Riley Mackenzie - Beautifully Awake

His full out belly laugh sliced right through my mood and I couldn’t help but join him. His laugh was infectious, even ... sexy.

“That bad, huh?”

“Don’t be surprised if Sam Petit’s scrubs don’t match when you see him.”

Guy was handsome and funny.

“Poor kid, that really stinks. I hope he’s not in my office crying all day like that intern last year. The one that wound up quitting month two—remember him?”

“Don’t feel bad for him.” The dimples disappeared and one-part arrogant took over. “Fuck that, I don’t feel bad for any of them. We all did it. Hell-” Guy looked me straight in the face as his other two-thirds finished, “and I definitely didn’t have a beautiful shoulder like yours to cry on. As I recall, peds wasn’t sharing you back then.”

Did he really just say that?

“Be careful what you say, you wouldn’t want anyone to hear that tough Guy Hunter cried like a baby as an intern.” I stepped back, breaking eye contact and letting some air back into the suddenly tight atmosphere. He flirted with all things female; it meant nothing. It was time for a change in subject. “So the new guy’s an ass. That’s what you’re saying, huh?”

“Pretty much, but that’s his issue. I couldn’t give two shits if he wants to be a dick. As long as he’s as good in the OR as they say he is, and he teaches me what I need to know to get a fellowship, I’ll play the stupid game and kiss ass. I don’t care.”

Residency could have been the topic of a bad Lifetime movie about hazing, minus the drinking and branding. It started at the top and trickled down to interns, who took the brunt. Always. It was a vicious cycle of humiliation all in the name of “medical” training. It wasn’t right.

“It’s still not right, attending or not. No one’s that freaking special. He needs to get over himself. Remember that in a few years when you’re done with all your training and an attending,” I said, not believing for one second that Guy would turn into a stereotypical surgeon. He was better than that.

“Well, he must be doing something right. He’s what, like thirty-six and already fuckin’ Chief of Neuro. He’s published a shit load, and I think he’s even a spokesman for some of that new equipment they’re training us on.” Guy finished tinkering with my tablet and handed it back to me. Envy and determination were in his eyes.

Our moment was abruptly interrupted. “You can make that man spokesperson or spokesmodel for just about anything, and I’d buy it.” A sassy voice came out of nowhere. We both looked up at Leanne Crowley, a fifth floor nurse and frequenter of girl’s happy hour. She came out of nowhere.

“Really, Lee?” Guy’s voice deepened to a semi-growl and his expression resembled that of a jealous middle schooler.

“Yes, Dr. Hunter. Really. I’d even volunteer to be his test subject.” Leanne flashed her pearly whites and shrugged her shoulders. She knew just how to push Guy’s buttons.

Turning as quickly as she appeared, she walked away with an exaggerated shake of her hips. Guy’s eyes were crazy glued to her assets until she disappeared back into a patient’s room.

Not staring at Leanne was difficult. She wasn’t just girl next door pretty, she was full on stunning. Her legs started at her chin and she worked that classic Barbie doll figure, big boobs with non-existent hips. Her blonde hair bordered on platinum, a shade that didn’t exist in a box.

When Guy’s eyes finally rebounded back and realized I caught him checking her out, he raised his brow, screaming, can you blame me? Nope.

Before he drooled on himself or before my sudden onset of completely unfounded, unjustifiable, unexplainable jealousy clawed its way to the surface, I spoke. “Hey. Let’s run the list so I can go do what I do and not give Dr. Pompous another reason to piss all over the intern again. I hear there’s a limit on how many times you can change your scrubs.”

“When did you get so funny, doll?” Those dimples killed me.

Joking aside, Guy diligently walked me through the list of patients. Who was going home soon, who needed rehab, who was scheduled for the OR, and most importantly, an abbreviated Sanskrit-to-English translation of all the neuro terms that were completely foreign.

Just as we finished with business, something dawned on me. Thanks to Guy, my morning was not total shit. He completely changed the vibe; he fixed it and made it ... enjoyable, even. He let me sleep in, if you called five thirty sleeping in. He covered for me with the new chief and even waited around after rounds to help me out. My insides warmed a degree, nowhere near thawing, but I almost imagined what it would feel like to be with someone again. To trust someone again. To share that part of myself with someone again. Almost.

I needed out of my own head, and I didn’t want my inner debate sending Guy any wrong signals. “Hey, thanks a lot. I really appreciate your help. You rock.” I genuinely meant it.

“Anytime. Gotta run, supposedly Super-Chief doesn’t need sleep and changed the damn OR schedule to start even earlier. I’ve got a laminectomy in five.” He radiated annoyance. “So as much as I enjoy your awesome company, I’d rather skip the Chief’s how-long’s-my-dick show if I can. I’ll see ya later, but make sure you page me if you need help changing Petit’s diaper. Show him who’s boss.”

He squeezed my arm again and sauntered toward the stairs. Surgeons and stairs. I didn’t get it.

“Go, run, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll dazzle him with your lami-whatever skills, and hopefully there will be no need for any showing of man parts.” I winked and smiled. “And thanks again for covering for me this morning. I’m just glad he didn’t notice.”

With one hand opening the steel door, he glanced back looking incredibly handsome and dead serious.

“I never said that, doll. He totally noticed.”

After Guy left to lami-something someone, I tracked down Sam Petit. I was pleasantly surprised there were no signs of an impending meltdown. He appeared to have his shit together in matching scrubs. Not bad for a first day intern. It also psyched me out to learn we were getting a physician assistant on our service. Supposedly Colton was a control freak in the operating room and insisted on having his own PA to scrub with. I guessed residents didn’t cut it. He must have had some clout, because the surgery department assigned Jackson, who aside from being a great guy, was one of the more senior PAs and known to be kickass in the operating room. So far the team looked promising. Three down, one to go.

The morning was so busy, I barely had time to stress about missing rounds. Even the rumble subsided. And since Colton’s OR schedule was jam packed with the most treacherous sounding procedures, he wasn’t going to care that his case manager slept through a page. Craniotomies, ventriculostomies, transsphenoidal resections, chiari decompressions—total effing Sanskrit. NASA sounded remedial in comparison.

The hospital grapevine, aka Leanne, buzzed that Dr. Colton was one of the go-to-guys in his field. Patients were already scheduled months in advance for consults. And not just local patients, people were flying in from all over. The hospital powers-that-be must have been thrilled; after all, it was always about the bottom line for them. There was a good chance I wouldn’t deal with Dr. Pompous at all this rotation.

And just as Sierra predicted, I quickly fell right into my routine. I met with all my patients trying to tease out any social issues, because old habits died hard, and then spent hours on the phone arguing with soul-sucking insurance companies. This part of the job completely and utterly sucked, but someone needed to fight for these people, even if it was always a losing battle. It always boiled down to the same thing. Money. Saving the hospital money. Saving the insurance company money. Who cared if these patients were sick and vulnerable? Figure it out, that was my job and it was mind-blowingly frustrating most days. But I had enough experience with “the system” to realize getting all bent out of shape wasn’t the answer. One battle at a time. Take a small victory when you can.

Chime. Sierra texted all day, every day without fail. About everything and nothing.

Babe’s hungry today

Might gross myself out and

order the enchilada XL!

She was text obsessed even before she quit her high-powered job as an ad exec last spring to live the life of a main-line brat. Funny that she called herself that because, for one, she lived in the heart of Center City, not the main line, and two, she clocked close to forty-five hours a week fundraising for various children’s charities. Sierra was no stranger to working hard, she just failed to understand that not everyone could pause what they were doing to text streams of consciousness. She had to wait.

I ignored my non-stop chiming cell and finished my torturous phone calls before grabbing a quick lunch with my friend Kate from the recovery room. I even squeezed in an afternoon pit stop to drop off the scones with my security buddies, a weekly tradition we shared. It was five o’clock before I knew it, and I was back at the fifth floor nurses’ station—this time waiting for evening rounds. It was a little like Groundhog’s Day.

Whatever, in less than an hour there’d be a well-deserved kickass margarita in my hand. Mmm. First day down, and the rumble was quiescent. Until next month at least.

So far, only the new intern Sam waited, and Leanne mercilessly teased the poor guy. Jackson already left for the day, because PAs rarely stayed to round. Not sure why that was kosher, but it was pretty well established and no one questioned it.