Doctor Archer Jones is quite popular at the hospital, not only because he’s a young, hot surgeon, but because all the nurses love working with him— again not just because he’s a hottie. He’s easy to work with and respects his nurses. He treats us as equals and makes sure we know how much he values having a good team to work with.
It’s refreshing, really, to be told thank you by someone who technically outranks me. But it’s so fucking true. I don’t know how many times I’ve corrected doctors’ errors, or noticed that the new meds they just prescribed cause a severe allergic reaction and the allergy is clearly listed in the patient’s chart they obviously didn’t bother to even open.
“When and where are you supposed to be going?”
“Tonight, and that new Mexican restaurant that just opened on Main Street.”
“I do like tacos.”
“So you’ll go?”
I put the last of my stuff away and head out of the locker room with Hilary. We’ve become friends and work on the same rotation.
“I’ll think about it. What’s the guy’s name?”
“I don’t even remember. Dane maybe?” she laughs. “Ugh. I never should have agreed to go on this date, but when Dr. Jones asked me, all I could think about was how pretty his eyes are.”
I laugh. “They are a bit mesmerizing.”
“See! It’s not my fault I agreed to go out with his loser friend.”
“Calling him a loser isn’t helping your case.” I take another drink of coffee and go into the break room, stashing my coffee in the fridge to reheat after surgery.
“You’ll get a free dinner out of it.”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
“That means yes.” Hilary bobs her head up and down. “I have his number. I’ll get it for you before we leave.”
“I haven’t agreed to this yet,” I remind her, trying not to smile. Other than going out with Hilary a few times after work, I really haven’t done much. I’m not interested in dating—yet—but maybe pushing myself out of my comfort zone will be a good thing. “Fine,” I say right before we get to the nurse’s station. “I’ll go.”“Motherfucker.” I look from the phone number written in Dr. Jones’s messy handwriting to my reflection in the mirror. I pulled out all the stops tonight. Full makeup, curled hair, my best pushup bra, and a black dress that I’m going to freeze my ass off in, but makes said ass look fantastic.
But I don’t want to go on this date. The more Hilary talked about this guy, the more I regretted agreeing to go. He sounds pathetic, and I kind of feel bad for him, but I also don’t want to get his hopes up or lead him on by going on this date.
I’m an hour away from D-Day, and I need to either suck it up and go or cancel now before the guy gets to the restaurant. My whole life I’ve felt bad saying no or backing out of plans like this, and I know it’s totally my fault for agreeing in the first place when I didn’t actually want to do it.
“I shouldn’t go,” I tell Figaro, who’s been batting a milk cap around the apartment all evening. “I don’t want to, and going on a date might get this guy’s hopes up. He could fall in love with me.”
Figaro looks up at me as if to say fat chance.
“Fine. He could be a creepy stalker who starts killing my toxic friends.”
Again with a look.
“I don’t have many friends here yet, but I’ll make them. And it will be a shame for them to all get murdered.”
Letting out a sigh, I pace back and forth, trying to talk myself up into texting this guy. Okay…I’m doing it. No, I feel bad. But I don’t want to hurt this guy’s feelings.
Though, going on a date only to tell him I never want to see him again will hurt even more.
Fine. I have to cancel. Sucking in a breath, I sit on the couch and type up a text, reading it out loud as I type.
“So sorry, I’m not going to make it tonight. I think I got food poisoning. Maybe we can reschedule—no.” I shake my head. I’ll just have to cancel again. I delete and just go with So sorry. I’m not going to make it tonight.
I hit send before I have a chance to second-guess myself and then feel like an ass. I should have just gone. Maybe I can text him back and say whatever came up that made me cancel went away.
I’m pathetic. I know. I shouldn’t feel bad about not going out with a guy I have no interest in. I don’t owe him anything. Just when I’m about to cave and ask if we can go out another night, he replies with “okay”.