Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

 

Gia

 

I get a text page twenty minutes before the end of my shift that I need to go down to the emergency department and evaluate a patient. This pisses me off for so many reasons. First, I hate the ED. I think I’ve already covered why. Second, the majority of doctors in the ED are completely incompetent when it comes to pregnant women. It’s like these women have some rare and terrifying disease which makes doctors stupid, eliminating all logic and common sense with how to treat them.

I don’t bother wasting time on trying to find someone else to go, I just suck it up and do it.

For one very specific reason.

The hopeful butterflies in my stomach aren’t playing it cool at all. They’re completely giving me away.

Opening the back door of the ED, I waltz over to the nurses' station because the page did not tell me who asked for the consult or in what room to find the patient. She directs me over to sutures area and tells me the request came from an intern and a medical student. The pretty young nurse laughs when I roll my eyes at that. Strolling down the long corridor, I can’t help but scan the hallway and rooms–without trying to be obvious–for Dr. Banner. Yes, that is still what I call him in my mind.

Of course, he’s not any where to be found and as I enter the sutures room, I want to sigh. A woman, probably seven or so months along is sitting on a gurney with her arm on a blue Chux pad, showcasing a two-inch laceration. And off to the side, standing as far away from her as the room will allow, are Larry and Curly.

“You called for an OB consult?” I ask them, stepping into the room and smiling at the poor patient who was unfortunate enough to have these two idiots providing her medical care.

“Yes,” the one on the left with very blond hair says. “I’m Dr. Thomas and this is Andrew Thomas, no relation. He’s a medical student.”

“Hi,” I say to both of them, in no mood for socializing. I want to get to the bottom of this and get out of here. It was a very long and exhausting shift and I don’t want to be late in meeting Colin. I’m always late when we meet up and it annoys him. Can’t exactly blame him for that. “What’s the problem?”

“Well,” Dr. Thomas says, his eyes flittering past me over to the gurney where the patient is seated, “she’s pregnant.”

I glance over at the woman who is shaking her head and rolling her eyes and I can’t blame her for that either. I would be too. “I can see that.”

“We can’t stitch her up until you clear her,” That’s Andrew Thomas–no relation, now.

“What exactly do you need me to clear? She’s pregnant.” I raise my eyebrows at them. “What does that have to do with her arm lac?”

They both exchange nervous glances and now I sigh. “Okay, come with me and pay attention.” I turn around and move across the room until I’m standing next to her. “Hello, I’m Gia Bianchi, one of the midwives here in the hospital. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” she says with an air of frustration. “Look, all I did was cut my arm open after having to jump out of the way from a guy riding his bike on the sidewalk. I sliced it on one of those metal fences on the side of a building.”

“Did you fall?” She shakes her head. “Did you bump your belly?” Another headshake. “Any abdominal pain or cramping?”

“Nope.”

“What about back pain?”

“No more than usual. I’m seven months.”

I knew it, I mentally high five myself. “Any blood or fluid from your vagina?”

“Definitely not.”

I smile at her expression. “Are you feeling the baby move?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “The baby is fine. I just want to get my stitches or whatever they have to do and go.”

“I completely understand.” I turn back to Larry and Curly and say, “She’s cleared. I don’t think we need to check a fetal heartbeat,” I turn back to her, “unless you’d like me to.”

The lady shrugs again. “Sure. Why not. I’m here and I can never get enough of that sound.”

“I hear you on that.” I pull out my pocket doppler and gel which I always carry with me for a consult, because if I’m not on the labor and delivery–L&D as we call it–floor, there is never any gel to be had. “You guys can start. But if you’re using actual sutures instead of liquid, use regular lidocaine. No epi.”

Both of their eyes widen and then Andrew Thomas–no relation–grabs the bottle of lidocaine that’s on the table and goes to switch it for one which does not have epinephrine in it. In the small dose that’s in the lidocaine, it’s probably safe, but why risk it? Especially with these two.

Lifting up her shirt, I feel around for the baby’s back, enjoying the way it moves beneath my hand. “Do you know what you’re having?” I ask her.

“A girl. We’re going to name her May. Like the month.”

“Beautiful.” I squirt some gel onto her abdomen and slide the diaphragm of the doppler around until I find the heartbeat and when I do, I check the rate. “Perfect. One thirty-five. Baby May sounds great.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Who knew there would be all this production for a cut.”

I really have nothing to say to that, so I just smile, make my goodbyes to her and the two Thomas’s and get the hell out of here. Typically, I would go back upstairs to chart, but I want to leave the hospital so I have time to shower and change before I meet Colin.

We’ve been dating for about six weeks now, but we’re still far from serious or even exclusive. He made that last one clear when we were about four weeks in. And I probably should have sent him packing then, but I didn’t. He’s a nice guy, good looking, patient with my demanding and ever-changing schedule and decent in bed. So I don’t exactly mind the fact we’re not serious or exclusive. It actually fits my life pretty well.

I find an abandoned computer on a rolling cart, log in and start documenting on my consult. I’m just reading over my note when I feel someone behind me. Spinning around, I find myself peering directly into those blue eyes I was hoping to see.

“Did you change specialties?” he asks playfully.

I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I was summoned down here by an intern and a medical student who were terrified to suture a woman’s arm because she has a baby growing inside her.”

“Ah,” he says with a knowing nod. “I wish I could say they’re the only ones, but a lot of us are afraid of them.”

I laugh because the thought of him calling me down for a consult like the one I just had doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it did for the other two. “Are you one of those people, Dr. Banner?”

He steps into me a little, not a lot, but enough so I can feel his presence and smell his oh-so-enticing scent. Sandalwood and citrus, I think. My stomach swoops and the sensation makes me want to smile bigger. “Finn, Gia. Call me Finn.”

“Finn,” I repeat because I haven’t allowed myself the pleasure of using his first name yet. He has forever lived as Dr. Banner in my thoughts. It somehow felt safer that way.

“Did you mouth off to my intern and medical student the way you did Michael Sanders?”

“What?” I laugh the word.

“That day in the ED when I first met you.” He shifts so he’s even closer. His arm is touching mine now. Just his stupid white coat, but it’s deliberate. As deliberate as all the other times he’s touched me. No other way to take it. “You told Dr. Sanders you weren’t as clueless as the black gown would have him believe.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” I gasp, because that has my mind running circuits right now. He remembers what I said over a year ago? And he’s touching more of my arm with his now. And his head is dipped purposefully close without being overly intrusive.

“It was impressive and definitely memorable. No one ever mouths off to Dr. Sanders. He’s the epitome of a hard-ass with his staff.”

“Jealous, were you?” I grin up at him, not even trying to hide the fact I’m flirting with him. I can’t stop the cruel pleasure of it.

“Very. But now I get to be the hard-ass so it all works.”

“Is that right? Should I mouth off to you too then?”

“I can think of better uses for your mouth,” he says quietly, his head leaning in closer as he does, his blue eyes darkening as his pupils begin to dilate. My heart rate begins to spike and my breathing picks up. I can practically taste the mint on his breath.

I don’t think I’ve found my voice yet. I swallow. Clear my throat. “Are you just starting your shift?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just finishing up. A bunch of us are going out if you’d like to join.”

Shit. Why does this keep happening? “I would, but I can’t tonight.” I hope he can hear the regret in my voice. “Another time though?”

He gives me a short tight nod and then he does that thing where he looks away, up at nothing. He did it last time, after I told him about Colin. His eyes close slowly and when they reopen, his features are wooden. He takes an intentional step back, becoming distant and unapproachable.

I can’t see past the blinders he has up. They obscure everything.

What the hell just happened?

“Probably better if we didn’t,” he says and I think those are my least favorite words put together. He goes from burning hot to freezing cold in a matter of seconds and I don’t know how to keep myself balanced with that. How to navigate through.

“See you around, Gia.”

That’s becoming our line. I don’t want that to become our line. I want more of the line where we can think of better things to do with my mouth. I want him to show me in explicit detail just what those things are. But Dr. Finn Banner isn’t going to do that with me. I can see it written all over him.

I sigh, feeling so very defeated with him. With myself. “You too, Finn.”

He’s already gone. Just like that night. But really, what the hell? I mean, all I said was I can’t do it tonight. I didn’t even tell him I have plans with another man. It’s not like he asked me out on a date. He asked me to join a group of people.

So why the fuck does he get all sulky like that? It’s aggravating. And infuriating. And every other synonym which works in this situation. I sort of want to scream, I like you, Finn. I want you to ask me out on a real date. I want to throw my hands up in the air and yell, show me something real.

But I don’t know if there is a point to that. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is better this way. And really, why do I like him? Because he flirts with me? Because he’s gorgeous?

Pathetic.

He’s not even all that nice to me.

I leave the ED in a mood. Not a good mood either. I haven’t seen Finn–fantastic, now he’s Finn–in weeks and now he’s all I can think about. Again. Last time it took me a solid two weeks until I wasn’t totally consumed with thoughts of him. That really only gave me a week’s reprieve, which isn’t a lot.

I feel like he has a story. At least that’s what I convinced myself of. He’s movie star caliber hot. Smart. Funny. A doctor. Really good at the whole flirting thing. I mean, why is a guy like him single? And what’s with the whole, probably better if we didn’t, bullshit?

He’s got to be hiding something, right? STDs? Yeah, that must be it.

Sadly, that thought doesn’t put me off from him. Probably because I know that’s not the situation. Finn doesn’t have STDs. But he doesn’t exactly scream player either. If he was, he would have made his move already.

I need to let it go. I don’t know him. I’ve only met him a few times and each of those encounters have been brief. Memorable, but brief.

I get home, shower off the day of birthing babies and slip on a black, low-cut V-neck dress with cutouts in the back. The color looks good against my hair which is nearly the same shade and I put on some shimmery eyeshadow and red lipstick because why not.

Colin likes a bar that’s coincidentally only a couple of blocks from the hospital, but in the other direction from my apartment so it takes me almost fifteen minutes to walk over there in my four-inch heels which I really shouldn’t be wearing, as my feet already ache from spending the whole day on them.

Stepping inside, I immediately spot Colin waiting for me at the bar, a new beer in his hand. I’m hoping that means I’m not all that late. “Hey,” I say as I reach him, placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“You look nice,” he says as he turns to face me, taking in my outfit. That’s what he always says when he sees me. That I look nice. Is it considered nitpicky if I say I wish he’d use another adjective? Something like pretty or beautiful? It doesn’t even have to be anything spectacular like gorgeous or stunning or exquisite. Dazzling might be a bit much. Especially from a straight male. But I certainly wouldn’t object to it either.

“Thanks, you do too.” That’s my standard response to his standard compliment. That’s what we’ve become. Standard. We go out and grab a drink or dinner, go home to his place or mine, have sex and then either leave or spend the night.

But we never spend the following day together.

One of us typically leaves before breakfast. It’s not even a spoken thing. It just happens.

I’m aware this probably means I don’t love being with him other than for those brief interludes. I don’t get giddy or excited to see him. I don’t get that rush of anticipation. Hell, I had more of that today at the prospect of seeing Finn than I’ve had for Colin in the entire six weeks we’ve been dating.

“What are you drinking tonight?” he asks and I can’t tell if the fact I don’t have a standard drink to go with our standard relationship bothers him or not. I like to mix up my drinks. Sue me.

“Hmmm. How about a margarita on the rocks with no salt?”

He shrugs like I was actually asking for his opinion on my drink choice instead of having him order it. Colin waves down the bartender and as he’s ordering my drink, I glance around the bar, taking it in. It’s pretty here. Kind of girly, with dark red and black furnishings, ornate crystal chandeliers and sconces, and candles on each tabletop. Very romantic.

It’s fairly crowded despite the early–by New York standards–hour for Friday night drinking. Soft hypnotic music floats around, intermingling with the white-noise hum of people talking.

I feel Colin brush my exposed arm and just as I’m turning back to him, to catch what he’s saying, I lock eyes with someone staring at me.