If there was one thing he’d learned as a cardio-thoracic surgeon it was how to get by on snatched naps. The irony was that, as a doctor, he knew how bad it was for the human body to function on periodic spells of sleep. But, he’d chosen this life, or perhaps it had chosen him. He wasn’t built for a suit or tie, and he couldn’t imagine spending hours of every day behind a desk or in a cubicle.
Plus, he got to save lives. Overall, he was okay with losing some sleep.
Shower first, he thought, heading for the doctors’ lounge. Check his email, grab a sandwich, and then crash in the call room here at the hospital until he was called for the next emergency. Because there was always a next emergency.
He was powering up his phone when the click of heels distracted him. Nobody working in a hospital wore heels, except one person.Tap, tap, tap. Because he was looking down, those shoes came into his line of vision first. They were black and red, the heels do-me-baby high. They stopped moving and his gaze traveled as though it had a mind of its own to meet shapely ankles, lean, sexy calves, and a black skirt. She could be wearing a black, skintight, sexy top that showed a lot of cleavage. She could be wearing nothing at all on top. Impossible to tell, since she wore a crisp, white lab coat that was either brand new or recently ironed. When his gaze reached her face, he found her looking at him with the slightly irritated expression she always wore when she looked at him.
“Dr. Chance,” he drawled. Even her makeup was perfect. Most of the women he worked with didn’t have time or energy left over for foolish things like lipstick, but this one always looked fresh out of the salon. “You look like you just stepped off a fashion runway.”
Her gaze traveled up and down his body, probably mimicking what he’d just done to hers, not that he meant to; he was simply too tired to control himself. “You look like you stepped out of a homeless shelter.”
There were a lot of responses he could make to that. He was trying to choose one from the tired jumble of his thoughts when his cell phone rang. Call display informed him that his best buddy was on the line. Normally he’d be only too happy to shoot the shit with Harvey but he had a bad feeling that his best friend wasn’t calling to chat.
He contemplated ignoring the call but Rose Chance was regarding him with a level gaze that gave him the eerie sensation she could read his mind and knew all his secrets. Also, he was glad of an excuse not to have to talk to her—he didn’t have the energy.
He clicked through to the call. “Hey man, what’s up?”
“What’s up yourself? You’re hard to get a hold of.”
“Oh, the usual.” He might’ve laid it on a little thick about the number of emergency cases he’d been dealing with lately, and his overwhelming caseload, but knowing Rose was listing to every word stopped him.
“I’m checking that you’ve got the stag night under control.”
He cursed inside his head. When he’d agreed to be best man at Harvey’s wedding, he’d assumed that all he had to do was show up at the wedding, get the groom there on time, pass the ring, and make a speech. He’d had no idea that he would be called upon to organize a stag night.
“The stag. Yeah, absolutely. I’m on it.” It wasn’t that he’d forgotten the stag, he’d simply been swamped, and during the few snatched hours that weren’t devoted to working or sleeping he’d had other, more important or more interesting things to do.
Rose didn’t even pretend not to be listening. Those big, deep blue eyes widened slightly. She tapped across to the fridge, opened it, and bent, treating him to a great view of the line of her hip. She withdrew a bottle of water and leaned against the counter openly watching him squirm.
“Good. Great,” Harvey replied. “Not planning anything stupid, right? No strippers?”
Ah, so the call wasn’t only to check up that Matt was doing his job but to ensure he was doing it properly. Harvey was a promising young lawyer with his sites clearly set on politics. Having grown up in the age of social media, they both knew that strippers were out of the question. “No peelers, I promise.”
“Good. So? What are we doing?”
If only he wasn’t so tired. His back hurt like hell, and the only few words he’d spoken in the last few hours were curt requests for the next instrument he needed. He hadn’t powered up yet for social interaction. Or white lies. He rubbed his palm over his forehead as though he could massage the social part of his brain into action. “Well, obviously there’s going to be drinking involved.”
Rose shook her head, screwed the lid off her bottle of water and sipped as though it were a beer.
“Come on, dude. Tell me you’ve figured this out.” A trace of irritation came across. Now that Harvey was confident the stag night wouldn’t tarnish any future political career, he was all over the details.
“Of course I’ve got it figured out.” His gaze bounced around the lounge, searching desperately for inspiration. He was too tired to make something up without help. Rose, regarding his discomfort, sipped more water. He saw aPortland Nowmagazine someone had left on a chair. The headline on the front cover advertised an article about the many microbreweries and craft breweries in the area. His tired brain latched on to the notion. Microbreweries. Yes! He said, “We’re going on a pub-crawl. Check out a few microbreweries and craft breweries in the area.”
Rose glanced at the magazine and back at him. He really wished she would find business elsewhere. It was bad enough performing under pressure without her scrutiny.
“Okay. That’s cool. But a pub-crawl? That’s it?” He knew his buddy liked to be different, but not too different. On the edge but never over it.
Desperation gave him a second idea. Possibly a stupid idea but he was too fatigued to judge. He made a gun with his thumb up and two fingers outstretched, closing one eye and pretending to squint down the barrel of a rifle. He aimed his imaginary firearm at Rose’s heart. Her only reaction was to raise her eyebrows. “After we go shooting.”
“Shooting?” There was silence for a second. Rose shook her head at him. And then Harvey laughed. “Shooting? Like a rifle range?”
“Handguns.” He nodded, liking the idea. “We’ll shoot for a couple hours, and then we hit the pub-crawl. Your stag will be unique.”
“I gotta hand it to you, you came up with something perfect.”
“Hey, my best friend only gets married once.” Then he hesitated. “I hope.”
Harvey laughed. “Oh, yeah. A woman like Theresa doesn’t come along every day.” He didn’t have any more time to waste than Matt did. He said, “Thanks, bro. I’ll see you for basketball Tuesday.”
