Head Above Water Pt. 01

"What's your schedule like?"

"Another thing I don't like to talk about."

"Why not?"

"It's pretty bad."

That actually made me laugh.

"It's your turn lighten up. I don't care that you're a surgeon. I just want to know about your crazy life."

It was the truth. In some weird way I was starting to feel like our lives were similar. People always wrote me off too. I was pretty sick of everyone at work kissing my ass just because I was their boss.

"I've never had anyone tell me that they don't care that I'm a surgeon," he said. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"That's pretty pathetic."

"I know," he said. "I'll tell you about my schedule if you promise to see me again."

"Are you trying to lock me down in case it scares me off?"

"Yes."

So he wasn't just pulling my leg. This guy actually liked me. What the hell?

"Must be pretty bad then," I said.

He sighed.

"You have no idea."

"Tell me about your hectic schedule. I'll see you again."

He looked so happy, like a third date was even better than an avocado. I tried not to let it affect me. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he wanted to keep seeing me. Not that I was bad, but jeez, what the hell would he want from me anyways?

"The on-call rota has me scheduled thirty hour on-call shifts every three to four days. I work regular workdays in between, but they're not much better because most days I usually work up to sixteen hours. I get twenty four hours off after on-call duties, but I wouldn't really call it a day off. I spend most of it sleeping or running errands."

"Thirty hour shifts?" I asked, feeling my heart still.

"Thirty hours straight."

"Is that even legal?"

"It is in residency programs. It's tradition, actually."

"Do you get time to sleep at least?"

"Not really."

"That's fucking crazy."

"I don't really mind."

"How can you not mind?"

"It's a necessary evil. I round on my patients morning, afternoon, and evening. I know everything about them. This is how I learn to assess and treat their needs quickly. Helps me learn to think on my feet. That doesn't mean that it doesn't kill me sometimes and make me wonder why the fuck I chose this profession."

"So you're okay with it because it's helping you become a better doctor?"

"Yeah."

"You sound really dedicated."

"I have to be," he said. "All of my patients are children."

My heart was swelling. It wasn't often that people earned my respect. This guy was sacrificing his sleep and his sanity to save small lives. I didn't know a single person like that. I especially wasn't like that. Everything I'd ever accomplished had been done for self-satisfaction.

Ugh. What the fuck. I didn't know what to make of this guy.

"How did you even have the time to see me tonight?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even. I was having some kind of weird-ass existential crisis or something.

"I made the time."

"You made the time to see the mean avocado lady from the farmer's market?"

"I really like that mean avocado lady from the farmer's market, so yeah, I made the time."

These were warm feelings. They swept over me, over my skin, over everything, making me feel like everything was moving in slow-motion. What the hell was happening? I hadn't prepared for this. This whole thing was supposed to be in harmless fun. Now there was this whole other third date.

At that moment my phone went off, jumping me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, shit," I said, pulling it out of my blazer pocket.

Fucking Lisa.

"Take it here if you want," Wes said. "I don't mind."

"I'm sorry. I only need a minute," I said, pressing the answer button.

"You're interrupting my dinner."

"I'm so sorry, Celine. Portal just crashed. We can't take any payments."

I sighed.

"What do we pay you for, Lisa? You should know this. Transfer to Roadside, Sales and Retention. They run on different billing systems."

"Okay. I really don't know when Portal will be back up though."

"I didn't ask you if you knew. Hang up your call with IT on the other line. I know they have you on hold. Send a supervisor down there to handle this personally."

"Okay, and what do you want me to do about Jessica? She's still goofing off between calls and distracting everybody. I've already told her to knock it off like three times tonight."

"Write her up for insubordination and send her home."

"Okay, and—"

"Stop saying 'okay'. I really don't have the time for this right now. I told you not to call me tonight. You know what to do. You're senior supervisor for a reason. Handle this. I'm hanging up now."

"Celine, I—"

"There better be a fire if you call me back tonight."

I hung up and put my phone back in my pocket. I tried not to look too annoyed. Jesus Christ. I can't leave one evening before closing without being needed. It wasn't like Lisa didn't know all this. She's been with the company for almost as many years as I've been alive. She just lacked the confidence in her leadership and decision making. So much hand-holding. Fucking hell.

"You really are mean to everyone."

I looked up.

Wes was grinning his ears off.

"Liked that, did you?"

"It was kind of hot."

I couldn't even suppress my smile. What the hell was up with this guy? He liked the things about me that everyone else hated.

"They call me the Dragon Lady behind my back."

"You sound so proud."

I snorted.

"No one likes me."

"I like you," Wes said.

The waitress appeared with our drinks before I could think up a response. It was a good thing because I didn't know how to answer that anyways. I just did my best to compose myself enough to order my dinner. Wes had his eyes on me the whole time, briefly glancing at the waitress when she was talking to him. He wasn't rude, but — shit, I didn't know what he was. Or what he was doing.

That waitress was getting a big tip. The drink was strong.

"This tastes like pure alcohol," Wes said, taking a sip from his own.

"I don't see how that's a problem."

"It's not," he said, grinning. "Just one more drink like this and I'll be drunk. You could probably take advantage of me."

"Lightweight. And I wouldn't take advantage of you. I'm not a rapist."

"It's not really rape if I want it."

I rolled my eyes.

"You're sick."

"No. I just treat the sick."

"You think you're so cool just because you're a doctor."

"I think I've worked hard enough to be considered cool."

"You're just a nerd," I said, remembering what he had said earlier.

"You knew I was touchy about that. I should've never told you."

"I mean, you wore your scrubs here. You're obviously trying to show off."

He laughed.

"I had a last-minute admission. I didn't have time to go change without being later than I already was so I just sucked it up and prepared myself for all the questions."

"I already told you I don't care."

"That's probably why I'm gonna marry you."

"You really don't get out enough," I said, amused.

"I get out enough to meet cute girls at the farmer's market."

I didn't bother correcting him about calling me a girl. It had to do a lot with my childhood, about how I couldn't wait to grow up so I could get out of the system. I'd always hated being called a girl. I'd already overcome that. It brought back painful memories. But Wes's comments were all innocent. It didn't hurt when he said it so I let it go.

"How did you even manage to find the time to go?"

"To the farmer's market? It was a regular workday. I had a few hours."

"What were you doing there in the first place?"

"Residents get pretty sick of hospital food. It was my turn to pick up the goods."

"Do you all just live there?"

I wasn't being serious, but his answer was enough to make my jaw drop.

"Practically. We're provided with sleeping rooms, a reading room, a lounge and food within the hospital facilities. It doesn't really make sense to leave when sometimes you barely get eight hours between shifts."

"I do have an apartment though," he added, catching the expression of shock on my face. "I go home more often than the others. My place is only twenty minutes away."

"Your life," I said, finding my voice, "Sounds crazy."

"That's why I don't like talking about it. What's your workweek like?"

"Crazy in its own way. I usually work Monday through Saturday since Sundays aren't that busy, but sometimes I'll go in on those days too. I usually start the day with the early bird shift at eight, and then I'm lucky if I can get off before closing at ten. Some days I'm there even long after that. I work at least a hundred hours a week. I spend the few hours I have off sleeping or running errands just like you so I really understood what you meant about not actually having any time off."

"I never thought anyone outside of the medical field could have a life so similar to mine."

"You have the lives of small children in your hands. Managing a call center isn't anywhere near as demanding or stressful as that."

"It doesn't negate what you go through," he said. "Your reality is your own. In it you are overworked and stressed. Pain is subjective."

I flinched. I'd never told him I was in pain.

I'd never told him I was drowning.

"We shouldn't talk about our jobs," I said in a strained voice. "It's—It's too much."

Wes stood up and for a moment I thought he was going to leave. It made sense; we'd be lucky if we'd be able to manage the time to see each other. Both of us lived in our own constant bubbles of stress that threatened to pop and flood us any second. This would be doubling it, doubling the pain.

"Scoot over."

"Wha—"

"You heard me."

He didn't wait for me to register his words, just slid in next to me, wrapped an arm around my waist to lift me and settled me deeper in the booth. Before I could say anything, before I could even figure out what was happening, his lips were on mine, warm, tender, and slow. He kissed me, lending me something from himself, something that I couldn't quite describe—something like support, something like courage, something like comfort.

He was slowly filling my emptiness, filling my loneliness, filling everything until for the first time in my life, I felt my head rise above water.

He wasn't letting me drown.

It was almost agonizing when he drew back. I felt my breath leave my body, as if he'd taken it with him. I felt a rush of unfamiliar emotions, the kind of emotions you don't get to feel when you grow up isolated and unwanted. I thought about all the times I'd been pushed around, all the times I'd been yelled at and told I was worthless—and I remember how I overcame all that by hardening, withdrawing, becoming cold and ruthless and miserable, so miserable.

"Do it again," I whispered, feeling my eyes water.

He was watching me too closely, his gaze soft, like he was finally figuring out how to read me. He was quiet, subdued, almost like he understood, like he'd seen that I was struggling, hiding my pain—drowning. But I didn't find pity in his eyes. Only kindness.

Everything wonderful and terrible drained from my body when he kissed me this time, numbing my mind, dissolving the venom on my tongue, taking away the toxicity, filling me with yearning, with longing, with hope. I opened my mouth for him and he wasted no time, sliding his tongue along mine, tasting the alcohol, tasting the burn. There was no composure, no holding back, no control. I gave into him, surrendering.

He wasn't shy. He wasn't even the type to ask permission. He undid the two buttons of my blazer and slipped his warm hands inside, rubbing my sheer blouse over my skin, running along my hips, traveling to my back, rubbing soft, soothing circles, easing all my aches. I leaned into his touch, arching my back, whimpering because it felt good, so good.

The sounds of plates sliding against wood interrupted us. Wes didn't even turn his head, his eyes fixated on me as I gave the waitress a sheepish smile. I wasn't embarrassed for myself, I was embarrassed for her. I don't even know what kind of courage it took her to put those plates on our table. I knew we had to have made things very awkward for her.

Yeah, big tip. Definitely a big tip.

"Is there anything else I can get for you guys? Another round? Soft drinks? Water?"

"Water," I said. "Water's fine."

I didn't even know how I was going to eat my dinner. I'd been starving when I got here, but now I could barely feel anything but Wes, his hands on my back, his warmth still tingling on my lips.

"You're rude," I told him in mild amusement.

"So I'll leave her a big tip," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm too busy right now."

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

"What are you busy with?"

"Looking at you."

God, I actually blushed. When was the last time that had happened?

"You haven't eaten in fifteen hours," I pointed out. "You must be starving."

"I am, but I don't really want food right now."

"Stop it, Wes," I laughed.

He grinned, his eyes lightening.

"We can continue this after dinner." I suspected it was the only way I was going to be able to get him to eat.

"Your place or mine?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Worth a try."

I rolled my eyes and reached for my plate. Yep, the hunger was back in full force now. The food looked so fucking good.

"Hold on, don't eat that yet," Wes said, pulling my plate towards him. He gave no explanation whatsoever, just began cutting up my steak into small, bite-sized pieces. His hands were impossibly steady, his movements sure, each cut of the knife confident, like he'd already decided exactly how he was going to do this. I could almost see what this guy would look like with a scalpel in his hand. Beyond all the shit he'd probably had to do to become a doctor, he was also expected to master a skill. He made it look easy, but I knew it took a really special kind of person to be able to do what he does. Surgeons definitely earned the right to be full of themselves—and that's what was really throwing me off; he was clearly gifted but he acted like he had no right at all.

"What are you doing?" I finally asked. I knew my eyes were probably glazed over from watching him work magic with a basic steak knife.

"It helps with digestion."

"What does?"

"Smaller bites."

"I couldn't have done it myself?"

"I don't trust you. The day we met you told me that you engorged yourself with food. I don't want you getting a stomach ache."

"How the hell do you even remember that?"

"Do I really need to answer that question?"

"You're a psycho. No one should be allowed to have that good of a memory."

"Doctors should."

"When did you know you wanted to become one?" I asked, feeling curious. Something had shifted in me, something that was pushing me in his direction, telling me to do this, telling me to go for it, to give in.

"When did you know you wanted to work in insurance?"

"I don't see how that's related."

"I have a theory. Answer the question."

"I don't know. It's just where my life led me. I didn't even know I'd be good at it."

"Knew it. Me too."

"I don't believe that."

"No, I'm serious. I was homeschooled up until I graduated at fifteen. I didn't really know what to do with my life so I took a year off to fuck around. I ended up taking some random quiz on the internet to find my ideal career as a joke one day and it told me I'd make a good doctor. I thought about it for a while and then I majored in pre-med the following fall. I realized later that I had the steady hands to make a good surgeon too. It's just where my life led me, exactly like you."

I laughed.

"A quiz from the internet? That's why you became a doctor?"

"Yup."

"You're joking."

"I'm really not. That's how I've always been. I just do whatever feels right."

"Why pediatric surgery though?"

"I feel like I'm making more of a difference. And I like kids."

The waitress brought us our waters and this time Wes thanked her and shot her such a dazzling smile that she walked away blushing. I almost wanted to roll my eyes. He definitely knew he was attractive.

"I'm surprised you're not already married," I said, forking one of my pieces of steak. The fact that it was a perfect square was so bizarre.

"Why do you say that?"

"You're a surgeon. You like kids. You're good-looking. I'm not going to keep going because you already know what I'm talking about."

"I just didn't have the time to date. That's the honest truth."

"And you do now?"

"Not really, but I'll make the time."

"Why go through all this trouble if your life is so hectic?"

"Because I like you, mean avocado lady from the farmer's market."

"I still don't get why."

"Because you're mean to me."

"That's not a reason."

"It is. You treat me like I'm human."

"You are human, Wes."

"Only to you."

It was like the pieces were all beginning to fall together, like I was slowly beginning to make out who he was. This pushy, overbearing guy was just like me. He was lonely.

"Well, fuck everyone," I found myself saying. "You're a person, not a medical degree."

"And this is why I made the time, mean avocado lady."

"Shut up."

He grinned—ugh. It made my heart stop. I couldn't remember why I'd been fighting him so hard. He'd shown his interest over and over again. Why hadn't I believed him? I was a confident person, but for whatever reason I'd convinced myself that a guy like him couldn't possibly want me. It was insulting. I'd insulted myself.

"You gonna break my heart, Dion?"

"Keep calling me that and I will."

"At least I have a whole promised third date to convince you otherwise. Speaking of which, when are you free?"

"When are you free? I'm a manager. I don't answer to anyone regarding my schedule."

"Let me think, hold on," Wes said. His thinking face was actually pretty cute.

"Tomorrow I'm relieving the on-call team after evening rounds and taking over so that, let's see... should get me off by Friday night. I'll have most of Saturday off so does that work for you?"

"I can figure it out. But won't you be tired?"

"I can figure it out," he said with a grin.

"Shut up and eat your dinner."

"Yes, ma'am."

Our elbows touched while we ate. We kept glancing at each other, talking in between bites about everything and nothing, learning the little things slowly, leaving the bigger things for another time. I still gave him a lot of shit and picked on him, but a part of me had also softened. I tried to look past the innocent feigned arrogance, and it was surprising how close his real personality was to the surface. He was a total fucking goofball.

Wes made me laugh so much that I almost cried, just medical jokes that each sounded stupider than the last.

"Okay, okay. Last one," he said, smiling as I took a sip of water to clear my throat after his last joke. My cheeks were actually hurting from smiling and laughing too hard. I don't think that's ever even happened to me before.

"What STD are you in danger of catching from phone sex?"

I rolled my eyes. This was going to be dumb.

"Hearing AIDS. Get it?"

"These are terrible," I said, but I was fucking laughing anyways because 'terrible' was apparently keyword for 'hilarious' these days.

"You look so beautiful when you laugh. I can't help it."

I almost choked on my water.

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Call me beautiful."

He made a face.

"What the hell? Why not? You are."

"Wes," I said, giving him a serious look. "You really don't have to."

"You don't think you are," he said slowly. "That's stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You are," he said. "Unbelievable. Why the hell wouldn't you think you're beautiful?"

"Oh come on," I said. "I'm really plain. I don't care. I don't want to be known for something as superficial as my looks."