together, mouth pressed into a thin line like he was thinking something through very carefully.
“You called me babe,” he said. There was something like surprise under the stoicism, quickly masked.
“Sorry. It’s a habit I adopted from my sister. It’s spiraled, clearly,” you replied, keeping your tone light even as your stomach tightened.
“Ah,” he said slowly. “So this isn’t indicative of some yearning crush on me?”
There was a mischievous tilt to his mouth now.
“You caught me,” you laughed. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I’m ready to propose any day now.”
That earned you a hearty chuckle, and it would be a lie to say you weren’t thrilled to be the one who got it. He laughed with his whole chest, head tipping back slightly, and when he looked at you again, his eyes lingered just a beat longer than necessary. You didn’t know if you’d say you were in love with Jack Abbot, but sometimes crush felt like too small a word for whatever this was.
“Incoming blunt force trauma,” Lena sighed from behind you. “Someone at the Steelers game took a fall from a great height, apparently. Frankly, I’m surprised they waited until nine p.m. to make bad decisions.”
You snorted and gestured at Jack. “Idiot sports fan is all you, babe.”
“How kind,” he snarked, already pivoting on his heel. He started barking orders to the night-shift residents and nurses, his voice snapping into that commanding cadence that made people move faster.
“Hey, another incoming,” Lena added, pointing at you. “Apparently our fall had a friend. Sounds like they were trying to scale something in the stadium.”
“Alas,” you sighed, pushing away from the workstation, “I suppose I’ll subject myself to fans of a bad football team.”
“You support the Dallas Cowboys,” she said skeptically.
“And like any good Cowboys fan, I’ll talk shit and complain but never root for anyone else. We suck, but it’s poor management—at least I think that’s the excuse we’re working with now,” you laughed. “Can you try and come up with language that would convince an insurance company to pay for South 10’s arthrocentesis?”
“Sure,” Lena didn’t sound confident.
You walked toward the ambulance bay as the truck pulled in, the cold night air briefly cutting through the stale warmth of the ER. As soon as you saw the patient, your stomach dropped.
“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you hissed. “Ellis, take point. I have to switch out with Abbot.”
“You good?” she asked.
“I know him,” you grumbled.
You pushed into Trauma One and found Jack directing Mel’s line placement and triage. First glance: internal bleeding, broken femur. Relief washed through you when you didn’t recognize the man. He was barrel chested, a bushy beard and slightly-too long hair. He was in ratty jeans, cowboy boots, and a navy blue sweatshirt that had been cut off.
“Abbot,” you sighed. There must have been something in your voice because his eyes snapped to you immediately. “We need to switch patients.”
Mel glanced up but didn’t comment. Jack stepped closer, concern flickering across his face.
“I’ll explain later. Can’t treat people you know,” you sighed.
“Are you good?”
“Let’s just say I’m more inclined to let him die than do anything risky to save him,” you muttered.
He studied you for a beat, then nodded without hesitation.
With ease, you slid into his spot. For the next thirty minutes, as Mel evaluated the patient, you forgot entirely about the too-familiar man in Trauma Two. It took four nurses, yourself, and the traction kit to set his femur fracture. Thankfully, it was closed—easier recovery, no surgery.
Throughout the triage, the full story of the injury came out. Apparently the two geniuses in your ED were in town for the Cowboys/Steelers game. In all their wisdom, the gentlemen with multiple broken ribs, internal bleeding, and at least one femur fracture thought scaling the stadium to be the best evidence of their Cowboys pride.
“It’s just been so long since we hit the playoffs,” the man complained.
You briefly met eye contact with Princess and Donnie across the body and said,
“Cowboys went to the playoffs in 2024, man.”
“You’re shitting me.”
If anything, you wanted to double check Mel’s concussion markers—surely he wasn’t surprised by that.
“This is not a commentary on your work Mel,” you said, swiping your pen light over his eyes again.
“Our patient here just said something real dumb, and I think doc is hoping there’s a medical explanation for it,” Donnie snickered.
“What was it?”
“Cowboys went to the playoffs, like, two seasons ago,” Princess said.
“Which is crazy, because we suck most of the time,” you added.
“Holy shit, you a cowboys fan too?”
“Not the time, sir,” you said, feeling for a contusion on his skull.
“EMTs said that he was in a football helmet when he fell,” Donnie said.
“Well we weren’t going to climb the concrete pillar thing without protecting our heads. My girl thinks I’m handsome—can’t change that,” he replied gleefully.
You weren’t surprised this man was friends with Bradley. They both seemed to have an overly simplistic and optimistic view of the world. The fact that you moved halfway across the country and still managed to find people from, presumably, your hometown was absolutely astounding.
A terrible realization about what a small world it was.
“You got this Mel?” You asked.
“Oh yeah, thanks,” she said cheerfully.
To Donnie and Princess you gestured to watch the patient by point at your eyes then the patient. If he was friends with Bradley, he wouldn’t hesitate to cop a feel and that was the last thing you wanted.
When you finally stepped out, Jack was leaving Trauma Two.
“The patient is okay,” he said. “Most of his ribs are broken and he probably bruised his pancreas, but he’s okay.”
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you pulled Jack into an alcove of the Pitt. A little storage nook that held the sandwich cart when not in use.
“I’m going to tell you something and if I find out that you said this to another soul, I will put capsaicin in your googles,” you said quietly.
“That’s evil,” he said proudly.
“The patient in trauma 2. He’s my ex-boyfriend,” you grumbled.
“No fucking way,” Jack said way too loudly. You poked him in his unfairly hard chest.
“Capsaicin, glasses,” you repeated.
“You can’t tell me you dated Dumber from Dumb and Dumber and not expect me to be shocked.”
“Look, my early twenties were a rough time. I lived in a trailer with my mom and worked at the local dive bar. I didn’t exactly think my life was going to leave bumfuck nowhere.”
“You dated him after you went to college?” Jack asked, shocked.
“No, I dated him in my early twenties. I didn’t go to college until I was twenty-five,” you said.
“I didn’t know that,” Jack replied.
“Look, I grew up poor as shit and somehow, by the skin of my teeth, made it out. Bought my mom a house, put my sister through school, too. And that motherfucker, I let him—very, very briefly—break my heart. But trust me when I say, I dodged a bullet.”
“You dodged a mullet,” Jack whispered, laughing with glee. “That man has an honest to god mullet, with a rat tail. I cannot believe that man ever convinced you he was good enough for you.”
“Surprisingly wholesome response,” you huffed. “Look, I’m going to steer clear of his room. The last thing I want is for him to recognize me and then his wife to find out.”
“He’s married?” Jack asked.
“Somehow,” you replied. “Last I heard they were in the same trailer park, except this time with three kids they can’t afford.”
“And you had sex with that man?” Jack asked suddenly.
“I’m not answering that,” you said, walking out of the alcove.
“Wait, sorry,” Jack laughed following you. “I’m just struggling to recognize the serious, put together attending in front of me with someone who would date that.”
“Weren’t you young and dumb, Abbot?”
“Not that dumb,” he grinned. “Married my wife.”
“You did join the army, though. And that doesn’t make up for how cute your high school sweetheart story is,” you replied, knocking him with your elbow. “Not all of us grew up somewhere with options—romantic or otherwise.”
“Do you have pictures?”
“Pictures of what?” Ellis asked. Looking at you, she added, “I cannot believe you abandoned me to that man. I think my IQ dropped. I think I forgot my second year of residency.”
You snorted. “Bradley is a fucking idiot.”
“Bradley?” She asked, with raised eyebrows. “Didn’t know you were on a first name basis with him.”
“We grew up in the same town. If anyone mentions my name to him while he’s here, I’ll make sure the next bowel impaction is theirs.”
“Shit doesn’t bother me,” laughed Ellis.
“Then I’ll give you the next cold,” you said. “Think about all the mucus and saliva.”
Ellis heaved a full body shudder, “Fine. Fine.”
Assuaged that no one would be blabbing about your connection to Bradley, especially to Bradley, you went back to your charting.
“Lena, any thoughts on the language?”
“Did you try, ‘I’m the doctor not you, I wouldn’t order anything unnecessary’?”
“I think they would charge double for that,” you sighed.
“Hmm, your problem then. Chat with billings.”
You groaned. Tonight was going to suck.
For the bulk of the night, you had been kept busy with a massive flu outbreak and three MVAs. At least one of the MVAs was a drunk driver, although the kicker was both drivers were drunk. A certain poetic justice existed in that situation. The ED felt permanently overfull, monitors chiming in uneven rhythms, the smell of antiseptic clinging to you no matter how many times you washed your hands. Your feet ached, and you knew you would feel it tomorrow, too
You had been so focused on the patients and subsequent charting, you hadn’t thought about Bradley and his dumbass friend for at least an hour. You were halfway through reconciling medication orders when Jack appeared at your side, close enough that you felt the warmth of him before you registered his presence.
“Cat’s out of the bag,” Jack told you, ushering you into the break room.
He didn’t touch you exactly, but his hand hovered at your elbow, steering rather than pushing, and he waited until you were fully inside before closing the door behind you. The break room was dimmer than the ED, a blessed quiet punctuated only by the hum of an ancient refrigerator.
“What?” you asked.
“Bradley mentioned to Donnie he was a Cowboys fan and Donnie let your name slip–you’re the only Cowboys fan he knows,” Jack said in a hushed tone.
He kept his voice low and was closer to you than normal. It almost felt like he was preparing for you to freak out. You weren’t exactly going to freak out, but something close to a light sense of dread came over you.
“No,” you whined, collapsing on one of the seats.
The chair creaked under you. Jack remained standing for a beat, watching you with a pinched expression before finally sitting down beside you, knees angled toward yours.
“You’re not going to have a good night,” Jack said hesitantly.
“God what is he saying?” you whined, hiding your face in your hands.
Jack leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs. When you didn’t immediately look up, he stayed there, patient.
“He told everyone the story of how you met,” Jack said. “It was romantic at first.”
“Until he got to the fact he’d stolen the truck and flowers? Yeah, I’m sure.”
Jack huffed quietly through his nose, the closest he came to laughing most of the time.
“He’s charming, I’ll give him that,” he grumbled quietly. His jaw tightened as he said it, like the admission annoyed him.
“He was a bad decision,” you hissed. “We dated for less than a year.”
“And yet somehow he broke up with you?” Jack inquired, sitting next to you.
The question came out sharper than curiosity alone would explain. He glanced at you sidelong, watching your reaction more than waiting for an answer.
How did you explain to the man who found the love of his life in algebra that at some point, especially in a small town, you didn’t think you’d find anyone better? Your town had less than 50,000 people in it and there was a period of time where Bradley was charming and romantic, if not very bright.
“There was a period of my life where I thought that the only thing in my future was kids I didn’t want and a double wide, if I was lucky,” you said carefully. “Our friends were friends and incredibly enough, he was once very sweet.”
Jack didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even nod. He just listened, eyes fixed on you in a way that made it hard to look towards him.
“And then?”
“And then he found weed and beer and dropped me on my ass for his dealer. I cried for a day before I realized how pathetic I felt. I enrolled in community college the next day and a year later I transferred to the local state university and eventually ended up in medical school.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose slightly, not in surprise so much as in something that looked suspiciously like admiration.
“Eventually? Sounds like a lot of hard work went into it,” he commented.
“It’s not polite to brag,” you said.
You meant it lightly, but his gaze didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened, like he was cataloguing something he just learned about you. Your therapist did that sometimes; it was unnerving.
“Also his wife is asking for you,” Jack said.
“Oh, I’m not going in there,” you scoffed.
“Why not?”
“She’s convinced I want him back—which, gross. Still, I’m kind of afraid she’ll kick my ass,” you said. “Hannah was the scariest girl in my high school class. The fuck are they doing in Pittsburgh anyways? I don’t think he’s left the state his entire life.”
“They always wanted to see the Cowboys play the Steelers,” Jack shrugged. “Is there a rivalry I don’t know about?”
He shrugged, but his hand curled briefly into a fist against his knee. He seemed to dislike Bradley more than you did, which is odd because he was your ex-boyfriend. Jack Abbot was a good colleague, maybe even a friend, but it was a little odd that he cared this much about such an unfortunate chapter in your past.
“No,” you scoffed. “One of the first home games Bradley went to with his dad was against the Steelers. Apparently they destroyed the Cowboys and he’s never forgiven them. I guess this is a life goal or something. Or maybe he’s an idiot, both are good options.”
Jack snorted and stood.
He didn’t immediately step away. Instead, he lingered, then squeezed your shoulder, his grip firm and grounding, before he spoke.
“You’ve done really well for yourself. You should be proud.”
There was no humor in it, just earnestly and the intensity of a man who never spoke in half measures. It made your skin tingle where he touched you. He really was not making this crush thing easier—he didn’t even know what he was doing.
“Hard to feel that way when the worst ex-boyfriend is in 20,” you grumbled. “Why couldn’t yall have met my hot bitchy ex-girlfriend or the boxer I dated?”
Jack froze for half a second before turning back toward you.
“You dated a boxer?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, for a few months earlier this year. I broke up with him because he disagreed with me when I told him his nose was broken,” you said.
You expected a laugh, but it never came. Instead Jack said in an odd voice, “Didn’t know you were dating.”
His posture shifted subtly, shoulders squaring. He seemed shocked and a little unnerved.
You shrugged. “Off and on. Not a fan of the apps, so I have to meet people the old fashion way and since I work sixty hour weeks—it’s rare.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Just didn’t realize you were dating,” he echoed. He stared at the floor, jaw working, like he was biting back a follow-up question.
“I know, you said that.”
“I have to go check on a patient.”
He moved quickly then—too quickly—already halfway to the door by the time he finished speaking.
An untrained observer might think Jack’s behavior was perfectly normal, but you couldn’t help but watch his sudden retreat puzzled. Normally, your stoic colleague was measured and unswayed by the currents of the ED. No sudden beep or alert made him move any speed other than measured and direct.
Before you could get up yourself, Ellis walked in and her eyes lit up when she spotted you.
“You dated that freak?”
“Fuck off,” you groaned, banging your head on the table.
“Can’t believe that’s the competition," Ellis laughed.
“Are you trying to tell me something, Ellis?” You asked.
She snorted. “No, my girlfriend doesn’t share. I am not in the competition.”
“Okay? So who is?”
“I’ve said too much,” she grinned.
“Oh you did that on purpose,” you grumbled.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Gossip is bad, boss.”
“Fuck off, Ellis.”
You managed to survive the shift without laying eyes on Bradley or his, apparently fuming, wife Hannah. Your escape was surreptitious and via the back entrance loading docks, slipping out with your badge already tucked away and car keys in hand. The loading dock was dim and echoing, concrete stained with old oil spills, the November air sharp enough to sting your lungs after hours inside. You rolled your shoulders, adjusting the strap of your bag, already mentally halfway home.
It was just your luck that Jack was waiting out back for you.
“Jesus Christ,” you nearly shrieked when he appeared from around the corner. “Make a fucking noise, oh my god.”
His hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, posture deceptively casual. He looked like he’d been there for a while, weight shifting from foot to foot, gaze flicking toward the doors every few seconds.
“I’ve been having trouble with something,” he said, ignoring your outburst, like he hadn’t just sent your heart rate tachycardic.
He took a step into your space. Despite your shock and annoyance at said shock, he didn’t step back, which you noticed immediately.
“Being fuck normal?” you asked.
“Never been that.”
“Clearly,” you grumbled. “What do you need Abbot? I’m going home and blocking everyone from my hometown on Facebook. With my luck there’s already been a post about this on the town Facebook page, probably from my mother.”
You started down the dock, boots scuffing against concrete, already pulling your phone out of your pocket.
“Do you still think that’s the kind of man you deserve?” Jack asked.
You stopped walking. He had caught up to you, again.
“What?” You were deeply confused now. “Are you talking about Bradley? That was like, fifteen years ago.”
“I just can’t get over how younger you thought that motherfucker should have been allowed to see you naked,” he said harshly.
The words landed boldly in the open air. It was not exactly the most appropriate comment for a coworker to make, but Jack seemed to be on a roll. His jaw was tight, his hands flexing once at his sides. With furrowed eyebrows, he was only a few centimeters from. You couldn’t help but feel a little shocked by the turn of events. Bradley seemed to have triggered Jack more than he had you. You were going to say something, but he kept talking.
“And now I’m worried you still date people like that.”
“I do not,” you scoffed. “I’m going home, Jack. I’m tired.”
You shrugged your bag up higher on your shoulder and jogged down the dock steps. Right before you rounded the corner toward the parking garage, Jack stuck his arm out to block you. His forearm braced against the concrete wall beside your head, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him. The garage lights cast harsh shadows across his face.
“You said the last guy you dated tried to argue with you about what a broken nose was,” Jack continued like you hadn’t walked a solid fifty feet and two minutes from the last thing he said.
“Yes?” You sighed.
“That’s loser behavior.”
“Thank you for that riveting critique of my dating life. I certainly don’t get enough comments from my mom or sister.”
“I’m serious. Why do you think you deserve losers?”
“Because losers are the only ones who tell they’re interested, I guess. You do realize I pay a therapist for this kind of conversation. Don’t hurt Cassie’s livelihood like this.”
You tried to laugh it off, but Jack didn’t. He didn’t move away either. His focus on you was almost unnerving now. It was a lame joke, an attempt to ease his intense focus on you so you could go home and collapse into your bed. In a back corner of your brain, you hated to hear his evaluations of your dating life.
“There are better options,” he continued.
“Like who? Robby?” You scoffed.
“Absolutely not,” Jack replied harshly.
The word came out fast, almost reflexive. He stepped closer to you, nearly backing you against the wall, close enough now that you could smell him.
“I’m telling him you said that,” you replied weakly.
“This whole time, I thought you were dating CEOs and hedge fund managers—”
“Why would you think so low of me?” You asked, almost offended.
“I thought you were dating impressive people. But you’re dating Joe Shmoe who’s an amateur boxer and thinks he knows more about medicine than you. I didn’t think…”
You sighed again. “Did you just corner me out here to insult my taste in men?”
“No.”
He didn’t continue.The silence stretched. A car passed by the loading dock, headlights briefly washing over both of you.
“Spell it out Jack. I’m exhausted. I want to go home.”
“I didn’t think I had a chance,” he said. “You are so impressive. You worked your ass off, managed top of your class in med school, was a resident at the Cleveland Clinic, fellowship too and then came out here and you’re one of the best teachers we’ve had.”
His voice softened with every word. He was somehow closer still. His eyes bored into you and his hand hovered near your hip, but didn’t quite make contact. You could hear the soft huffs of his breath as he leaned near you.
“That’s kind of you to say,” you said, you didn’t like how shaky your voice sounded. Your heart was pounding hard enough that you could feel it in your throat.
“And I watched how funny and affable you were and thought there was no way this incredible woman wants anything to do with me.”
“What are you saying?” You were terrified of his answer.
“I’m saying that I can’t stop thinking about you, and that I want to take you on a well planned, non-accessory burglary date.”
“Fucking with me like this is cruel,” you whispered.
“Not fucking with you,” Jack said. “Fell ass flat for you the moment you got in my face about my shit charting.”
“It’s important to beat insurance companies at their own game,” you said quietly.
“So you say,” he whispered.
His hand lifted slightly, hovering near your wrist, now.
“You’re so amazing. And I just want you to know that. I want to sweep you off your feet like you deserve.”
Your brain raced as it tried to make sense of everything that was happening, the cold air, the concrete wall at your back, the man in front of you looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him.
“You want to date? Me?”
“Yes.”
“And this isn’t a joke?”
“Do you think I would joke about this?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
You blinked and eventually said, “I thought you were still in love with your wife.”
“I’ll always love Sarah. But she never believed in soulmates or anything like that. Love is not finite.”
“I can’t compete with her,” you said.
“Not a competition,” he replied. “Not even a game. It’s just life…let someone romance you, okay?”
“And you’d be doing the romancing?”
The disbelieving tone was clearly evident.
“I don’t see anyone else out here on the loading dock,” he commented idly.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I can’t believe you still haven’t given me an answer. You’re leaving me out to dry here,” he said. For the first time, his confidence cracked just enough to show nerves.
“I’ve never lied to you about my feelings, Jack,” you said.
“What do you—oh my god, are you kidding me?” He sounded annoyed. “You were clearly being sarcastic.”
“I always sound like that. Not my fault you chose to see that way. Mamma taught me not to lie.”
“So you’re in love with me?”
“Love is a strong word. You’re still annoying,” you said.
“Yeah, well, so are you,” he shot back. “Please tell me I can kiss you.”
“Yeah, you can kiss me,” you giggled. You hadn’t giggled since high school.
Jack didn’t rush it. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. His hand came up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek softly. It felt reverent, almost. When his lips touched yours, they were cold and chapped with the chilly Pittsburgh air. It was tentative, careful and restrained. When you kissed him back, his breath hitched audibly, his other hand settling at your waist, the warmth bleeding through your coat and scrubs.
He pulled away, looking almost as shocked as you felt. As much as you didn’t expect this happening, you doubted he had either. You were too befuddled by the turn of events to do anything more than lean in again, reveling in the feeling and satisfaction of knowing that the man who had captured your attention so intensely, somehow felt the same way.
The second kiss was deeper, less careful, all the held-back want finally slipping through long fought for control. He lingered there, forehead resting against yours when he finally pulled away, breathing a little heavier than before.
“You’re off tonight, right?” He asked.
“Yes?”
“I’m picking you up at 7pm and I’m going to take you on a real date. I’m going to wine and dine you and then I’m going to walk you to your front door and kiss you before going home,” he whispered. “And I’m going to show you exactly how not to fumble someone as phenomenal as you are. Sound good?”
What else could you say, other than, “Yeah, that sounds good.”