I sped through my paperwork in order to leave on time, but ended up with forty-five annoying minutes left on the clock. 

I had a date. It had been a while since my last one, and even though I didn't have the greatest feeling about this one, I still planned to use him to end my dry spell if he seemed the least bit decent.

The schedule for the next two weeks was going to be a shitshow for Theresa to manage. Three shift change requests on top of a scheduled vacation and someone at the cusp of maternity leave, she was going to have to find someone new and requested me to opine on some of the applicants. Looking them over, I couldn't help but try to find someone who seemed like me. Someone who could be a friend.

Denise and Tiffany started cackling so loud I couldn't hear the music from my earbuds. It only added to the annoyance of running out the clock. I rolled my eyes and walked away to find somewhere quieter.

I walked past Ziggy's room and saw he was working once again. I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I peeked my head in and knocked. "How's it going in here, Ziggy?"

He smiled at me. "Better now. How are you, Sabby?" He couldn't seem to find a nickname that stuck.

"Some people call me 'Sabs,'" I told him as I ambled toward him.

"Friends? Or just people?" he asked. I didn't answer. "Am I in trouble or is this a fun visit?"

"I figured you would be working and probably be listening to good music." I glanced up to find an early scene of Fight Club playing on his TV. "Or watching one of the best movies of all time."

"What can I say? My taste is impeccable," he said with a smirk. "Feel free to join me."

I strolled closer. "Scoot over."

He raised an eyebrow as he moved over in the bed. I sat next to him, dangling my leg off the side. I sat the folder full of resumes in front of me beside his tray and lean back against the pillows to read through one. "You look comfortable in my bed."

I smiled to myself. "Don't get any ideas. I'm in the last hour of my shift and your room is much quieter than gossip central at the nurse's station." Edward Norton talked to Brad Pitt about single-serving friends. I love this movie.

"You look extra nice today," Ziggy said. I had done my hair before coming into work, trying to keep myself from being late as I usually was. It lasted a whole two hours before I had to put it up anyway. "Do you have plans this evening? A hot date, perhaps?"

"Yes, actually."

He grinned. "Who's the lucky guy?" he pried. I gave him a sideways look. "Lucky girl?"

I chuckled. "His name is Max." I looked over to find Ziggy staring at me like an intrigued girlfriend. "My best friend set us up. He's a hedge fund manager and comes off a bit like a frat boy, but I'll give him a shot."

"You gonna fuck him tonight?" I laughed and patted the back of my hand against his arm. "Oh, come on. I'm stuck in this cock-clock of a place. Let me live vicariously through you." He gave me a pleading look from behind his stereotypical thick-framed glasses. I gave in.

"I plan to fuck his little, frat-boy brains out."

"That's my girl." He lifted his hand for a high five and I slapped it. "Give him my best," he said with a smirk. I laughed and shook my head at him.

I read through a few more resumes while he worked, listening to Edward Norton as he's definitely not punching himself in the middle of a street. After a while, I decide it is time to ask.

"Are you going to have any visitors?" I asked nonchalantly. He had been in the hospital for nearly a week and not a single person had come by to see him. He had no one listed on his contact sheet either. I looked over to find him ignoring my question be pretending to watch the movie. "You have friends, don't you?"

"Sure, but not any I want to see me like this." I wasn't sure what he meant.

"What about family?"

"I don't have much of that."

"No parents? Siblings?" He turned his head and eyed me as if gauging my intent. "I'm not trying to be nosey. I'm just worried about you."

"That's very sweet of you."

"Will you answer the question?"

He exhaled audibly. "I'm an only child, so no siblings. And as for parents . . ." He twisted his mouth like he was chewing on his words. "My dad died when I was a teenager when my mom was too busy getting high to remember I existed," he said with surprising openness.

"Oh." I tried not to sound as shocked as I felt. "Do you talk to her anymore?"

"Every few months. It's been about six since the last time."

"So, I assume you don't want her here."

"No need to worry her."

"Okay."

"I mean, it's not like I'm dying or anything." He looked at me again. "Right?"

"Right. But it might be nice to have someone come visit while you are stuck in here." I leaned my head against the pillow, attempted to emphasize my request.

He mimicked me, resting his head on the pillow and crossing his arms. "No one has asked where I've been. I'd rather people not know unless they have to." I nodded. His hazel eyes scanned over my face as mine did the same. His nose was so perfectly straight, his jawline sharp and masculine. He was truly one of the most handsome men I had ever met. I wondered If he had been a model before becoming a photographer. "So, are we gonna make out now or what?"

I playfully groaned in disgust and he laughed.

I was proud of myself for being only twenty minutes late to the restaurant. It had only taken me a few seconds to spot the dark-haired man in an expensive suit sitting alone. Since then, we had been chatting easily over dinner and drinks.

A few minutes into our conversation did I realize we had met twice before. Once in passing and the other at a party I hardly remember because I was more concerned with getting drunk than talking to anyone. Engagement parties are not my thing.

Apparently, Rebecca had given him my number. It didn't surprise me. After all, if I didn't find someone to marry soon, we wouldn't be able to have kids at the same time so they could go to the same schools. Not only did she have her two-year plan scheduled down to the day. She also had a twenty-year plan scheduled by the quarter.

Twenty-year plans are for shit, but she may have had some foresight with Max. He wasn't that bad.

He was a workaholic and made no effort to hide that fact. All he talked about was his chance at partner, his big-name clients, and his job perks. The way he explained it made it sound like spreadsheets and ass-kissing. He was just shy of boring, but he was nice, cute, and, in my book, there were much worse things than being a workaholic.

Max was blabbing about the stock market as I sipped my wine when he suddenly stopped. I gave him a confused look. "I'm sorry, I must be boring you," he said.

"No, of course not." He was, but he couldn't help it. "I can tell you're passionate about what you do." I set down my glass. "Honestly, I don't understand people who can go to work every day, then go home and have a life completely separate from it. I live and breathe my work and I wouldn't have it any other way."

A smile crept across his face. "You know, I practically begged Rebecca for your phone number," he admitted. My eyebrows raised. "When we met in Vegas, I thought you were really cool. Chill, you know? Then at the engagement dinner, I couldn't stop staring at you all night."

I gave him a slinky smile that I know makes me look like a vixen. Maybe I had practiced it once or twice in a mirror, maybe not. "Then . . . this is practically our third date." He laughed.

I watched him get the look. He glanced down at my lips while wetting his own, then looked back to me questioningly. I held his gaze, willing him to do it. I leaned forward just a breath and he closed the distance. He kissed me hesitantly at first, then with a bit more confidence. A deliciously brief sample of more to come.

When he leaned away, I smiled.

The waiter walked over again, interrupting my little game. "Did you save room for dessert this evening?" I was considering this my cheat meal, but even if it wasn't, I was not going to refuse decadent restaurant cake. I gave Max a look and he ordered it.

I took another sip of my wine and felt Max place his hand on my knee. I gave him an unperturbed glance and continued to sip.

"You're very different from other women, Sabine." Men really think that's a compliment. He stroked his hand gently against my thigh.

I'll bite. "Why do you say that?"

"I don't know. There's just something about you."

I tilted my chin onto my hand and gave him a coy smile. "We're just getting started, Max." His smile widened.

I am so getting laid tonight.

I was notoriously late to everything but work, but this day was different. It was one of those days already. I ran behind the desk, dodging Theresa as she lectured one of the medical assistants.

Tiffany walked into Ziggy's room with a doctor. I finished signing in and followed them in to assist.

"Oh good, you're here," Tiffany said to me when I came into the room. "Someone is going to need a hand to hold in just a minute."

Ziggy looked my way. "There she is," he greeted me as the doctor rolled him to his side. I came closer and sat on the stool in front of him. "How was your evening?"

"Very good, thank you," I answered innocently.

"Very good?" he laughed but stopped the second he felt Tiffany swab his back. No one is fond of the idea of a needle shoved into their spine, but I knew his phobia would make it that much worse. I held out my hands. He took them in both of his.

"Okay, Mr. Ziegler," the doctor announced. "You're going to feel some pressure." In my periphery, I saw him start, so I maintained eye contact to try to lessen Ziggy's discomfort. He squeezed my hands before closing his eyes. He stifled a groan when it went in.

"That's the worst of it, Ziggy," I told him. "Just keep breathing."

He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes to look at me. "Did you get laid?" he asked me in a whisper. He looked like he was still in pain but trying to hide it—his brow tense, his hands still squeezing mine firmly. I'll humor him.

I leaned in closer and whispered, "Yes."

"Was he good?"

I smirked. "I've had much worse." Ziggy's face relaxed into a smile.

"All done, Mr. Ziegler. Just stay still for us one more moment and we'll get you patched up."

Ziggy let go of my hands but looked like he had something else to say. He peeked over his shoulder to make sure Tiffany and the doctor were out of earshot before whispering, "Did you come?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I had a very enjoyable time."

"So . . . no," he said. "What a prick."

I laughed. He laid back looking rather proud of himself.

"See you later, Ziggy." I followed the others out of the room and almost bump into Dr. Smith. "Oh, excuse me, Doctor," I apologized.

"Mr. Ziegler's room again?" he asked.

I was confused about what he was asking. "You ordered the lumbar puncture and additional blood panels."

"I'm aware of my orders." He placed a hand on my arm and pulled me off to the side. "I've heard rumors that he is inappropriate with you.

"I'd say he has an interesting sense of humor."

"You do seem to listen to him more than the other nurses."

"Probably so." I crossed my arms defensively. I knew I was good at my job. Damn good. What nurse wouldn't talk to their patients? "Did you know that his father passed away when he was young? That means he probably doesn't have a full family history." Dr. Smith looked intrigued. "Also, he's been to Thailand and Cambodia in the last six months." That came from my Instagram stalking, not my listening. "Not sure if that helps anything, but it definitely isn't noted in his chart."

"And you've been spending enough time with him to know all that?"

I didn't like what he was trying to imply. "Mr. Ziegler is our patient. Listening to him well enough to figure out what is wrong with him is our job, isn't it?"

He gave me the same petulant face he always made when someone questioned his authority. "Let me worry about figuring out what is wrong with him. In the meantime, maybe you should practice a bit of professional restraint when it comes to your relationships with our patients."

He walked away and I fought my urge to turn around and punch him in the back of the head. Theresa saw me and waved me over. I walked to the station and she stood up to speak quietly.

"What did I tell you?" she asked. "They don't know they need you."

I sighed. "Do you think I'm being inappropriate or unprofessional in any way?"

She shook her head adamantly. "No. I'm sure Mr. Ziegler will not be the last patient to have a crush on you. Just because Dr. Smith doesn't feel the need to listen to his own patients for more than two minutes, doesn't mean you are doing anything wrong."

I let out a relieved breath. Theresa would always be the one to tell me the truth about my work.

"You just keep doing exactly what you're doing, and if he doesn't recognize that you are an integral part of making his patients better . . . fuck him."

I laughed loudly and covered my mouth to stifle it. When Dr. Smith looked our way, I scurried down the hall.

Two days later, I sat curled up on the couch, sick. I woke up on my day off with a cough, went out that night, and only made it worse. My temperature was 99.8, which meant I could not be around our immune-compromised patients. I was forced to stay home with Netflix, counting the hours I would have to comp later in the week.

"There's some leftover soup in the freezer if you want some! Feel better, okay?" Rebecca said as she rushed out the door. The busy life of a budding lawyer. How we managed to spend any time with each other still amazed me.

In her rush, she left me to lock the door behind her. I got up to do that and grab some soup, but when I opened the freezer, some ice cream screamed my name instead. Screw my diet, I feel like shit. I took it back to the couch with me and curled myself up in my three softest blankets.

I had just pushed play on my episode when I got a text.

     Hey

I didn't recognize the number.

     Who is this?

I stared at the screen until the message came through.

     Your favorite patient

I knew exactly who it was without asking, but I played along.

     You will need to be more specific

I giggled to myself before a call came through from the same number. Why is he calling me?

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hey, you." It was him, just as expected.

"Hi, Ziggy. How did you get my number?"

"I stole it from Denise's phone when she wasn't looking," he explained nonchalantly. "Just making sure you weren't playing hooky."

I giggled but ended up coughing. "That's a little creepy, Ziggy."

"It's not creepy. You know you love me." I could hear his cheeky smile through the phone. "I'm just so bored without you here," he whined.

"You can survive a couple days without me."

"How do you know? I could die any minute."

"Well, I hope not," I said hoarsely.

"You do sound sick."

"Thanks."

"It's kind of sexy."

A deep cough came out of me. "No, it's not."

"You could literally cough up a lung in front of me and still be hotter than the cows you left me with."

I gasped to keep from laughing. "Cows?"

"You know damn well what your coworkers look like," he scolded me. "What am I supposed to drool over when you aren't here?"

"You're such an asshole." He laughed with me until I coughed over and over until my throat hurt.

"You should get some rest and fluids or something."

"Oh, should I?"

"Yes. They scheduled me for exploratory surgery tomorrow afternoon. They're about to find what's wrong with me and let me out of here." I didn't have the heart to tell him exploratory surgery was usually a sign of worse things to come. "So . . . you'll have to come back and hang out with me before I leave and never come back."

"I'll try my hardest to get better soon."

"Okay. Good," he sounded relieved. "I'll let you get some rest."

"Okay, thanks."

"See you later, Sabs."

We hung up and I felt a sense of dread. Surely he knew they wouldn't cut him open unless they thought it would be more dangerous not to do it. Something must have come back. Something had to be wrong.

I got up, shoved the ice cream back in the freezer, and dropped the soup into a pot. I was going to do everything I could to be there tomorrow night.