It’s nearly 7 p.m. by the time I leave the hospital. I try not to think about the fact that I’ve spent 13 straight hours at the hospital, and focus more on which spectacular TV dinner I’m going to eat when I get back to my room. I also fantasize a lot about my bed.
Back in my suite, I shove a package of frozen fettuccine alfredo into the microwave then hit the bathroom to wash the hospital off my hands. Except before I make it into the bathroom, I find something taped to the bathroom door. It’s five pages long and I’m pretty sure it’s from Julia. I rip it off the wall.
The first page is a schedule of when each of us has to clean the bathroom. Okay, fair enough. It says: Jane—Tuesdays and Saturdays, Julia—Thursdays and Sundays. And then a list of major holidays and who will be cleaning the bathroom during each of these holidays. So… does this mean we’re cleaning the bathroom four times a week? Is she kidding me? It’s a tiny bathroom and the only people who use it are the two of us. How does it require such frequent cleaning? And when exactly am I supposed to do this cleaning, considering I practically live in the hospital?
The next three pages are detailed instructions on how to clean the bathroom.
The final page is a photocopy of the receipt from a local drug store for cleaning supplies. She spent $89.34 on bathroom cleaning supplies. Why do we need “bleach foamer”? And why are all our cleaning supplies “organic”? It’s not like we’re going to eat them.
At the bottom of the receipt, Julia has written my share: $44.67. That’s seriously more than my food budget for the month. She has got to be kidding me. I make minimum wage. (Although admittedly, minimum wage is somewhat lucrative when you’re working like a billion hours a week.)
I am not paying for her stupid organic cleaning supplies. No way.
No way in hell.
Oh, who am I fooling? I am definitely going to end up paying her.
At some point, I start watching television in my bedroom and drift off. What ends up waking me is a pounding noise at the door to the suite. Rubbing my eyes, I stumble in the direction of the door and fling it open without even asking who it is. As soon as I see who’s standing there, my eyes fly open and I’m instantly awake.
It’s S*xy Surgeon.
“Hey,” he says. He’s wearing his scrubs, which I think is the only outfit I’ve ever seen him in. Lucky thing he looks so good in them. He squints at my face. “Did I wake you up?”
“A little,” I admit.
It occurs to me at that moment that Julia is going to throw a fit if she realizes he’s at the door. The fact that she’s not complaining at this very moment is evidence that she’s not here. But she’s probably got hidden cameras installed somewhere. Or at the very least, a spy situated in the hallway. Maybe there’s a sniper out here, who’s ready to pick Ryan off at any second.
I grab his arm. “Get in here, quick,” I say.
He looks at me in surprise, but follows me inside. I don’t let go of his arm until we’re safely inside my bedroom with the door shut.
“Okay,” I say, letting out a breath. “We’re safe.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows. “We weren’t safe out there?”
“My roommate,” I explain, waving my finger in a circle to demonstrate Julia’s loony behavior.
“Gotcha,” Ryan says. He grins at me. “Nice room.” “Thanks.”
“I like the skeleton,” he says. “Thanks.”
He grins wider. “He’s not going to get jealous and start haunting me, is he?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Because I know intern year can get pretty lonely so I wouldn’t blame you if you and Skelly over there… well, you know…” He winks.
I put my hands on my hips. “Did you come here to make fun of me?”
That wipes the smile off his face. “No,” he says. “I didn’t.”
He bridges the two-foot gap between him and me. He lowers his lips onto mine, and now we’re kissing, and there are no pagers to go off, elevator doors to open, or anything to keep this from happening. We fall onto my bed and he gently pushes me down against the pillows, then climbs on top of me.
“You’re so s*xy, Jane,” he breathes in my ear. And I almost believe him.
At first, I’m scared this is going to go further than I want it to (I just met him a week ago!), but he’s actually very respectful.
Surprisingly respectful.
What he does with his lips on mine is very intense, but he doesn’t make any move to push me further than that. His hands move up and down my chest and my thighs, but he doesn’t try to get up my shirt or down my pants. His lips stay mostly on mine, although they make little excursions to my earlobes and that extra-sensitive area at the base of my neck.
We make out like the ship is going down, like we can’t get enough of each other, but after an hour or so, the kisses become less hungry and more gentle, and we’re cuddling more than kissing. I wouldn’t have taken S*xy Surgeon for a cuddler. He just seems too busy. But it’s nice to lie in his arms like we have all the time in the world, feeling the warmth and comfort of his body against mine. I could lie here forever.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, as if on cue. “Now?”
“I’m on call, actually,” he says. He fishes into his pocket and retrieves his pager, which he’s apparently been concealing from me.
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “I’ve got an intern. He’s handling most of it. But I told him I’d meet him in the ER…” He checks his watch. “About fifteen minutes ago.”
“Seriously?”
He shrugs again. “Let him wait. He’s just an intern.” “Thanks a lot.”
Ryan grins, then he pulls away from me and adjusts the drawstring on his scrubs. “I’m going to hit the bathroom, then I’ll leave.”
My breath catches in my throat. “No! You can’t.” “I can’t leave?”
“No, I mean, you can’t use the bathroom.” Ryan stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I blush. “My roommate is super weird about the bathroom. Can’t you just use it at the hospital?”
He rolls his eyes. “Come on, Jane. Just let me go pee.”
I’d like to let him—I really would. But the consequences of that could be dire. I show him Julia’s Bathroom Manifesto. “Look what she put on the door!”
He takes the pages from me, and laughs as he flips through. “Whoa, you weren’t kidding. She’s nuts.”
“See?”
“I’m still going to use the bathroom,” he says, cutting off my protests with a kiss. “We’re going to live dangerously for a change.”
Our compromise is that he goes to the bathroom while I stand guard outside. He insists I’m just as crazy as Julia, but he hasn’t seen the evil glint in her eyes. If I’m going to be sharing an apartment with her, I need to protect myself.
