It's always so hard not to stare at you during our shifts together. While I work in my corner for the hours-long treatments, I try not to glance over as I hear you shuffle around to administer meds or hear you sweet talk one of the puppies. You're so cute when you sit on the floor to console a dog fresh out of surgery or when you try to coax one to eat his food by pretending to take a bite yourself. On the occasion that you have to walk by me to get to the surgery prep or to run blood samples, you always make a point to shoot a comment my way. "Having fun yet?" or, "Wow you definitely DON'T look like you want to melt out of your seat." Every facetious jab causes me to emit a snort of feigned annoyance or a groan of agreement in regards to my very overt boredom. Monitoring a patient under anesthesia for over an hour is important, but oh-so-tedious.
I'm done! Only three MRIs today! Thank god I can finally get back on the floor and, admittedly, closer to you. You make a comment about being happy to have my help and I feel my face tinge crimson.
I hide it with sarcasm, per usual. "Oh yes, nobody fear, your hero is back." I get a chuckle and a smile. Ugh, that smile does something to me every time. The way your nose crinkles just a bit and your eyes light up. I need to look away. I need to focus on the patients. We have some cats today, so that will be a welcome distraction. Everyone knows that, where there's a cat, I'm close by.
"I need to take him out actually. I was waiting for you to help me with that."
I'm flattered. I hope it doesn't show too much.
"Duh! You know I'm your gal. Let me grab the sweet boy."
"Uhh he's not so sweet. That's why I waited for you. You're one of the few people who's not afraid of the grumpy ones."
Again, I'm thrilled you think highly of me.
"He's just scared. I'll burrito the li'l guy and bring him into X-ray."
I always get the smallest shiver when I hear the door close and see the room darken. It's just us and I watch as you set up the machine. I hear the lowest growl coming from our little friend while he steeps in anger about his blanketed confinement. You're finally done. You put on your protective vest and grab one for me. As you grab our buddy with one hand, you extend the other, helping me to put my arm into the vest.
"Thanks, you're a saint." I say with the faintest tinge of sarcasm as I snap the vest into place.
"No, you are," you mumble while looking at the computer and handing me back the cat.
"Ha! I'm a lot of things but 'saint' is not on that list."
I say this as a joke but I see your eyes dart to me and very quickly scan my face for something I'm not sure of. There's a small laugh from you as you help me put the patient on the table and adjust him for some shots. The machine whirs and clicks with each shot. One, two, three, four, five. We're done and no one got scratched. The hard part is over with minimal issues. I wrap the guy back up and you go to remove your vest.
"Here. Let me help"
You walk behind me to unclip the vest and I feel your hand brush the back of my neck as you undo the velcro. Damnit. I fumble the cat, who reaches up for a quick swat and scratches me right below my eye. The door is closed, so it's not the end of the world when I let him go.
"Fuck! Are you ok?" The concern in your voice is genuine. "Oh my god! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tickle you or anything. Let me see your eye!"
It's bleeding a little bit, but I'm not concerned. I try to reassure you, but your hand shoots up to grab my chin to move me closer to the light of the computer.
"It's superficial, but I still want you to wash it. Fuck, that was CLOSE. He almost got your eye."
I just realized I stopped breathing when you touched my face. You haven't let go and I squirm under your focussed stare. The room goes silent and I force myself to pull away. You're married. You have a child. I find myself repeating this regularly whenever I catch myself staring a little too long. It's like a mantra of sorts.
"At least I'll have a cool scar. I'll need a better story about where it comes from though."
"Why do you always do that?"
I'm startled to realize you're right behind me
"Do what?"
"Make a joke anytime someone shows real concern, or even when they compliment you."
"Oh..." I'm genuinely surprised you've observed me closely enough to notice this. "Um, defense mechanism? It's easier than trying to decipher if someone's making a joke or low-key being rude. So beat em to it! They can't fuck with your head if you don't take anything seriously."I laugh but I know you can tell my statement is truthful.
You help me wrangle the cat and we put him back in his cage to cool off. The rest of the day is busy. We both end up staying past our ten hours, and when the twelfth hour comes you tell me I need to leave because you feel shitty leaving before me.
"We got here at the same time. Please, for the love of god, clock out so I can go home and sleep."
I chuckle and confirm the current shift will be ok if we leave. It's already dark out and I realize that's because it's now close to midnight. So much for getting off at 9:30. I grab my stuff, clock out and fish through my bag for my pepper spray. I see you notice this and you offer to walk me out. I only say yes because I know I parked pretty far.
"Do you always carry pepper spray?"
"Only when I forget to charge my stun gun"
"Jesus! You're kind of terrifying."
"Ha! I'm 5'1"! You gotta get that upper-hand. We can't all be able to reach the top cupboards, Mr.six foot."
"Six-two, thank you very much."
"This isn't Tindr, you can say six foot and people will just know you're tall." There's a teasing edge to my voice.
"I think you just think that because you're short. Everyone is tall to you."
"Rude. I'm what professionals call 'vertically challenged.'"
Before I know it, we're at my car and I find myself sad that the banter has to end.
"Thanks for walking me. You probably saved some old woman from walking over to me and getting accidentally pepper sprayed."
"I got you. No need to be scared." The change in your tone, from playful to sincere, takes me by surprise.
"Oh, uh, right. Thank you."
I fumble as I feel how close you really are.
"Hey, thanks again for staying late tonight. You have no idea how much we all appreciate how hard you work. It doesn't go unnoticed."
"Oh uhhh, yeah man. I'm a team player, I aim to please."
I hear a low chuckle that just might be the sexiest thing I've ever heard. Somewhere between exasperation and desperation. I'm not imagining the closeness now. I see you take a step forward and I stumble back and bump into my car.
"You're a bit clumsy today aren't you?"
You reach up to touch my scratch again. I washed it and the bleeding stopped, but the skin is still an angry red. I'm just reveling in your touch until I realize what's going on. Your hand is moving behind my head into my hair and you're leaning in.
"Oh, shit!" I manage to sputter out. "Uhh, not smart. You're married. With the, uhhh, you know, child and whatnot."
