Page 15 of Hold the Pickle
He waves me off. “It’s fine.”
“Fine? Really?” Could it be that easy?
“Sure.”
I carry Cattarina over to the sofa and sit down. “Cat, this is Dalton. Don’t be scared. He’s very nice.”
Cattarina is not convinced. She hunches down like she might leap off my lap at any moment.
I hold her firmly. “He’s okay, Cattarina.”
Slowly, she settles on my lap, her gold eyes fixed on Dalton.
He reaches out to pet her, but she springs unexpectedly from my lap, clears half the studio in the process, and skitters beneath the bed.
That didn’t go well.
“She’ll mostly hide,” I say. “She’s no trouble.”
“It’s fine. Look, I’m going to steal the bed while the stealing’s good.” He heads across the room to collapse on the Transformers. “I have another long shift tonight and tomorrow, then twenty-four off. We can talk then.”
“Should we share contact information? That way I’ll know your schedule and when not to wake you.”
He reaches for his phone on the floor beside the bed. He unlocks it and tosses it across the room.
That’s risky. I’m not athletic in the least. I fumble to catch it, but miss, of course. It bounces on the soft carpet.
I type my number into it and send myself a message so I get his.
By the time I’ve done that, he’s asleep again. He was exhausted.
I tiptoe over to set the phone on the floor by the bed.
At least he knows about the kitty now.
I straighten, looking down on Dalton’s form spread across the bed. He’s muscular and tan, his hair flopping on his forehead.
I get the crazy urge to fix it, but I resist.
Roommates aren’t for touching, even if they are cool with your secret oversized cat.
But the fact that I even thought about reaching for him is already worrisome.
6
DALTON
All six of us first-year interns are dead on our feet after a twenty-four-hour shift in the ER.
We barely murmur at each other, banging our lockers as we switch from doctor mode to humans.
Not that any of us feel human at the moment.
I might be slightly more perky than the others, despite the all-nighter. I am looking forward to my own apartment. My own bed.
Well, my own part-time bed.
Harrington drops onto a bench to switch his jacket and shoes like a medical version of Mr. Rogers, except he’s a dead ringer for Chidi fromThe Good Place. It still works. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”
