Chapter 2

I was on my fourth sea cream black iced coffee of the day, buried ass-deep in work when I realized that it was already 7:15 PM. It was Wednesday, the night of my ‘date’.

“Shit,” I hissed under my breath.

The ‘Floor’ is the term call centers use for where all the magic happens. Here you’ll find all the cubicles with my agents, all my supervisors, and all the calls ringing one after the other to service the next policyholder. I did my final Floor walk of the day, checked in with the six evening-shift supervisors, told the senior supervisor that she was to absolutely, under no fucking circumstances call me for just this one night, gave a few encouraging words to some of the struggling agents for morale or whatever, and then I was practically running for the elevators. A real bitch in heels, let me tell you.

“Celine, Celine,” said a nasally voice just as I stepped out of the main doors of the Floor.

Fuck me. I couldn’t catch a break.

“Where you off to in such a hurry?”

Trying to get as far away from you as possible.

“I have a date.”

Yeah, take that, David from Underwriting. If you really need a dictionary example for a true freak then David’s your guy. As if having to pick up the phone and call him at least ten times a day to expedite reinstatements, high liability increases and new home policy inspections wasn’t enough, the little freak picked up the phone almost as many times to ask me about my day and see if I wanted to ‘hang out’.

“Aw, have fun,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound like he meant it.

“Bye, David.”

One of the advantages of being a boss was having a parking space right in front of the building. The authority was liberating and the money was astounding, but the parking space was the icing on the cake. I could still remember the fifteen-minute walk to the parking lot across the street from my days as a lowly customer service agent. I guess that had been the bigger bitch in heels.

I flung open my car door like a madwoman, cursing myself for losing track of time. I didn’t have enough time to change into the casual clothes I’d brought—an outfit that didn’t scream too ‘fuck me’ but not boring enough to accentuate my plainness. Walking into Saddleback Ranch in a business suit was about the worst thing I could imagine, but it seemed too rude to cancel now. For all I knew he was already there.

If you know anything about Southern California freeways then you know that just after 7 PM at the 55 N and I-5 N junction, traffic clears up like a dream. I had a green fuel-efficient decal on my car that let me drive single-occupant in the carpool lane so I gunned it, driving just a little over the speed limit, but not too much because I’d been working in personal lines insurance long enough to know just how much a speeding ticket could fuck you over.

I somehow made it from Newport Beach to Orange in thirty-five minutes. Fuck if I’ll ever know how I did it, but it seemed like somehow the stars were aligning for this date. I didn’t really know how to feel about that. The high of those kisses had worn off fast. Why the hell would a guy like that even want to go on a date with someone like me? I’m not saying this because I lack confidence; I’m saying it because I doubt the two of us had anything in common. I felt like he was mostly just pulling my leg and enjoyed my company because I’d been able to make him laugh. I was okay with that. I enjoyed his company too.

My luck ran out at the outdoor outlet mall. Parking was an absolute nightmare. I kept driving around and around until I could swear that I was starting to get dizzy. My head ached from a sudden coffee crash, and looking at my watch to see that it was only five minutes to eight didn’t help. I didn’t find a spot until I was already ten minutes late. It wasn’t even a great spot, at least halfway across the parking lot to the nearest building. I made the call to switch into my gym shoes, and what did I do? I fucking ran. In a business suit and Nikes. I was anal enough about punctuality that I couldn’t stand running even a second later than I already was. God help me.

I was bent over clutching a stitch in my side in front of Saddleback Ranch when I heard a choked laugh.

“Looks like you’re running as late as I am.”

I looked up and saw Wes, breathing heavily to catch his breath, wearing hospital scrubs with an M.D. title after his name on a security badge. That really threw me off.

“What the fuck?”

“What?”

“You’re a doctor.”

He reached up a hand to scratch the back of his head nervously.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said with a grimace.

“Kind of hard not to.”

“You’re in a business suit.”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“Kind of hard not to,” he said with a smirk.

“Okay, Dr. Westley Spenrath. What the hell kind of name even is that?”

“Shut up. You hungry or not, Gutierrez?” he asked, reading off the security badge still clipped to my blazer. I pulled it off and shoved it in my pocket.

He seemed to like my idea. He unclipped his badge and stuck it in his own pocket.

“We look so weird,” I said, looking down at my clothes. Wes walked over and touched my blazer, fixing the lapel that had become crooked after I’d snatched my badge off.

“Still haven’t picked up on that personal space thing, I see.”

“I still don’t see you pulling away.”

“I’m leaving.”

He laughed.

“Let’s go inside. I haven’t eaten in fifteen hours. I’m starving.”

Outside of a bagel that I’d stuffed in my mouth on the way to work in the morning, I hadn’t really had anything to eat either. Just coffee. Too much coffee. Food sounded heavenly right now.

We asked to be seated in the absolute darkest corner of the restaurant. It left a lot of options since Saddleback Ranch pretty much just turns into more of a dark bar at night anyways. The hostess eyed Wes hungrily, her eyes traveling to places that made me feel uncomfortable. It was kind of disgusting. I didn’t know Wes, but I knew that he didn’t deserve that.

Or maybe I was just being dramatic. I didn’t need to get offended on his behalf. He was probably used to it anyways.

“You know, I thought it must’ve been fate when you said you wanted to meet at the Block,” Wes said, sliding a menu in front of him once we’d been seated.

“I live close by,” I said.

“And I work close by.”

“Where? UCI Medical Center across the street?”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about it.”

“So you’re what, embarrassed that you’re a doctor?”

He smiled that Hollywood smile. I tried not to let it affect me.

“It kind of makes me look like a nerd.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s a touchy subject for me,” he said, laughing. “Why don’t you tell me what you do for a living? I really want to know what kind of job requires a business suit paired with running shoes.”

“I put on the shoes to run here from the parking lot. I really hate being late.”

“No shit,” he said. “I ran here too.”

“We’re twins,” I said without thinking.

“No, no, no,” he said immediately. “I really don’t want to imagine you as my sister, Dion. It ruins all the fantasies I’ve been having of you.”

“Stop calling me that,” I said. “And what the hell kind of fantasies have you been having? Pervert.”

“The kind of fantasies that ruin second dates. I don’t want you throwing a glass of water in my face and storming off.”

“I’m considering it.”

“Tell me where you work,” he said. “I’m genuinely intrigued now. I wouldn’t have taken you for a business suit kind of girl.”

“First of all, I’m a woman, not a girl. And secondly, it’s none of your business.”

“The whole point of a date is to get to know each other.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about it.”

“I’m curious.”

“Tell me where you work then.”

“CHOC. Now pay up. Where do you work?”

The Children’s Hospital of Orange County? It was hard to imagine that this avocado-cradling weirdo actually treated sick children for a living. But maybe avocado-cradlers are just the kind of people best suited for a children’s hospital. It kind of changed my whole perception of him, but I wasn’t going to admit that to his face.

I told him the name of the insurance company I worked at.

“I have my car insurance with them,” he said. “Small world.”

“Not that small considering that we have 8 million policyholders in Southern California alone.”

“You look really corporate.”

“How perceptive of you. I work at the headquarters.”

“What do you do there?”

“I’m the call center site manager. I run Southern California, servicing policies everywhere beneath Bakersfield and above the border.”

He let out a low whistle.

“Oh, stop it,” I said, waving him off. “You’re a doctor, for fuck’s sake.”

“Still pretty impressive for a young woman. How old are you? You still look like a teenager.”

I scowled.

“Thanks for that. I’m twenty-eight. Not exactly a prepubescent teen.”

“Most people take it as a compliment when they’re told that they look younger than they are.”

“I’m not most people.”

“That’s why I asked you out.”

So he did come here just to pull my leg. Good. I could pull his back.

“How old are you? If you look younger than you actually are then you’re probably an old pervert for asking out a woman that you mistook for a teenager.”

“Thirty-one. Close to thirty-two, though.”

“God, you pedophile.”

He laughed.

“I didn’t actually mistake you for a teenager. I just thought you looked young.”

“You’re a predator.”

“And yet you agreed to go out with me.”

“I’m starting to wonder why I did.”

“Because I let you be mean to me.”

“I’m mean to everyone.”

“You know, I can read most people, but I can’t read you at all,” he said with another one of those annoyingly charming smiles.

“I’m not a book.”

“How do I get you to lighten up?”

“Buy me a drink,” I said, smiling despite myself. I don’t know why, but I was actually kind of enjoying this. Most people were too scared of me to hold a conversation this long. He was giving as good as he got.

“Deal. You really do have to lighten up though.”

“Better be a strong drink.”

Jesus fucking Christ. His smile was ridiculously gorgeous. It was a goofy sort of smile, the kind that you usually reserved for children. I felt like I was one of his patients and his smile was a lollipop. Or a sticker. I don’t know if they still hand out lollipops.

The waitress was a tiny thing, blonde and with a pixie face and haircut. She looked like Tinkerbell. She didn’t act like the horndog hostess. I guess people who expect tips know better than to check out somebody else’s date.

“Order a strong drink,” Wes said. “Really strong.”

“I’ll have the Ranch Mai Tai. Make it extra special. I want the Bacardi.”

Wes grinned.

“Same for me. I want to know what that tastes like.”

“Coming right up,” the waitress said, walking away.

“That’s a chick drink,” I pointed out.

“Didn’t take you for a sexist.”

“I’m not allowed to make a joke?”

“I can’t believe you’re making a joke at all,” he said with a laugh. “You’re always so serious that I didn’t even catch it.”

“I’m just trying to lighten up.”

“So is it a defense mechanism?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“This. Being mean all the time.”

“Don’t you try and psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m just trying to figure out what made you the way you are. Not that there’s anything wrong with your attitude. I just want to know why.”

“I don’t really have an answer for that. I’ve just always been this way.”

“What was your childhood like?”

“You want my full family history too? Cancer in the family? Diabetes?”

He laughed.

“You’re a smartass.”

“I might have heard that once or twice in my life,” I said, remembering our conversation from the other day.

“Once or twice. Sure.”

“Maybe a few more times than that.”

He held my gaze, a soft twinkling haze glowing in his dark eyes from the lights hung on the ceiling. The expression on his face was one of amusement, but I had a feeling that he wasn’t amused by me per say, just by our conversation. It was off-setting.

He didn’t miss it.

“Are you still creeped out by me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then tell me about your past. I’m a doctor. You can trust me.”

“You’re not my doctor.”

“We can pretend.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” he said, grinning.

“You’re annoying.”

“That’s a new one.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

“Once or twice.”

And then I was laughing too. It wasn’t that there weren’t witty people out there, but I met very few that had the patience to take me on. I had a few friends that tried, but they struggled to keep up. Wes wasn’t struggling. He was fighting like hell.

“Alright, I think you’ve earned an answer,” I said. “I’m like this because I’m closed off.”

“You’re protecting yourself,” he said. “From what?”

“I don’t trust people.”

“You’re trusting me.”

“Only because you’re forcing me to.”

“Keep talking. Tell me about your childhood.”

I sighed.

“I mean, I just have to say three words and it’ll all make sense.”

“Don’t tell me you love me already,” he said with a smug smile. “Although I am pretty lovable so I can’t blame you.”

“So full of yourself,” I muttered. “Foster care system. Those are the three words.”

That knocked the smile right off his mouth.

“That does explain a lot. You grew up fighting the world,” he said. “You still are.”

His eyes had softened.

This was starting to get too heavy for me. I couldn’t even recall the last time I’d told someone I’d grown up in the system. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d told someone anything even remotely personal at all, for that matter.

I really needed that drink.

“Tell me about you,” I said, changing the subject. “Are you a pediatrician?”

“No.”

“That’s it? No explanation?”

“I don’t really like to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“It changes how people look at me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a foot doctor or something.”

He laughed.

“No, podiatry’s not really my thing.”

“I thought the whole point of a date was getting to know each other,” I said, using his own words against him. “Now spill.”

“I’m licensed to practice medicine, but I haven’t completed my residency. I still have a fellowship following residency before I’ll be ready to sit the specialty boards.”

“I didn’t understand half the things you just said.”

He laughed.

“Sorry, it’s easy to forget. I’m usually only around medical professionals.”

“You gonna explain any of that to me?”

“Sure, if you’re interested.”

“Obviously, or I wouldn’t ask.”

“Which part is it that confuses you?”

“All of it. Hit me with the basics, doc. How does one become a doctor?”

“Okay, let me try to simplify it,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “The M.D. title on my badge stands for Medical Doctor. I earned that title after completing medical school and acquiring my medical degree. A medical degree doesn’t really mean shit, though. You can’t practice medicine with a piece of paper. After you get your medical degree you have to complete a one-year internship before you’re eligible to sit the board exam to get your medical license.”

“So that’s it? Medical school, a year of internship and then boom, you’re a doctor?”

“Yes and no. A medical license is practically worthless without the residency that comes after.”

“You said you’re completing your residency. So this is the step you’re in now?”

“Yes. Completing a residency program is how you can call yourself a member of a specific profession within medicine. You wouldn’t be able to call yourself a pediatrician, podiatrist, gynecologist, psychiatrist—any specialty—without completing a residency program. Some specialties will require a fellowship after residency. Once you’re done with all of that you can sit the specialty board exams to get board certified. Then you can finally call yourself a qualified doctor.”

“Wes,” I said. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“You’ve been beating around the bush this whole fucking time. You still haven’t told me what your damn specialty is in. Don’t think I didn’t catch that.”

He ran a hand down his face and groaned.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“It’s my turn to be pushy.”

“My clinical interest is in pediatric surgery.”

What the hell?

“So I’ve been sitting across the table from a surgeon this whole time.”

All he did was shrug. Jesus, it was almost like he hated his profession.

“Why don’t you like telling people? Sounds pretty impressive to me.”

“That’s the point,” he said. “I’m not just my profession.”

“I thought surgeons were supposed to be really full of themselves.”

“Most of them are. I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t tell people I’m a surgeon because then I just get written off as a surgeon and nothing else. People don’t care who I am, just what I am. I hate it.”

Okay, that made me feel pretty bad. I probably shouldn’t have bullied it out of him, but whatever.

“I get that. I wrote you off as some creepy hot guy at first. It must be worse to just be written off as just your profession. People probably don’t take the time to get to know who you are as a person.”

“You think I’m hot?”

I kicked him under the table and he winced. Why did I ever let myself believe that this guy wasn’t full of himself?

“Alright, I deserved that,” he said. “I appreciate what you said. It’s true. My hectic schedule doesn’t really give me the opportunity to make many friends, and even when I do make any outside of the hospital I just always end up being treated like I’m better than I am.”

“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 anyway?

“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.