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As Samira looked across the dingy bowling alley, smelling the years of second-hand smoke and wood oil, she regretted trying to get a life.
She knew that both Cassie and Parker had been coming from a good place when they told her following the MCI that the hospital couldn’t be her whole life. She knew her defensiveness was born out of their words ringing a little too true. And she was tired of going home from a shift to an empty, barely-furnished apartment, sleeping and then trudging herself back to the hospital to do it all over again. It was lonely.
So, she decided to do something about it. She bought décor off Facebook Marketplace and nestled a pothos by her kitchen window to bring some sense of home to her place. She made a point to join the nurses and doctors who congregated in the park after an especially grueling shift, nursing a beer or two tossed to her by Donnie out of a cooler as they stood around debriefing the bizarre things that could only be seen coming through an emergency department. She called her mom more often, had stiff but well-meaning conversations usually about her working too much and not eating right, but it counted for something. She grudgingly downloaded the apps.
Dating seemed to be a bridge too far when it came to getting a life. She had matched and gone on dates with two guys already. Her first attempt had been with a guy who insisted they go axe-throwing, despite her protests. As an ER physician, she’d seen more than her fair share of injuries from what she considered to be a frankly stupid way to pass an evening. Whose idea was it to mix beer with throwing weapons at a wall. But he had insisted, and it turned out to be not disastrous but certainly not great either.
Evan was tall and handsome and built but in a way that screamed glamour muscles and selfies taken in gym mirrors. That sort of strength had never appealed to her, and her mind wandered to wiry forearms sprinkled with greying hair and muscles hard-earned from lifting patients every night before she forced the thought out of her head and tried to be present. But Evan needed people to know he was strong, so the axe-throwing made sense.
They spent two hours together, and she wasn’t sure he asked a single question about herself the entire time. He talked about workouts and meal plans and flouted his muscles as he held the axe above his head and didn’t seem to notice that Samira was not having fun. He had gone in for a kiss at the end of the night, and even that was fine, but there was no heat when he pressed his lips a little too assertively to hers, and Samira knew he wouldn’t hear from her again.
Her second date hadn’t been much better. Mini-golfing with Tyler at least carried substantially less risk of serious bodily harm than axe-throwing had. It hadn’t been her idea, but Samira was game enough. Tyler was overly confident. In classic date fashion, he positioned himself behind Samira, arms around her, “teaching” her the right form for putting with an air of condescension. His breath on her neck felt anything but sexy. Samira, rarely meeting a challenge she couldn’t rise to, out-scored him on the first 9 nine holes. This seemed to wound Tyler’s ego as he huffily muttered something about “beginner’s luck” before suggesting they forgo the back nine. She knew not to expect a second date.
Which is how Samira found herself in a shabby bowling alley equidistant between work and her apartment. She stood next to Austin as he dipped a French fry in ketchup before stuffing it in his mouth. Samira cringed visibly. “Maybe you shouldn’t eat in between touching the communal bowling balls.” Samira knew well enough that winter was peak norovirus season, having spent the past several weeks seeing more than a few people per shift who couldn’t keep anything down and needed banana bags to replenish fluids. Her favorite pair of Hokas had fallen victim to a patient’s emesis two days ago and were still drying out on her windowsill.
“Oh. I don’t worry about things like germs, you know. It’s all good for your immune system in the end. I never get sick. Just built different,” he chuckled, obviously amused with his own joke. Not for the first time that night, Samira forced herself to smile. He had been cracking the kind of jokes pulled straight from a reddit thread all night that had yet to elicit so much as a sincere chuckle from her. She quietly thought about how often she treated people in the ED who declared while suffering through even moderate symptoms that they never usually got sick.
“I know you’re an ER doc, but surely you’re not one of those people who get their panties in a twist about viruses and vaccines and shit. I mean, humans have survived millions of years at this point. I think we’ll be okay,” he said, and his face managed to be skeptical and condescending at the same time.
Samira had to physically restrain herself from informing him that A) humans hadn’t existed for millions of years B) that was a classic example of survivorship bias and C) being an ED physician was the exact reason she got her panties in a twist about viruses and vaccines and shit. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she turned to pick up a ball to take her turn.
In retrospect, she would blame her mind wandering to excuses she could make up to get out of there for her misstep. The over-oiled wood floors conspired with the zero-grip rented bowling shoes as she pulled her leg back, slinging the ball, and her ankle twisted with a crunch. Samira found herself on the ground in a not insubstantial amount of pain.
To his credit, Austin rushed to her side and helped her to her feet. Samira couldn’t help but notice the amount he seemed to exert himself lifting her frame. “Oh gosh. You’re really falling for me, huh?” he remarked, seeming pleased with himself, before continuing “But seriously, you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” dismissed Samira, her ankle weight-bearing if a little unsteady.
“Maybe we should take you to the ER. Your work isn’t far from here, right?”
Samira was torn. She knew that it was probably a sprain, but if it was a break and she walked around on it, it would make working substantially more difficult. But she also knew who would be on staff to tease her—which attending was on call at the nearest hospital this time of night. Something in her that she refused to name didn’t love the prospect of Dr. Abbot knowing she had been on a date.
“It’s really okay. I can uber over and get it checked out,” she answered, grateful for the out from this date that had been painful in more ways than one.
“I insist. Besides, it’ll be cool to see where you work.” Cool was not the word Samira had in mind but she really didn’t want to call an uber to take her five minutes down the road and her limp would cause the walk to take twice as long as it should so she acquiesced and allowed him to drive her to the lot outside the ambulance entrance to the pit. She again insisted that he did not need to accompany her inside, but he seemed oblivious to her attempts to free herself from this date and followed her through the entry doors.
“Bridget,” Samira called, getting the night charge nurse’s attention at the hub, “I fucked up my ankle little. Can I grab an empty room and just have someone look at it?”
“Sure sweetie,” Bridget replied. “Six is free. I’ll find someone.”
“Thanks. Just anyone who has time." She paused before adding "But maybe not…” Samira trailed off.
Bridget nodded knowingly, suppressing a smirk. “I’ll try, honey, but you know he sees everything.”
Samira groaned, but began leading Austin, who was still helping her support her weight, towards exam room 6. As luck would have it, Mr. Sees Everything turned the corner just as she opened the door to enter the room.
“Mohan, what brings you to the pit this time of night?” Abbot exclaimed before his eyes caught sight of the gangly man supporting half her weight. He frowned, eyes snagging on where Austin’s body pressed into Samira, before pasting a smile on his face. It didn’t escape Samira’s notice that the sight of him, grey curls messy mid-shift, hazel eyes deep and full of concern, filled her with butterflies the likes of which none of her recent dates had managed to elicit.
“It’s probably just a sprain,” Samira muttered, gesturing to her ankle, more than a little embarrassed, as she pulled away from Austin, turning trying to lift herself onto the exam table. Her ankle was unable to produce enough force to get her body off the ground.
“Here. Let me help,” supplied Austin, putting an arm around her. “That’s a whole lot of weight to put on a bum ankle,” he chuckled.
“Oh, I got her, sport,” interjected Abbot, pushing Austin out of the way to assist Samira. Abbot looked insulted on Samira’s behalf before wrapping his large hands around either side of her ribcage beneath her arms and hoisting her onto the table like a child. It seemed to cost him no effort. Samira felt her face heat at the feeling of his palms pressed to her sides, and she couldn’t help but compare the ease with which Abbot lifted her to the effort Austin had obviously expended earlier when helping her up from the ground.
Abbot rolled over the stool to examine her ankle. “How’d you end up like this?” he asked softly, removing her sock, as she hadn’t put a shoe back on that foot after her fall, knowing swelling would make taking it off later a bitch.
“We were on a date. Bowling. I guess you could say Samira here literally fell head over heels for me,” announced Austin from beside her. Abbot did not look amused, and Samira felt a kinship with him because apparently, she was not the only one who found him completely unfunny.
“Well, it’s definitely not broken,” Abbot said, gently turning her ankle from side to side. Even through the nitrile of the gloves, the heat of his skin on her foot as he held it like it was something delicate to care for made Samira’s insides feel warm.
“Good thing, huh,” remarked Austin. “I know ERs are slow moving, but I can’t imagine you could practice even emergency medicine with one foot.”
Shock and hurt covered Samira’s face. The implication that emergency work was some lower form of medicine coupled with sting that always accompanied the implication that she was “slow moving.”
But before Samira could say a thing, Abbot turned to Austin. “I don’t know, champ,” said Abbot, a falsely friendly smile plastered on his face as he lifted the right leg of his pants to reveal his prosthetic. “I don’t think I’d need two feet to kick your ass, man.”
“Abbot!” Samira exclaimed, but she found herself trying to choke back the first genuine laugh to come out of her all evening.
“Oh, I mean—I didn’t mean to imply—I mean, I just meant,” stuttered Austin, face going red with a mixture of fear and embarrassment.
“S’okay, chief. I’m just messing with you,” replied Abbot. The air of amused, confident calm he radiated made her date seem like a bumbling kid in comparison.
“Well,” Austin said, pulling out his phone to look at it. “I think I should probably get out of here. It’s getting late and I need to… feed my cat. Samira, are you good to get home?”
“I got her from here, buddy,” supplied Abbot. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
“Thanks. I’ll text you, Samira,” Austin added before turning tail and hustling out of the room. Samira knew that even if he did text her, it would go unanswered, another opportunity for a second date biting the dust.
“Sorry I cleared out your date, Mohan” Abbot said, not looking the least bit sorry as he turned back to Samira and began wrapping her ankle.
“Oh, I had been trying to end it for a while now. If anything, you put me out of my misery,” replied Samira. She found herself glad to be sharing the room alone with Abbot.
“Dating pool that fun, huh?” Abbot chortled.
“The pool is shallow and bleak,” admitted Samira.
“Well, your ankle’s all set. You’re just about the smartest doctor we’ve got, so I know I don’t have to explain RICE protocol to you.”
“I got it. I don’t work tomorrow, so I’ll keep off it best I can.” Samira said, sheepishly.
“You good to get home?”
“I ubered to the bowling alley. I’ll just grab one home,” replied Samira, hopping down from the exam table, wincing a bit as the weight settled on her ankle.
Abbot looked like he didn’t love the idea of her grabbing a ride but knew better than to treat her like a damsel in distress.
“Well thanks—” began Samira at the same time Abbot chimed in “Let me make it up to you.”
“Oh. That’s really not necessary,” said Samira.
“I insist. If you don’t work tomorrow, go home. Get some rest and meet me at Martha’s at 9. You can get those waffles you like, and I can pick your brain on some EM articles I’ve been meaning to send you.”
Martha’s was the Pitt staff’s go-to for a post-shift breakfast. Samira had only joined a couple of times as she rarely worked night shifts, but she did love their lemon poppyseed waffles. How Abbot managed to remember that from the few times she’d joined the night shift crew, she didn’t know. But she was intrigued by the idea of spending more time alone with him..
“Yeah. You know what, that sounds great, actually,” she allowed. “Nine, you said?” she asked, as she made her way towards the exit. “I’ll see you then.”
“It’s a date,” chirped Abbott, before flushing bright red. “I mean—” but Samira just chuckled as she walked out the building.
---
The next morning, Samira walked into Martha’s and slid into a booth at the back corner where Abbot was already seated, back to the wall and facing the door. She felt a little foolish. She had put more effort into the way she looked to grab breakfast with a co-worker than she had for her previous three dates. Her hair was down, curl cream smoothing it into soft, shiny waves. She was never much for makeup, but she had applied mascara and eyeliner and smudged on a lip gloss a shade brighter than her lips. She tried not to think too hard about why Abbot warranted more effort in the looks department than the boys from the apps.
Abbot, for his part, looked to have put in some effort as well. He had obviously gone home and showered after his shift. His curls were damp and clumped together. He had changed from scrubs into jeans and a Foo Fighters t-shirt that had obviously been worn soft with many washes over the years. His eyes lit up when he saw her sit down across from him.
“How’s the ankle this morning?” he asked cheerfully.
“Oh, it’s fine. I think my ego’s a little more bruised than anything else,” Samira replied.
“What about a sprained ankle is enough to bruise your ego?”
“It’s not about the sprained ankle. It’s the circumstances around the sprained ankle. It’s about the fact that this was my third first date in a row, and they’ve ranged from mind-numbing to disastrous,” she huffed.
The waitress stopped by their table. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a black coffee and a Denver omelet,” Jack said before gesturing to Samira.
“Can I have a vanilla latte and an order of lemon poppy seed waffles?” Samira asked.
“Sure thing, sugar. I’ll be right back with your coffees,” the woman said, turning to walk away, before Jack made to get her attention.
“Could you make sure the syrup in her latte is vanilla and not french vanilla? She’s allergic to hazelnuts,” Jack added, smiling graciously at the waitress. Samira had mentioned this once, several months ago ordering the same latte when all of them gathered for a post-night shift breakfast. Him remembering such a small detail quietly thrilled her.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad, Mohan,” Abbot said, returning his attention to her.
“Samira,” she corrected. “And you really want to talk about my dating life, Abbot?” she asked, eyeing him skeptically, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the table.
“Jack. Please. We’re not at work,” he offered in return. “And I think I can handle it, Samira. You’re brilliant and beautiful. It can’t be that hard for you to find someone halfway decent.” He said this casually, with a roll of his eyes, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, but Samira had to repress the shiver that ran through her body at his praise.
“It goes like this," she began. "I meet up with some guy to do some inane activity. Axe-throwing or mini-golfing or bowling. And they spend the whole time showboating and not asking me a single question about myself and teaching me something I already know how to do. Best case scenario, I get a deeply unspectacular kiss goodnight. Worst case scenario, they get pissy if I beat them at the stupid activity they chose in the first place. Either way, we part ways, and I never hear from them again.”
“Yikes. So what was last night? Bad kiss or inferiority complex?” Abbot asked cheekily.
“Last night was a third thing. A profoundly unfunny boy who put his fingers in a bowling ball and then ate french fries with that hand without washing it first.”
“Well, that’s just gross. Has this guy never heard of norovirus?” Abbot asked, a look of disgust on his face.
“My point exactly. But when I pointed this out to him he said ‘humans have survived millions of years. I think we’ll be okay.’” Samira answered, bracketing the air with finger quotes.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but one, humans haven’t been around for millions of years, and two, that is textbook survivorship bias,” Abbot said, taking a bite of the omelet. Apparently their food had arrived at some point, but Samira had been too caught up in their conversation to notice.
“Thank you!” Samira exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air.
“Where are you even meeting these yahoos?” Jack asked, looking befuddled.
“The apps,” Samira replied, embarrassed. “McKay told me I needed a life outside the hospital, and I was trying to get one. Unsuccessfully.”
“What is it that you do want out of a date, Samira?” Jack leaned in, more serious than he had been since she sat down.
Samira took a bite of her waffle to collect her thoughts. His eye contact could be a little intense even when he was being casual, and he certainly wasn’t being casual now.
“I want to meet someone the old fashioned way, not on one of the stupid apps. I don’t want to do some preposterous activity so he can demonstrate his prowess or whatever shit guys in their thirties do. I want to sit and have a meal and be able to talk about medicine but not only talk about medicine. I want someone that doesn’t feel emasculated by the fact that honestly, I’m probably going to be smarter than him. I want someone to make me laugh and then walk me to my car and kiss me until I see fireworks. I want to want to text him afterward and for there to be a second date and then a third and then eventually, I have a life and he’s a part of it.”
Samira thought it was the most words she had ever strung together one after another while talking with Jack. When everything she had just admitted washed over her, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, realizing that this outing had met every one of her criteria short of walking her to her car to... She put her face in her hands.
But Jack just smiled evenly. He flagged down their waitress and politely asked for the check, shaking his head when she asked if they needed separate ones. Samira began to protest him paying for her meal.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Humor me, sweetheart. I’m old-fashioned. A man pays for a first date,” he smirked, eyes twinkling.
Samira couldn’t argue with that.
Jack paid their tab and stood, offering his hand to Samira, who took it, not just because she was walking a little unsteadily on her sprained ankle.
They walked side by side until they reached her old Camry. She pushed her back against the driver’s side door and he moved toward her until their fronts were nearly pressed together. He reached one hand out, leaning against the door behind her and drew his face until their mouths were a hair’s width apart, foreheads touching and then paused. Samira inhaled to steady herself. Then very softly, Jack pressed his lips to hers, sweet at first. He moved his free arm to thread his fingers in her hair and pull her towards him so that they were chest to chest.
Samira’s pulse thudded, and she opened her mouth for him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing along her bottom lip before gently taking it between his teeth. She choked off a moan and pressed her lips into his again. He pulled back, and looked down at her. She felt a little light-headed. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before smirking again.
“You’ll have to be the judge of the fireworks, darlin’” he said, cheekily before turning to walk to his own car.
Samira stood there a minute, pressing two fingers to her lips where his mouth had just been and watched him drive away before taking out her phone and pulling up the contact for Jack Abbot (ATTENDING!).
So about that second date…