I stared at the screen and laughed at myself. I was such a coward when it came to this man. I hated it. I hated how uncertain I felt. I hated how I couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupid funny jokes. I hated how he invaded my dreams—both during the day and the night.
I was a mess.
The phone vibrated, causing me to jump and drop it. After a half-second I reached for the cell from the floor of the car and glanced at the screen. It was Nico. I closed my eyes, screwing them shut tight.
Gah!
I swiped my thumb across the screen and brought the receiver to my ear, grimacing as I did so, because I was a coward and, honestly, very much afraid of hearing his voice.
“Hello?”
“Elizabeth?”
My heart leapt to my throat. “Nico?”
“Yes.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. Damn him and his damn freaking sexy voice!
“Um, hi.”
“Hi.”
Silence.
“Are you okay? One of Quinn’s people told me about what happened—”
“No. I’m fine. It probably wasn’t even her. Really, nothing to worry about.”
“Okay. Good. So, what’s up?”
“You called me.”
“Yes, but you called me first. Three times actually. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was just going to check in with you about Angelica.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes, she is okay.” I wiped my free hand on the knee of my scrubs; it was damp with sweat, as was the one that held the phone.
“Good. That’s good.”
I heard voices in the background, muffled banging, someone shouted.
“Well, you sound busy. I should let you go.”
“No. I’m not busy. I don’t need to go.”
“Oh. Okay.” I switched the phone to my other hand, repeated the palm wiping procedure. “How are things going out in New York?”
“Good. Crazy. Busy. I’ve been taping two shows a day.”
“Wow. That seems like a lot.” I eased into my seat, relaxing a bit as the conversation settled on the benign topic of his show.
“Yeah, well, I want to take some time off after this week and spend a few days in Chicago next week.”
My stomach did a backflip. It took me a moment to recover from the news. “You’ll be here all next week?”
“Well, starting Tuesday.”
My stomach did a front flip. I had a stupid grin on my face. “I’m sure Angelica will really like that. She misses you.”
“I miss her too. But, it’s not just Angelica that I’d like to spend time with.”
My grin widened; I knew where he was going with his last statement, but wanted to torture him a little. “Well, your mother misses you too.”
He chuckled. It was a man chuckle, and it made my heart squee. “I’m sure she does. But you know I was talking about you.”
My stomach did a side flip. “Me?”
“Yes. You. Maybe when I get back we could go out, catch a movie, see a show—you know, friend things.”
I laughed. “Nico, I can’t even leave my building without photographers chasing me down. The two of us out together might incite a riot. How are we supposed to go out to a movie?”
“In disguise. We’ll wear wigs, dress up like an old married couple. Of course I’ll have cop a feel to keep up with the ruse.”
“Ha! Yes. Because I’ve never seen an old married couple out in public without one of them copping a feel.”
“Copping a feel, making out, heavy petting, wild sex in public places—old married couples are really a PDA menace, but I’m willing to commit to the disguise if you are.”
My head fell back to the headrest as my laughter filled the car. “You are a funny, funny guy Nico.”
“Well, it is my job. Speaking of which—just a second.” He must’ve placed his hand over the phone because I was met with silence for a short moment. When he came back to the phone the background noise was gone. “How’s work going? What have you been up to?”
“Bah. That’s boring. You don’t want to hear about that.” I didn’t want to bring the lightness of the conversation down with my daily statistics: two shootings and a car accident.
“I do, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. How is work? Anything interesting in the ER today?”
I shifted in my seat, crossed my legs. I thought about unloading on Nico. In truth, I wasn’t used to talking to someone about my day, not any more. Janie and I used to swap work stories before she met Quinn and virtually disappeared.
“Well, how was your day?”
“No—I asked you first. I want to hear about everything, start at the beginning.”
“What is considered the beginning?”
“Waking up.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t skip anything.”
And I didn’t. I didn’t skip anything. I told him all about the young kid who died in the ER while I was trying to intubate her and how angry then sad it made me. We covered my day, his day, Angelica’s clinic visits, his feelings on different brands of tequila, my unhealthy yet abiding obsession with Goldfish Crackers and Star Trek Voyager, his plans to travel to Italy, my plans to eat a deep-dish pizza on Friday, the perfect pizza toppings.
It felt indescribably good to unburden the day then discuss topics of absolutely no importance to anyone, but us. I stayed on the phone with him as I changed my clothes, brushed my teeth. I lay in bed and argued the merits of learning a foreign language at a young age—we both agreed it was a good idea.
We were still talking at 2:00 a.m. when I heard him yawn on the other end. It was a stretch-yawn, and I shivered involuntarily at the thought of his big body stretching next to mine, relaxed and sleepy.
“Nico. We need to go to sleep. It’s two here, which means it’s three there.”
“Just a little longer.”
I closed my eyes. Pictured him next to me, talking in my ear. “I have to be up at five forty-five for Angelica’s infusion.”
He groaned. “Okay. Get some sleep. When are you calling me next? Tomorrow?”
“I have a double shift tomorrow.”
“Don’t you have breaks?”
“Yes. I have a dinner break at 6:00 p.m.”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “Perfect. Call me then. We’ll have dinner together.”
“Okay.” I answered his smile with a shy one of my own. It was ridiculous and girly, but I couldn’t help it. His sleepy, teddy bear voice gave me the warm fuzzies.
“Oh, and Elizabeth?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you wearing?”
“Uh, my pajamas. Why?”
“What do they look like?”
He was a dirty bird. Two could play at this game. “Actually . . .” I stretched. “I’m naked.”
This statement was met with silence. I opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling. “Nico? Are you still there?”
“Yep.” His voice sounded strained.
I laughed lightly. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, me? Yeah. I’m great. I was just thinking about the fact that we’re wearing matching outfits.”
An image of na**d Nico flashed into my mind, big and hard and smooth, nestled between soft cotton sheets. I stopped laughing. I swallowed.
“Sweet dreams, Elizabeth.”
“Sleep tight, Nico,” I choked.
I hung up the phone, no longer tired.
I didn’t sleep a wink.
~*~
My sleep and knitting suffered because, when I wasn’t working, I was talking on the phone with Nico. During my breaks we either spoke or texted. Our discussions put me in a good mood, and I even successfully ignored Meg’s attempts to draw me into a petty fight.
For the first time in my adult life I was counting the hours between phone calls with a man.
Who was I? Who was this silly, giddy girl?
I didn’t dwell on it.
Friday night, late, after I unloaded on Nico about a case of domestic violence that I’d treated earlier in the day, I brought up the topic of my father’s impending nuptials. It was a very graceful conversational transition.
He said, “Geeze, that sucks.”
And I said, “So my dad is getting married.”
“Oh.” He paused; then said, “Wait, what? Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” It felt nice talking to someone who understood what this meant.
“I can’t believe it. To who?”
“To the baker, Jeannette.”
“Ah yes. The woman my mother has been referring to as the child. Well, good for him . . . Right?”
“Yeah . . . Right.”
“I thought you liked her.”
I shrugged my shoulders then realized he couldn’t see me. “She’s nice.”
“Are you happy about this?”
“Yeah . . .”
“You don’t sound so sure about that.”
“It’s just—do you mind if I talk about this?”
“Yes. Please. Talk about whatever you want as long as you talk.”
“So, here is the thing, I don’t know how to feel about this because growing up my dad—it’s just—” I released a measured breath. “Everything he said about him and my mom feels like a lie now.”