Archive of Our Own

"That's it!" 

It comes out a little bit louder than she intends for it to. A few heads turn around the hub.

Samira throws her phone onto the desk. It clips the side of her tea and sends it spilling. She groans and grabs a fistful of tissues to mop up the mess, tosses the ruined cup, then drops back into her chair.

“I'm swearing off men."

"Good for you, Mohan!" Ellis laughs, taking out her headphones, barely reaching the hub when she joins the conversation. "I always thought you'd do better with women."

Samira whips around to face her. "I don't think it really works that way, but thanks, I guess?"

"You know," Langdon says, rolling his chair over to Samira with one foot, "they say the second you swear off dating, the next person you meet is almost always your soulmate."

"Oh, is that what they say, Casanova?" Ellis jokes, slowly unloading the essentials from her bag at her station. Water, coffee, snacks.

"Hey.” He holds his hand up, the band on his left ring finger prominently displayed. “I am very happily married, unlike the rest of you. Abby and I just celebrated eight years last month."

"I mean,” Cassie chimes in, stretching up in her chair to look around the room and survey the floor. “Donnie's married, Dana's married, Perlah's married."

"I'm engaged," Ellis adds from behind her computer monitor.

Cassie nods her head to her and continues, “and Shen’s engaged.” She gestures to Shen staring up at the board. An extra large iced coffee in his hand.

Trinity crosses over from Central Seven, drying her hands before claiming her spot between Samira and Cassie. "You're not really that special. As per usual."

Langdon glares at her. 

Samira lightens her expression but tries to shrink away from the playfulness and banter. She focuses on signing her last open chart from her day shift patients and wiping the tea from her phone. She undoes her twisted bun, passively running her fingers through the tangles. She stares at the bottom corner of her screen and tries to calculate if she has enough time to get another one before the day shift goes home. 

Samira is even about to get up and go for it when she realizes the bickering around her has come to a halt and everyone is looking at her again.

Ellis leans her hip against the side of the standing desk. "Come on, Mohan. What happened?"

She’s defensive, shoving her chair back in, the joints in her arms wrought with tension. "Nothing happened." Still, she turns to rest her tailbone against the edge of her desk. She folds her arms over her chest and her eyes narrow. "Okay this really wasn't an open invitation to dissect and pick apart my dating life."

"We can't help you if you don't tell us.”

Cassie gives her a pitiful side smile.

“I’m not even asking for your help,” she replies in a sing-songy voice.

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone before,” Trinity mutters under her breath.

Samira folds eventually.

Cassie, Ellis, and Trinity gather around her as she tells them about the bad date that started it all. How it had actually seemed promising. They'd met after a cardiology grand rounds talk, gone for coffee, which had gone well so they made plans for an official date. She'd gone home feeling cautiously optimistic.

Then dinner happened.

He'd gotten drunk enough that she started counting his drinks. Barely asked her a question all night but still touched her knee under the table like he'd already been given permission.

By the time she was driving him home, he was leaning across the center console trying to kiss her neck while she was stopped at a red light.

"And when I told him I wasn't coming upstairs," Samira says, "he asked if I was 'one of those women who likes to play games.'"

Cassie winces.

It led to the dating app profile made by her friend Jordyn. She’d been brave enough to reply to a few conversations. 

The first ‘like’ she’d gotten was from a guy who had hit her with a “you look very exotic, where are you from?” She hadn’t given that one a response.

Ellis had gotten up to let out a deep breath and cringe. "Oh."

"Yeah, exactly."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing,” Samira tells them. “I blocked him."

"Good.”

The next few matches, she’d managed to strike up conversation—she’d venture to even classify some of it as flirting. They’d texted back and forth throughout Samira’s day off, and she’d been giddy about it. But that all fizzled when one asked if she could get him prescription Adderall, and the other had told her that she was ‘extremely guarded’ and had ‘some issues to work through’ after she refused to go on a first date that night at his house.

“Then there was the guy who spent the entirety of our chat telling me he doesn't usually date women with careers, but he'd be willing to make an exception if I showed him my boobs."

Princess leans over Samira’s shoulder to get a good look. “Oh he’s cute. Did you do it?”

Samira nearly drops her phone again, scowling.

“At least he laid it all out on the line.” Langdon chimes in from across the hub leaning far back in his chair, arms outstretched behind his head. 

Princess smacks his head lightly with her clipboard as she walks by, spurring him to sit upright.

One remaining match, she’d had high hopes for… He was a fireman so he understood the long hours. He’d been respectful in their conversation, so she felt comfortable giving him her cell number. And then ten minutes ago, she’d been graced with three dick pics.

Everyone grimaces, including Langdon.

She tucks her phone away. “So, yes. I’m done for a while.”

Dana comes around the corner behind them, a tablet secured to her chest by her arm.

"Okay, okay. Recess is over, kiddos. You can enjoy the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy when you're all officially off the clock.” 

Samira catches Dr. Abbot appearing seemingly from thin air. She hadn’t seen him before. She silently hopes that he hadn’t heard her ranting. 

Dana continues, “We've got a three-car pile up on the interstate. Multiple MVAs incoming. Last estimate was eight patients, one DOI, at least three under five."

The room changes instantly. Everyone springs into action. 

"Grey's Anatomy, really?" Jack leans in and says quietly as he passes by Dana.

Dana gives him a one-shouldered shrug, clearly pleased with herself.

Jack circles around Samira in the ambulance bay as she reaches for a pair of gloves. "I didn't know you were dating."

She looks up. His puzzled expression makes her acutely aware that he must have caught more of that conversation than she'd realized. 

"Oh, I'm not." Samira pulls one glove on, or rather, she attempts to. "Well. I guess I'm trying to, but I haven't been very successful thus far."

He lets out an empty laugh. "Thought you had a plan?"

“I did.” She avoids his gaze, tugging down the stubborn nitrile caught on her fingertips. “But I need a new one."

His mouth twitches to the right.

Samira works the second glove over her wrist. "It's just hard to find time to get out there. And even if I could find the time…" 

She trails off. Jack waits. He never rushes to fill her silence. While others jump to change the subject, he always waits to see if she has anything to add.

"Not everyone's as easy to talk to as you."

It pulls a warm smile from him.  "Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Mohan.” He jerks his chin toward the ambulance bay. "You okay to run point?"

Samira accepts eagerly. “Always.” 

The ambulance doors swing open, distant sirens cutting through. 

"Thirty-eight-year-old male, restrained driver," the EMT calls as they rush the stretcher through. "T-boned on the driver's side, approximately forty-five miles an hour. LOC on scene, unresponsive to pain. BP eighty-two over sixty, pulse one-twenty-"

Samira only needs a second to look him over to know the gravity of what the situation is. "He needs a trauma room. What’s open? Dana?"

"Trauma One!"

"Mohan, McKay, Ellis—Trauma One," Jack orders after taking report from the paramedics. "Shen, Toomarian, Miller—take the incoming passenger to Trauma Two."

“Is surgery coming?” Samira calls from across the floor.

“Garcia’s on her way,” he shouts back to her, heading into the ambulance bay.

They transfer the patient to the gurney, scissors cutting through the fabric of his shirt. She assigns an intern to do E-FAST. Samira checks his carotid pulse with two fingers and tries to discern whether the pulse beneath them feels weaker than it did thirty seconds ago.

"Pressure's dropping."

"Second large-bore is in."

"Get another liter going."

"Breath sounds diminished on the left."

By the time Garcia makes it down, they almost have the patient stabilized. 

Jack appears in the doorway and crosses into the room as McKay is intubating the patient. "How's it going in here?"

"Good, Mohan here is a natural leader,” Ellis says with a side-eye at Jack. “You know, I think you shouldn’t give up on your dating life just yet. You don’t throw out all of the berries just because a few are bad.”

Jack comes closer, eyes moving from the monitor to Samira.

Samira turns her head slowly and Jack averts his eyes to Cassie who has successfully intubated the patient. 

"Oh, we're still talking about this?" She’s annoyed and prepping for a chest tube for the E-FAST confirmed pneumothorax.

"We absolutely are," Cassie says. “What apps were you using anyway?”

“Hinge. Just Hinge,” she says through clenched teeth as she inserts the tube.

Jack has to hold his forearm to his lips to stifle his laughter. Samira feels a flush creep up to her face and neck.

"Laugh all you want, Abbot," Garcia chimes in, looking up from the consult notes on her phone. "Apps are the present and future."

Jack makes a face and softens his voice. It comes out raspy. "I happen to believe you can still meet somebody in real life and form a genuine connection."

Garcia glances up from her spot at the patient's leg. "Aren't you sweet," she says monotonously. “OR can take him now. Are we good?” She looks around the room. Everyone nods.

Just in time to prepare for the next patient.

After all of the MVC patients have been triaged and sent up, McKay nudges her lightly with an elbow as they clear out. "Want me to come out with you?"

Samira discards her gloves and gown and washes her hands. 

“I could be your wingwoman,” she offers.

Samira lets out a breathy laugh and shakes her head. "No, thank you."

"Why not?"

“I don't need a witness for my utterly humiliating existence." She rolls her eyes. "Besides, I don't know if I want to meet the love of my life at a sleazy pub."

"If it's love, it's love.” Abbot jogs behind them. “No more embarrassing than those apps of yours.”

“App!” she cries. “It was one app! And I never even went on a date!”

"Well, you guys have never met six-drink Samira…" Ellis teases. "That girl is loco. I think I'd give my paycheck to see her again."

Samira’s eyes widen as she turns to glare at her. “You promised to never bring that up again.”

“Hey.” She holds up her hands in defense. "When you throw up in my car, I reserve the right to break a few promises."

Jack's expression sobers as he walks over to the charge desk.

Samira closes her eyes for half a second. This is her life.

Ellis pulls her gloves off and tosses them into the bin. "Wait—"

Samira doesn't like the tone of her voice. "What?"

"What about Abbot?" Ellis raises her brow suggestively.

The blood seems to drain straight out of Samira's face. "Dr. Abbot?"

Abbot looks up, face tight and tense, lips pressed together sharply. He shoots Ellis a warning look.

Samira looks between them. "No."

"What?" She raises her eyebrows, feigning innocence. "I was just going to point out that Abbot doesn't exactly have a thriving dating life either."

Samira’s eyes fall to Jack’s left hand, to the tan line where his wedding ring had remained until late last year. Despite Jack’s terrible sun care routine, the pale band of skin was still very much defined. If Samira didn’t know any different, she would’ve thought that he may have just taken it off last week. 

“Who, Abbot?” Shen strolls over.

Jack gives them both a look sharp enough to cut glass. "Fantastic assessment from my former proteges. Thanks." 

Ellis shrugs. "So?"

"So what?" He squints, crow’s feet deepening at the corners of his eyes as he tries to see the point she’s making.

"So maybe the two of you should help each other."

Jack's expression goes completely blank.

Samira blinks, the rest of her face frozen. Her stomach twists and folds in strange ways.

Ellis waves a hand between them. "You know, set each other up."

Jack stares at her. Samira stares at Jack. “Us?” they ask in unison.

From their desks at the hub, Cassie and Trinity look delighted despite their exhaustion as they try to close their charts before leaving.

"A double date," Ellis continues. "You pick somebody for him, he picks somebody for you. You're both there, so if either date is awful you have backup. If it works, great. If it doesn't, maybe you'll finally figure out what you're doing wrong."

"That's incredibly insulting," Samira says.

Jack glances at her. “I mean…” 

“Look, I’ve got patients to hand over because this is an emergency room and I want to go home,” Ellis says, walking away to check on the patients she was handing over. “But at least consider it. I think you’ll thank me later.” She winks. 

McKay laughs, getting up. 

Jack exhales, looks toward the hallway, then back at Samira.

The look he gives her says very clearly: we are not having this conversation here.

"Okay." He picks up his water and takes a long drink, shoulders settling. "Let's get this board cleaned up and kick the day shift out of here."

He turns to Samira. “If you want to take a break, I can cover your patients.” 

She nods appreciatively and gets up to go rinse her face in the bathroom.

By four in the morning, they’ve finally managed to get solid footing on the board and things have settled the way they only do after hours of pure hell, when everyone knows it could start all over again at any moment.

Lights are dim in rooms with boarder patients. The floor itself is still fairly loud, only now it’s the noises they usually don’t notice. Wheels squeaking somewhere down the hall. A drunk man in BH Two snoring.

Samira takes advantage of it. She slips through the ambulance doors and out into the cold. The air hits her face, harsh enough to sting.

It feels good. Really good.

She leans against the brick wall beside the bay and closes her eyes.

She can’t feel the ache in her feet anymore. Sweat still dampens the base of her neck, the breeze forcing the hair on her arms to stand up. Somebody else's blood on the hem of her scrub top. 

She’ll go in and swap them out in a moment. She lets out a controlled, deep breath, one hand pressed to her sternum. 

"Hey."

She opens her eyes to find Jack standing a few feet away from her. "Hey."

"You good?"

She nods, making herself smaller, embarrassed to be caught. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll go back in."

He waves her off. "Take a few."

"I'm fine."

"I know." He comes closer, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his navy jacket. "Slow and steady. It's a marathon, remember?"

Samira lets her head fall back against the brick. The uneven brick digs into her scalp. "You've been saying that to me for years."

He smiles. "And one day you'll listen."

He's staring at her, she can feel it. It makes her sweat even more, despite the breeze.

Which is unfortunate, because she is suddenly painfully aware of what she must look like.

Her curls have almost completely escaped the braid she'd attempted to contain them with eight hours ago. There's dried sweat on her skin. She probably has mascara smudged under one eye. She doesn't remember the last time she looked in a mirror.

He runs a hand through his curls and looks out toward the empty street beyond the hospital grounds. His mouth curves. When he looks back, his eyes are softer. "I guess we should probably talk about this double-date, huh?"

"Oh, that… “ Samira immediately drops her head, hiding the blush in her cheeks, staring at her shoes. “You know, we really don't have to do this just because everybody put you on the spot. It's not your job to solve my problems."

Jack huffs a quiet laugh. "Don't really have anything better to do."

She bites the inside of her cheek. Were they really having this conversation? 

“Besides.” Jack turns his head to the side—just barely— and nudges the toe of his sneaker against hers. “It’s just one night. It could be fun, or at worst generate some fodder for our mutually assured destruction."

Samira smiles despite herself and considers him. "It could be fun."

"Ground rules?” he asks. “Any requests? Anything I should know?"

Of course he’d be considerate.

She nods in agreement. "I trust you. But I'd prefer it if we went out somewhere for dinner. And no one who works here, please."

"I can do that." He lets out a little chuckle. "Just for the record, though, I think you and Park the Shark would make a cute couple."

Samira scowls.

"Oh, come on. You're on a double,” he argues. “Someone's gotta keep you laughing or you'll keel over."

"Does it look like I'm laughing to you?"

"No, but you're a tough cookie to crumble. I'll get you there, Dr. Mohan."

She rubs her nose with the back of her hand, lips curling upward. "I really don't think that's the expression."

"See, there it is! She can smile!" Jack laughs, the sound restrained. "And they said it couldn't be done."

She stares at his smile lines. The moonlight catches in his hair.

The wind moves through the bay, catching the curls around her face. Jack's eyes follow them.

"What about you?" she asks. "Any requests for your mystery date?"

"Nah."

She asks again, "Nothing?"

"I'm low maintenance." 

Jack presses his shoulders back against the wall and folds his arms. His sleeve rides up with the movement, exposing the inside of his forearm. Then he shrugs. “I trust you too, Dr. Mohan. Surprise me.” 

After a beat of silence between them, he clears his throat. “I’m off Friday and Saturday. I think you’re off Saturday and Sunday, right?”

She looks at him properly then, surprised. “You know my schedule?”

“‘Course. Gotta know when to be on my best behavior.”

“Okay, yeah. That works for me.” She nods. “Probably best to get it out of the way now.” 

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Samira thinks about the date far more than she should. Not who Jack would try to set her up with, but who she could find for him.

This becomes obvious to her sometime around Tuesday afternoon when she realizes she's mentally rejecting women Jack has never met while suturing a cut above a six-year-old's eyebrow.

She ends up picking her friend Audrey, who really is looking for love, albeit in all the wrong places right now.

Audrey is two years older than Samira, although years at PTMC have mostly broken her of noticing age unless someone is under eighteen or over sixty.  She’s a reporter, smart and funny, warm without being overbearing. Beautiful in that classic way that makes strangers turn their heads without her ever seeming to notice.

They met through the friend group Samira had managed to infiltrate in her fourth year of residency. Audrey's track record with men isn’t the greatest, but she’s always there to give everyone else great advice. Despite busy schedules, relationships, and Audrey's tendency to disappear into whatever relationship she’s currently in, they’ve managed to stay close.

Jack isn't exactly Audrey's usual type—unavailable, emotionally manipulative, legally married, or some combination of the three.

Maybe it's not the most orthodox choice for Jack, but he’d called her beautiful the one time he’d seen her, so she knows he'd be at least semi-interested in her. 

Samira scrolls through her camera roll and opens the photo again.

It's from Kayla’s wedding last spring. They’re standing together in the garden, Audrey beside her in a pale blue dress, one arm wrapped around Samira's waist, smiling brightly at the camera.

Samira remembers showing Jack the picture at work a few days later.

He’d taken her phone and looked a little longer than she'd expected him to.

“Stunning,” he'd coughed out before handing it back.

Sure, he wasn’t wrong, but Samira remembers the strange pinching feeling between her ribs. She never bothered figuring out what it was. She doesn't particularly want to now.

So she texts Audrey before she can think about it any longer.

       Are you free Friday?

The response comes less than a minute later.

       maybe. why?

Samira looks back at the photo one more time, then types: 

       Double date?

       OH MY GOD! YES!!!

       It would be with a friend from work… I’ll text you the details later.

Samira locks her phone and sets it face down on the desk. 

For some reason, she doesn't feel nearly as pleased with herself as she thought she would.

Friday comes around too quickly. Samira spends most of the morning pretending it hasn't. She goes in for her ‘princess shift’, comes home five hours later, checks her phone as she’s parking to find three texts from Audrey already waiting for her.

       4:22 PM what are we wearing?

       4:23 PM is this like hot hot or pretending we didn't try hot?

       4:29 PM samira. answer me this is an emergency!!

Samira laughs, climbing the three flights of stairs to her apartment and entering before responding: 

       “It’s just dinner, but the restaurant looks nice, so maybe put some effort in?”

It is just dinner. Dinner with Jack and two people neither of them knows particularly well in relation to the other. An experiment of sorts. A way to prove Ellis wrong or maybe, if they're lucky, come out of the night with someone worth seeing again. It shouldn’t be particularly stressful.

Audrey’s name pops up again on her screen.

      4:40 PM okay, that means nothing to me?

She sets the phone down and hops in the shower. 

Samira turns the water too hot and stands underneath it until the bathroom fogs over, washing away whatever remains of the hospital from the week. The adhesive mark from the blood draw still clings to the inside of her arm, courtesy of an intern who’d forgotten the needle safety and managed to stick her as well. The heat slowly draws some of the exhaustion out of her muscles. She cleans behind her ears and shaves thoroughly.

By the time she steps out, the mirror is completely white with steam. Samira wipes a circle into it with the corner of her towel and looks at herself.

She pulls at the skin on her ribs and scans her face for acne. Her reflection offers nothing useful. 

She wraps her hair in a towel and pads into her bedroom.

The dress she originally picked is lying across the end of her bed. It’s grey, and professional, a safe choice. She tries it on before hanging it back up. She pulls a black dress from her closet, tugs it over her hips before she realizes she doesn’t like the way it hugs her body, and it’s too short. Onto the floor it goes. She breezes past a few more dresses she usually saves for professional events, and the purple one from Kayla’s wedding.

Twenty minutes later she’s chosen a dress she'd almost forgotten she owned. It’s a white and brown patterned dress with a button-up neckline, so she can control how much cleavage she wants to show. It’s fitted through her waist before loosening over her hips but still hugging them gently. It falls just below her knees. Nice without looking like she'd spent forty minutes deciding how nice she wanted to look. 

She pulls the nylon tights up her thighs and picks out little gold hoops for her earrings.

Her hair takes the longest. It almost always does. Once it’s dried, she irons it straight and then forms curls larger than her natural ones. She rolls the face-framing strands and pins them to the top of her head. 

Make-up, she decides, will be simple. She’s not very good at it anyway and besides, it’s not like Jack had ever really seen her with any on.

A little concealer for her under-eyes, some color for her cheeks and lips, eyeliner she spends a few extra minutes correcting, mascara.

She picks out a fragrance she knows Jack likes and sprays it over her neck and wrists, the neckline of her dress and her hips. 

She sets the glass bottle back on her dresser and her phone buzzes next to it.

       6:07 PM please tell me you're almost ready because I'm having a crisis

Samira smiles as she tugs on her heels and quickly types back:

       Walking over now. Stay calm.

She pulls on her black dress coat, grabs her purse and switches off the bedroom light before she can reconsider anything else.

"Oh, thank God." Audrey opens the apartment door before Samira has properly knocked. “Do my boobs look too slutty?”

Samira looks her over. "Um, hello? What?"

“Hi, pretty!” Audrey tries again. "Does this dress make me look desperate?"

"Again, what?” Samira laughs. “It's a dress."

Audrey steps back to let her inside.

Her apartment smells faintly of vanilla candles and hairspray. The combination makes Samira want to gag. There are two different pairs of heels abandoned beside the couch, one open makeup bag on the coffee table, another by the vanity and a wineglass on the counter that Samira strongly suspects was not left there from yesterday.

"Are you drinking already?"

"Just half a glass. You want some?"

"Audrey,” she chides.

"Excuse me. I haven’t been on a proper date in months and now I’m about to go on one with a random guy you know from work. I think I’m allowed to be nervous."

Audrey narrows her eyes at her before turning toward the mirror by the door and checking herself out.

She looks good. Very good, actually.

Her pale pink dress sits just above her knees, her hair blown out, a silver chain resting against the hollow of her collarbones. Unlike Samira, Audrey can do makeup very well, highlighting her features and covering her blemishes without anything looking caked on or like a whole other skin tone.

Samira feels a brief flicker of satisfaction. Of course Jack will like her. She swallows down the thought. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

"You look beautiful."

Audrey studies herself once more. "Too much?"

Samira shakes her head. “You look great.” Her phone buzzes, their ride is approaching. “We have to go now though.”

Audrey tilts her head to the side. “Fine.”

She grabs her brown coat and white scarf and steps into the highest heels Samira has ever seen. Then they head out the door.

"I'm sorry,” Samira says, closing the car door. “You bought expensive lingerie with your own money, sent scandalous photos of yourself to him, and then followed them with 'sorry, that wasn't for you?"

"And then, he just left me on ‘delivered’!" Audrey says as she jogs along to catch up with Samira who is eager to keep going. "And then, last Tuesday, I sent a dozen roses to my apartment and left the card out hoping he'd see it and fly into a jealous rage. "

“Real healthy.” Samira looks over at her. “What did he say?”

"He never even came over. Said he had dinner plans with his brother in Cleveland."

Samira winces. "Ouch."

"Three months, Samira." She turns back toward her. "Three months. He told me he wanted to move in together when the divorce was final. He wanted a dog. We looked at townhouses. Who does that?"

"Guys who cheat on their wives."

Audrey covers her face with both hands then peeks at her between her fingers.

"I guess I just thought he'd leave her, but he never was going to."

Samira's expression softens. "He was an asshole, Audrey."

She sighs, "I know."

"You deserve somebody who isn't making you insane just for a place in his life."

Audrey nods and checks her phone as they hurry down the sidewalk. "You're right, I know you're right."

They turn the corner and the cold catches immediately beneath her coat.

"Where is the restaurant again?"

"Somewhere up ahead,” she promises. “Just the next block over. We're almost there."

"I still don't understand why we couldn't Uber closer to the restaurant."

There are a few reasons floating in Samira's head.

She’s mostly sure that it’s a habit left over from undergrad. Samira never gets dropped directly outside wherever she's going. At least a block away. Enough time to walk, clear her head, and stay safe.

She wouldn't have even Ubered in the first place but it seemed like the move at the time.

She considered the possibility that she might have a drink or two that might render her unfit to drive home.

There is also the smaller, considerably more embarrassing possibility that she might not need her car at all. That she might end up somewhere other than her apartment tonight.

"I can't believe we're doing this. I feel like I'm eighteen again." Audrey laughs and hooks her arm through Samira's. "I mean I'm going on a date with a hot older doctor."

"Audrey!"

They wait at the crosswalk while the light changes.

"What? I saw the pic you sent. I'm honestly surprised you didn't want him for yourself."

Samira immediately starts walking again. The light hasn’t changed. A horn blares when she gets one foot into the street.

"Samira!"

She jumps back onto the curb.

"Jesus." Audrey grabs her elbow.

When the light does change, Samira continues. "We work together."

Audrey jogs along to keep up. "So? That makes it even hotter."

"Look,” she stops. “Dr. Abbot—Jack—is one of my closest…” She’s not sure what the most appropriate term is here. Closest attendings? Colleagues? Confidantes? “Friends,” she decides, though the word feels strange in her mouth. Not wrong exactly, just incomplete.

"And you're one of my closest friends," Samira continues. "So, if by some chance the two of you actually hit it off, it would be  ideal."

Audrey's eyebrow lifts. "It is? Why?"

"Because then I still get to see both of you."

Audrey’s reaction is a bit defensive. "You see me now."

"Well, if you were actually dating someone worth introducing to your friends,” she huffs. “I am sure that you and I would rarely see each other."

They start walking again, slower now that they’re getting close. 

"And our careers aren't exactly getting less demanding. So if you end up with someone who actually likes your friends, and Jack ends up with someone who understands the hours and doesn't get weird about the hospital, then—" She gestures vaguely. "It all works out."

Audrey shakes her head, then looks at Samira, suddenly a little less playful. "What if I actually like him?"

Samira feels her breath catch. She forces herself to smile. "Then you actually like him."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Audrey watches her for another second.

Samira looks ahead. The restaurant is visible down the block now. 

Audrey lets the silence go. "Well, if this works, I owe you." She groans. "I have got to get my life together."

Samira runs her tongue over her teeth. "You really do."

Jack parks a few blocks away and meets Steve a few storefronts down the street. 

They exchange pleasantries and head towards the restaurant. 

"I don't know man,” Steve says.

"Come on. It's just dinner, one night…" Jack says offhandedly, rubbing his hand along the stubble on his neck and chin.

Steve goes quiet for a moment, pausing before he speaks. "I just finally feel content knowing that my job doesn't leave a lot of room for a dating life."

“Believe me. She understands that more than most.”

They walk another few yards in silence before Steve breaks it. “If she’s so great,” he says, tapping Jack’s chest, “why aren’t you taking her out?”

Jack feels his shoulders tighten. He keeps his voice flat. "How many times do I have to tell you, we're just friends.”

"So you're saying she's not attractive?"

"What?” His brows knit together. “No, no,” he insists with his whole chest. “I told you she’s attractive."

"Yeah, but you also said that she had a good personality."

“She does.” Jack keeps walking, refusing to give Steve anything else.

"When a girl's not that cute, you always say she's got a good personality."

"You asked me what she's like and I told you. Just because her looks weren’t at the top of my mind, it doesn’t mean that she's not attractive."

They cross another street. Jack can see the restaurant awning from here now, half-hidden behind a row of parked cars.

Steve follows his gaze. “So is she attractive?”

Jack exhales through his nose. “Yes.”

“But not beautiful, right?”

Jack groans and walks a few steps ahead.

Steve laughs. “So what are the rules here?”

Jack looks back at him. “Rules?”

“Can I kiss her?”

Jack gives him a flat look. He detests the direction of this conversation. “If she wants you to.”

Steve’s mouth twitches. “You think she’s the kind of girl who puts out on the first date?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”

They keep walking. A couple brushes past them coming the other way. Jack steps aside automatically, and Steve follows.

“What if she wants to come home with me?”

Jack shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. “She’s not—” he looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. Steve’s face is open now. Not teasing. “She’s been through enough stupid shit with men lately.”

Jack’s expression changes as he looks up toward the restaurant. “Whatever happens, you have to treat her like a person.” 

Steve is watching him carefully. “You trust me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then stop looking at me like you don’t. I know how to behave on a date.”

Jack’s mouth tightens.

They start walking again.

Jack keeps his eyes ahead. “Look, she was one of the best residents I’ve ever had.”

Steve smiles faintly. Jack still won’t look at him.

“She sounds nice.” Steve adjusts the collar of his coat. “If she’s really that important to you, I’m not going to screw with her.”

They’re half a block away now.

Steve nudges him lightly with his elbow. Jack shakes his head, but he’s smiling now too.

Then he looks toward the entrance.

Two women are coming up the block. Samira is still too far away for him to make out much more than the shape of her, curls moving around her shoulders as she walks. He knows it’s her anyway.

They’re both standing beneath the awning when Samira and Audrey reach the restaurant.

Jack sees her first. “Hey, Samira.” His voice is low and soft like the wind.

Something about the way he says her name makes her slow down. Enough that she bumps into Audrey and nearly knocks her down.

Samira gives him a small, shy wave. Her hand held low, she can't bring herself to hold it higher. “Hi.”

Jack looks different.

She knew he would. Obviously. She has seen him outside the hospital before. She knows what Jack Abbot looks like without scrubs on. 

Tonight, he’s wearing dark slacks and a white button-down beneath his coat, the top button undone. His sandy blond curls have been pushed back from his forehead, though the wind has already started undoing whatever effort he put into them.

He looks nice. Really nice.

Jack’s gaze travels over her. His eyes move from her face to the loose curls around her shoulders, then lower for half a second before flicking back up.

His mouth parts.

Samira suddenly becomes intensely aware of the neckline of her dress beneath her coat.

“Hi,” she says again, because apparently once wasn’t enough.

Jack smiles. “Hi.”

Samira steps forward and she must be very nervous because she goes to hug him like she would an old friend. Not even properly. One arm goes around his shoulder while the other gets awkwardly trapped between them because she's still holding her bag.

Jack hesitates briefly before his arm comes around her waist. Her hair catches against his mouth. She feels his breath against her temple. Warm, close. 

Then she’s pulling away much too quickly. “Sorry.”

Jack reaches up automatically, catching one of her curls between his fingers where it has stuck against his lip.

Audrey makes a tiny throat-clearing noise beside her.

Samira smooths the front of her coat. “Sorry,” she laughs awkwardly as she takes a few big steps backwards. “Audrey Peters, Jack Abbot. Audrey, this is Jack.”

Audrey smiles and offers a warm hug. “Very nice to meet you.”

Jack accepts, though it ends up being more of a side hug. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Samira’s told me so much about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack’s dorky smile deepens. His gaze falls to his shoes as he backs up just slightly. “All good things, I hope.”

The gravelly weight of his voice infuses something warm into Samira’s stomach. She turns quickly toward the man standing beside him.

Steve is a little taller than Jack, clean-shaven, with dark brown hair beginning to gray at the temples. He has the kind of easy smile that suggests he’s much less nervous about this than the rest of them.

Jack steps slightly closer.

“Samira, this is Steve Carmichael.” Then, with a look toward Steve, “Steve, Dr. Samira Mohan.”

Samira turns her head and raises her brows.

Steve laughs and holds out his hand. “Hi, Samira. It’s nice to meet you.” His grip is warm and firm. He’s very strong.

Audrey breaks the awkward silence. She steps in beside Jack, pulling her coat tighter around herself. “So do we have reservations? I know you’re all doctors, but I’d rather not lose an extremity waiting out here.”

Jack locks eyes with Samira. Hers widen. “You cold?”

She concedes, “A little.”

He reaches immediately for the restaurant door. “Then let’s go in.”

Audrey smiles at him as she passes. “Thank you.”

Jack holds the door for her. Samira watches.

It’s good. This is good.

Audrey likes attentive men. Jack is nothing if not very attentive. Exactly the sort of thing Samira had been hoping for.

Steve gestures toward the open door. “After you.”

Samira smiles. “Thanks.” She steps forward.

As she passes Jack, his hand settles against the small of her back for half a second. Probably just to guide her through the doorway.

It’s barely a touch. His palm never even fully lands. Still, Samira feels it all the way inside.

At the table, Steve settles an arm around the back of Samira's chair. He’s not touching her, but when Samira glances across the table, Jack is staring at the small gap between them instead of his menu.

In fact, he’s been looking long enough that he barely seems to register what Audrey is saying next to him.

“Don’t you think hating Kerouac is a little tired?” Steve asks. “Whatever you think of the guy personally, you can’t really deny the influence he’s had.”

Samira shakes her head and takes a sip of her ice water. “I definitely never said I ‘hated’ him. I’ve even read a lot of his works. You said that he’s ‘the greatest writer of all time,’ and I just happen to think that there are more interesting stories out there that center topics other than the ones he writes about. If you want to talk about ‘tired’.”

Steve leans back, amused. “Are you always this opinionated?”

Samira crosses her arms over her chest. Her nails dig into her forearms through the sleeves of her dress. “Only when I know that I’m right.”

Jack lowers his eyes to the menu, but she sees the smile he’s trying to hide. Beside her, Audrey is explaining to him what she does for work.

“I’m mostly public-interest stories right now,” she says. “Health, culture, sometimes long-form stuff if I can convince the execs to let me actually investigate something.”

Jack nods. “That sounds interesting.”

“It is. Most of the time.”

Samira glances between them, trying to help. “Oh, Jack, you and Audrey both went to Johns Hopkins.”

They both look at her. Then at each other.

“Oh,” Jack says.

“Oh.” Audrey gives him a tentative smile. “You did?”

“Yeah, for med school.” He grins. “What did you study?”

“Journalism.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Samira presses her lips together. Well, it had seemed more promising in her head. She reaches for her water. “So. What’s everyone getting?”

“Probably the salmon,” Audrey says, grateful for the escape.

Samira is still deciding when Jack lowers his menu.

“Steve, just wait.”

Samira looks across at him. “No.”

Steve looks between them. “What?”

“Mohan has this thing.”

“I do not have a thing.”

“She’ll order something that sounds completely boring, make two or three customizations, and it ends up being the best thing in the place.”

“Is that true?” Steve says to her aside. “I might need your help then. There aren’t many options.”

Samira feels warmth crawl into her cheeks. “Jack wouldn’t know. He never really branches out.” She glares across the table at him.

Jack seems to realize it a second later and reaches for his water.

Audrey is absorbed in the wine menu when she says absently, “I have a theory that food’s going to be obsolete in twenty years anyway.”

“Oh, I agree.” Steve lowers his menu. “The way things are going, there won’t be a single item left in a grocery store that isn’t riddled with carcinogens by the end of the decade.” He pauses to add a disclaimer, “I stole that from an op-ed.”

Audrey looks up. Her mouth falls open.

Steve blinks. “Get out of here.”

“No.” Audrey laughs, twisting back in her chair. “I did.”

For the first time all night, Steve really smiles. Not just politely—his whole face lights up, his guard finally letting down. “I’ve never quoted an article back to the person who wrote it before.”

Audrey is already blushing.

Samira catches Jack looking toward the ceiling. She bites the inside of her cheek and kicks his left foot under the table.  Behave, she mouths.

He presses his lips together and gives her one solemn nod, smiling politely.

"I also did a story on the new targeted therapy for pancreatic cancer last year."

Steve points lightly at Audrey. "Oh my God—that’s where I’ve seen you before. You interviewed my sister, Sarah, for that. That was you?"

“Oh my God.” Audrey brings a hand to her chest. “Yes. I remember her.”

Steve laughs softly, almost disbelieving.

Audrey’s expression changes. She tilts her head slightly, thinking. “My mom died of pancreatic cancer in 2018,” she says. “That’s why I pushed so hard to write it.”

Steve’s smile fades, but not his attention. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Audrey looks down for a second, visibly trying not to look as pleased as she is.

“Honestly, I don’t know much about writing,” Steve continues, “but it was nice to read something that made something complicated feel understandable without making the reader feel stupid or talked down to.”

Audrey looks back up. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my work.” Her cheeks have gone pink almost all the way down to her collarbone.

Samira glances at Jack. Jack glances at her.

“So you’re an oncologist?” Audrey asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Technically, I’m a surgical oncologist, but Jack here knows I have a soft spot for trauma medicine from our military days.”

"Speaking of trauma, Samira was actually instrumental in our survival rate during the PittFest MCI a couple years ago." Jack pivots, staring at Samira. “Only a third-year resident and she successfully drilled a burr hole with an EZ-IO. Aspirated a cardiac air embolism on a GSW patient using a pigtail catheter. Never seen anything like it.” 

Samira’s lips curve and she ducks away from his eyes. He looks proud of her in that completely unguarded way he gets sometimes, like whatever she did somehow belongs to him too.

Samira drops her focus to her wine glass.

“Don’t know what we would’ve done without her.”

Steve nods and looks at him for a split second but immediately looks back at Audrey.

Jack and Samira look on as their friends start to chatter as if they weren’t there at all.

They spill out of the restaurant into the cold.

Jack rubs a hand over his stomach, his coat buttoned soon after stepping outside. “That was great. I’m stuffed.”

Steve laughs. “You ate half of Samira’s entree.”

Jack’s smirk tightens. “What? She wasn’t going to finish it, anyway.” He looks back at her where she’s fallen slightly behind the group. “Were you?” 

She shakes her head, curls dancing over her shoulder. She bites her bottom lip as she shrugs on her coat.

Jack checks his watch. “You guys up to walk around a little?"

Everyone agrees at once.

They start down the pavement four across, talking freely about the meal, the weather, the Steelers game this weekend. Audrey and Steve keep falling into their own conversation, drifting close enough together that Samira has to lean around Audrey just to hear Jack.

They pass a department store.

Audrey suddenly catches Samira by the wrist. “Oh my gosh! Wait—“

Samira barely gets a chance to protest before she’s pulled toward the window. The men keep walking a few steps before noticing.

Audrey leans in, her voice just above a whisper. “Samira.”

Samira understands what’s happening, she rolls her eyes at the subtlety—or lack thereof. “So… He’s nice right? Do you like him?”

“Jack?” Audrey huddles closer. “Yeah, yeah. Jack's nice, all right.” She rambles before getting to the point. “It’s just, how do you feel about Steve?”

“He seems okay, I guess. I couldn't really get a sense of—”

Audrey cuts her off. “Would you go out with him again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t really get much of a—”

“Because I really like him.” Audrey’s face goes pink. “I mean, obviously I don’t know him. But I feel very comfortable with him and I feel like there might be a real connection there.”

Samira looks past her. Steve is saying something to Jack across the sidewalk, both of them waiting now. 

Then it clicks. “You want to go out with Steve.”

Audrey winces. "Would it be okay with you?"

“Oh, sure! Sure!” The answer comes easily. Then Samira’s eyes drift to Jack.

He’s looking down at the pavement while Steve talks, hands buried in his coat pockets.

“I’m just worried about Jack.” Her tone softens. “He's a good guy, he hasn't really gone out much since his wife passed away. So if you’re not interested, just… be gentle with him, okay? Maybe don’t tell him right now. You know what I mean?”

Audrey’s demeanor changes immediately. “Oh. Samira, no. Of course not.” She squeezes Samira’s hand.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.”

Jack and Steve are stopped in front of a hardware store by the time the women fall behind. Steve looks over his shoulder once every few seconds.

By the second time, Jack knows that something’s up. 

Steve shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “If you don’t think you’re going to call Audrey, do you mind if I do?”

Jack blinks. He glances back toward the women. They’re still standing by the shoe store window, heads bent together. "Well, no. No, I don’t mind."

Steve turns toward him.

“But maybe save it for another night.” Jack scrubs a hand over his jaw. "Samira's just very… She doesn't really do this… And she’s had a rough go of it lately, so if you suddenly disappear with her friend five minutes after dinner, she’s going to think the whole thing was some kind of disaster.”

Jack lowers his voice as the women get closer. “You can call Audrey, it's fine. Just give it a few days or something, okay? Don't make any moves tonight."

Steve nods. "Fine. Got it, no problem. No moves tonight."

The women catch up a second later.

Audrey looks between them. “What’d we miss?”

“Nothing,” Jack says.

Steve glances at her, then at the street. “Well...” He pauses. “I’m suddenly not feeling the walking thing anymore.”

Jack turns his head slowly.

Steve ignores him. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Audrey answers almost immediately. “Oh, I’ll go with you.”

“Great. I parked this way.”

“Perfect.”

Audrey slips her arm through his, and Steve settles a hand lightly at her side as they step off the curb. Audrey makes it a few yards before one heel nearly gives out beneath her. Steve catches her by the elbow, laughing, and she kicks both shoes off into one hand. Steve takes them from her, and a second later they’re hurrying down the block together, Audrey barefoot and still laughing.

Jack and Samira stand there on the curb watching them disappear. Neither says anything for a moment.

She presses her lips together. “Unbelievable.”

He huffs a laugh.

Then she looks up at him. He’s already looking at her. For the first time all night, there’s nobody between them.

Something feels different now that the others are gone. The buffer is gone, and she suddenly feels the cold on her cheeks without the extra bodies around them.

"It's a nice night," Jack says.

"It is."

He glances down the street, then back at her. "Be a shame to let it go to waste." His voice lowers. "You, uh… wanna go home yet, Mohan?"

Samira shakes her head, the rosy hue returning to her cheeks. "No."

His mouth curls.

So they keep walking, because Samira wants to. 

For the first block or two, they barely talk. Which makes Samira more nervous than anything else.

Jack always talks to her. About work, something stupid he heard on the police scanner that day, the journal article he read in line for coffee that he’s certain she’ll want to know about. Tonight he keeps his hands tucked into his coat pockets and walks beside her in a silence that feels strangely full.

As they continue down the road, their shoulders brush once. Then again. Neither of them moves apart.

Some commotion breaks out across the street near a bar. Raised voices, two men shoving each other around, knocking over the recycling bins. 

Samira cranes her neck and tries to catch a better glimpse. One of the men seems to notice her examination and begins shouting back at her.

Jack moves before she can think much of it, stepping toward the curb and putting himself between her and the situation unfolding.

His hand finds the small of her back. "Come on." It's absentminded. Protective.

They cross when the signal changes.

His hand stays there, guiding her until they're safely on the other side. Maybe a second longer. Samira can still feel the shape of it through her coat after he lets go.

By the time they reach his car, she's not sure what they're doing anymore. 

There’s only a faint, buzzy feeling in her abdomen, but it’s probably the wine. 

Jack unlocks it and pulls open the passenger door.

Samira wants to tell him that she can manage a car door herself.

After all, she has before, dozens of times.

When she was a resident, Jack would often drive her home after a particularly rough double shift or if the weather was too bad for her to drive herself. 

"Thanks."

His fingers skim her back again as she gets in.

Samira takes a slow breath and stares through the windshield while he walks around the hood of the car. She can see the glass fogging up. The driver’s-side door opens. Cold air rushes in with him, followed by the familiar smell of his cologne. The door shuts and suddenly the car is too small.

Jack starts the ignition and cranks the heat up. He rests his hands on the wheel while they wait for the air to turn warm. 

Her eyes wander to his hands. His big hands, freckled and veiny. His blunt, thick fingers. The tan line from where his ring once was. The blond hair that trails off just below his watch. A pale scar crossing one knuckle she'd watched him get three years ago dealing with a combative patient. She remembers the blood trailing down his hand. Remembers holding gauze against it while he insisted he was fine. How he’d entrusted her to place the two stitches after Robby had told him he could not do them himself.

She has never thought about his hands before. At least not like this.

"So," she says.

Jack looks over. His eyes travel slowly across her face.

Warmth creeps beneath the collar of her coat.

"So."

"What happens now? If this were a date, Dr. Abbot,” Samira gestures vaguely between them. “What would you have planned next?"

His brow furrows.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Jack’s voice is lower now. "I know what you mean."

His thumb drags once along the steering wheel and she worries that maybe she made an error, a horrible miscalculation that would catapult her into ridicule forever come Monday morning.

It feels like it's been hours since he last spoke when he swallows hard and buckles his seatbelt. “Well.” He lets out a raspy little laugh. “I’ll admit I have a bit of a sweet tooth. Got any room for dessert?”

She perks up, nodding back at him. “I could eat.”

Jack drives across town, parks, and opens the door for her again. Things feel lighter now, though the cold air is welcome against Samira’s warm cheeks.

"Ice cream?"

Jack looks suddenly less sure of himself. "Is that okay?"

Samira looks from him to the little shop behind them. After everything, ice cream is such a simple and lovely ending to their strange night that she laughs. "Yeah. It's okay."

Jack gets mint chocolate chip and Samira picks chocolate peanut butter, each a small scoop in a cup. He pays before she can even pretend to reach for her purse. She picks out two small pink spoons and extra napkins.

They walk for a while before finding an empty bench. They talk about Audrey and Steve—Audrey still hasn’t texted her. Dinner and the restaurant. How spectacularly they'd managed to fail at the actual purpose of the night. 

It feels light…

Samira shifts her thighs against the wooden slats and leans back against the bench, abandoning the spoon and her next bite. "God," she groans.

Jack looks over. "What?"

"I can't even do a setup date correctly."

He smiles. "Seemed pretty successful to me."

She looks down at her ice cream. "What’s wrong with me?"

His smile disappears. "Nothing."

"Jack." She shoots him an annoyed look. 

"I'm serious." 

She starts spiraling, staring blankly off towards the bushes. "I just got rejected on a date I didn't even want to go on."

"I don’t think that’s a fair assessment."

Jack studies her for a second, then his mouth twitches. "Well. There is one thing."

Samira waits for him to continue.  Her eyes narrow and her face falls.

“You got a little something," he brings his thumb up to rub his upper lip a couple of times, “Right here.”

She runs her tongue over her upper lip, blushing as she holds his eye contact. Samira feels the warmth gather low in her stomach when she sees the look in his eyes.

"Did I get it?"

He nods. "Uh, yeah." His voice comes out smoky.

"Mohan."

"What?" 

"There isn't anything wrong with you."

Something about his tone makes her look back.

“I meant what I said at dinner. About PittFest.” He leans forward, forearms against his thighs. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without you. Your presence of mind, the way you caught things without getting hung up on them—and you were barely an R3.” His eyes stay fixed on hers. “You're smart. You're a hell of a doctor. And I was lucky enough to watch you become one.”

Samira's throat tightens.

Jack looks at the empty cup held between his hands, flexes one shoulder, and sinks back. "So no. You're not the problem."

She looks away for a moment. Then back to him, “Why did you pick Steve for me?”

“Steve’s a good guy. I’ve known him forever. He understands the hours, the job, all of it.” Jack rubs at the back of his neck. “And, yeah, he’s also a surgeon at Presby with excellent connections to trauma and emergency medicine programs all over the northeast… If staying here was even something you wanted to do…”

Her jaw drops, arms unfolding. “So you thought this date would be a good networking opportunity for me?” 

He shrugs. “I thought even if it didn’t work out for you romantically, I wanted to make sure the night wasn’t a total wash for you… I know you’re very busy.”

She closes her mouth and accepts the confession.

"What about Audrey? Why did you pick her?"

"I don't know," Samira says to buy herself some time. "She's single, and really sweet, …" Samira hesitates. "And I knew you already thought she was attractive, so I thought that would be an added bonus."

"Huh?"

"You said she was pretty."

Jack turns toward her. "I did?"

“The pic I showed you, of us at Kayla’s wedding…?" Samira continues before she loses her nerve. "You stared at it for like five minutes and called her stunning."

"Samira," he says, voice rough. "I wasn't talking about Audrey, I was talking about you."

She goes completely still. "What?"

Jack looks almost embarrassed now. "You were wearing that purple dress."

Samira can hear her pulse in her ears. Her stomach drops. "You remember my dress?"

“I remember a lot of things I probably shouldn’t.”

She swallows hard. “Like what?”

"Your shoes—the way your heels accentuated the muscles in your legs.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “How I wanted to put my hands on them." The corner of his mouth twitches. “Or the hairs loose framing your face like a goddamn halo.” He continues, shifting only slightly closer to brush back her baby hairs. “The creases that form in your cheeks when you're really smiling. And that dress…” He trails off.

“What was wrong with my dress?” she asks.

Jack's eyes fall to her bottom lip. His jaw flexes. "Nothing was wrong with the dress, honey."

The endearment sends a shiver through her.

“It fit you. Very well.” 

Her breathing has gone shallow and all she can smell is his cologne again.

"When I said stunning, what I wanted to say was that you looked so fucking beautiful I didn't know where I was supposed to look.” Jack shifts closer on the bench, not enough to touch. “And how much I wanted to be the one that got to take it off you."

Her heart pounds hard.

"But I couldn't exactly tell you that, could I?"

She shakes her head. "No."

Samira's eyes drop to his mouth and back to his eyes. She slides closer to him, her thigh touching his. She pulls him into a kiss by his coat. He brings one hand up to rest on the side of her head, fingers beneath her ear and woven into her hair. He deepens the kiss, sucking lightly at her bottom lip before pulling back to get a good look at her.

She can’t take her eyes away. “Jack?” Her voice is sweet and smooth.

“Yes, Samira?”

“I think I’d like to go home now.”

Jack pulls up outside her building. Samira has spent most of the drive acutely aware of his right hand resting two inches left of her thigh.

Neither of them has said much, letting the low hum of the radio carry the silence.

Jack puts the car in park. "Well, I had a nice night."

"Yeah." Samira glances toward her building. Her heart starts hammering all over again. "Do you want to come up for a nightcap, Dr. Abbot?"

Jack's eyes hold hers. He knows exactly what she's asking. 

“Yeah.” His voice comes out lower. “Yeah, I do.”

Samira unlocks the door and shuffles in, Jack half a step after her. He locks the door behind him. She drops her keys into the bowl beside the entryway coatrack and turns around.

 She clears her throat. "Okay,” she says, walking backward further into her apartment. “There’s just one problem."

His eyebrows lift.

"I know I invited you up for a drink, but all I have is gin. I might have some vodka that I haven’t touched since residency, and half a bottle of wine I opened to use for cooking like a week ago."

Jack takes one slow step toward her, then another. "That's okay." 

"You're sure?" Samira’s back brushes the edge of the little table behind her and she moves to the left.

He takes another step. “I’m not really thirsty.” His voice comes out raspy.

Jack stops in front of her. He’s close enough now that she can see the darker stubble along his jaw. The faint lines crinkling around his eyes. The place near his collar where his shirt has fallen slightly open.

He doesn’t touch her without her permission. "This okay?"

Samira nods. When his expression doesn’t change, she realizes what he’s waiting for. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Jack exhales through his nose. His eyes comb over her face. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes, Jack.”

After everything  building to this moment—the car ride, the bench—she expected urgency.

Instead, Jack just looks at her, a glint in his eyes as his thumb moves along her jaw. The faint touch makes her hungry for more. 

Samira reaches for the front of his coat and tries to pull him closer. “Jack.”

He kisses her softly, almost cautiously.

Samira feels the restraint behind it immediately and hates it. Her hands slide higher, catching at his collar and jaw, and she kisses him again before he can pull away.

Jack makes a low sound against her mouth. His hands finally settle on her waist. 

Firm. Warm. Real.

Samira’s entire body seems to recognize them before her mind does—these are the hands she watched work, hold pressure on wounds, stabilize rapidly declining patients, guide hers to do the same at four in the morning.

Now they’re on her.

One slides around her back and pulls her into him. Samira gasps into his mouth.

Jack stops immediately. “Sorry,” he says, studying her face for traces of regret. “Too much?”

“No,” she insists. “No, keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She catches his lower lip between hers. “You don’t have to keep asking me every five seconds.”

His head pulls back, apologetic. 

“It’s okay.” Samira nods. “If I feel uncomfortable or want to stop, I’ll tell you. You do the same?”

Jack nods and kisses a sweet sound out of her. This one lasts longer. 

Her coat suddenly feels unbearable. She pushes it from her shoulders impatiently. Jack helps her without breaking the kiss for too long at a time. It lands somewhere near the door.

His follows.

Samira’s hands find his shirt. The buttons take longer to undo, her fingers getting shakier with each one. 

Jack looks down. “Need some help?” He laughs softly.

“With those fingers? I fear we'll be here all night.” She gets the next button open. Then another.

The skin there is warm under her fingertips.

Jack’s breathing speeds up.

The adrenaline that comes from it does something dangerous to her confidence. She drags her palms higher.

His eyes close for half a second.

Samira beams up at him, eyes wild. “What?”

He tries to play it off. “Nothing.”

She touches him again, slower this time.

Jack catches her wrist, not stopping her. Just holding it there against his chest. His pulse is fast beneath her palm.

“You’re nervous,” she whispers.

“Samira. I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

Her chest tightens. “How long?”

Jack shakes his head. “I can’t tell you. Not tonight.”

His hands come back to rest on her hips, his thumbs pressing into her just above her iliac crests, his fingers splayed out on her lower back, bunching the fabric of her dress there and bringing her flush against him. Samira feels the last of the nerves burn away.

Slowly, Jack walks Samira backwards until her back meets the edge of the kitchen counter. She feels her pulse race in her chest. 

Jack’s right hand comes up her waist slowly, giving her plenty of time to object, but she doesn't. He dips his face toward her neck and breathes her in. “God, you smell good.” His thumb settles beneath her chin. He tilts it up to kiss her again.

He lifts her onto the counter and uses his thigh to push hers apart. Samira hooks her legs around his waist before he can ask, pulling him closer as his mouth finds hers again. Jack tucks loose hair behind her ears while his other hand moves across her back. She finally has his hands on her. 

She shifts restlessly against him, chasing more, and Jack makes a low sound into her mouth as he tries to steady her.

By the time his hand slides into her hair and his mouth finds the sensitive place beneath her ear, Samira’s knees would have given out if she were still standing.

His hand tugs slightly in her hair. “Bedroom?”

 Samira’s breath catches. “Down the hall, second door on the right.”

He carries her to her room.

Samira has enough presence of mind to reach over and switch off the vanity light as they pass it.

She hadn’t really considered the possibility of bringing anyone home when she left tonight. There’s a sports bra hanging off the back of her desk chair, a couple of rejected dresses and her sweats from today's shift on her floor, a clean load of laundry still folded in the basket by the closet.

Jack doesn’t seem to notice any of it; he’s looking at her. Something almost reverent moves through his face.

She can feel what the night has already done to her. Her natural curls beginning to fight her carefully styled ones, lipstick mostly gone, eyeliner probably smudged somewhere beneath her eyes.

Jack’s shirt is half-open. Her lipstick is on his mouth. The bulge in his pants, impossible to ignore.

Something hot curls through her stomach.

He sets her down beside the bed.

When he kisses her again, the heavy sound he makes against her mouth is far from the careful, restrained man by the front door.

Samira likes it. Probably too much for her own good. 

He undoes another button on the collar of her dress, getting a peek of the rosy pink lace covering her breasts. “Goddamn. You’re perfect.”

She kisses down his throat, over his collarbone, his hands stay firm on her neck and shoulders. Jack tilts his head back, breathing hard through his nose. Samira roams over to his pecs, dragging her front teeth over his nipples. 

“Hey. Hey.” Jack huffs out a laugh and tugs her away. She gives him a playful pout. 

His hands move over her as though he’s been thinking about where to put them for years. Twirling a piece of her hair between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear. Dragging his thumbs along her jaw, her neck, nipping and leaving little kisses there. All the while returning to her lips to pay attention to her bottom one. 

Jack runs his hands down her arms, bringing them up to cup her tits. Pinching her nipples lightly through her dress and her bra. Trailing them down her sides getting rougher over her legs. He bunches her dress, letting it ride up her thighs, his hands moving to grab her ass. Briefly letting his thumb caress over her lower back as he kneads softly. 

Jack hikes her skirt just enough to get a glimpse of the pink lace beneath it. He goes still and thinks about her laying it out as she’d gotten ready, planning for someone to see it. “Fuck.”

Samira immediately becomes self-conscious. She wobbles slightly, bites her lip innocently.

A surge of jealousy floods in when he considers the fact that she hadn’t picked them out for him, his jaw tightens.

“Jack,” she purrs. “They weren’t for anyone, I just wanted to feel pretty.”

His expression softens.

He guides her to the bed. Helps her climb a little further back as he sits on the edge of the mattress, one hand catching her ankle before she can kick her heels off herself. “Hold on.” He removes one. Then the other. His thumb moves absentmindedly along the inside of her ankle before he presses a kiss there.

Samira  giggles back at him.

Jack pulls off her nylons and lets them fall beside the bed.

She props herself higher against the pillows. “What?”

His fingers trace softly down her smooth legs, swirling figure eights at her inner thighs and the backs of her calves.  Jack’s hands settle against her knees. “Can you open your legs for me?”

The request is so gentle that it somehow feels filthier than if he’d ordered her to.

Heat floods her face. She obliges, letting her knees fall a little, but keeps her heels planted.

Jack’s mouth curves. “A little more, please?”

She bites at her thumbnail and moves them apart. 

“That’s good, baby. Thank you.” He smiles up at her and moves to fill the space left. The teasing leaves his face. “You’re so pretty, Samira.”

Her breath catches.

He starts kissing his way down her body, slowly enough that Samira has far too much time to anticipate where he’s going.

Jack moves south, unbuttoning her neckline a bit more and spreading her collar to get a better view of her tits. 

He cups them, finding her nipples with his thumbs. He alternates between them, giving them gentle pinches before pushing the lace back to suckle at them. Using his tongue he swirls around them, giving short, upward flicks. 

He glances up at her when she inhales sharply and tries to pull her dress all the way off.

He stops her with his hand heavy over hers. “Don’t,” he tells her. “I just want to see you like this just a little longer, okay?” 

He gets up and sinks to his knees at the edge of the bed. 

When she realizes where he’s going next, some of her confidence disappears.

“Oh, um—” Samira rubs beneath her nose. “You don’t have to.”

Jack pauses. His head comes up to stare into her brown eyes shining even in the darkness. “Do you not want me to? Or do you think that I don’t want to?”

She averts her eyes to the ceiling tiles. “Um, the second one.”

“Samira, look at me.” He nods at her, “I want to.” 

The simplicity of it makes her stomach turn over. “Okay.”

He moves back down, hikes up her dress again. “Hold this for me?” 

She nods.

Jack’s hand settles around her thigh. He discovers several things quickly. He pays attention with the same infuriating concentration he brings to everything else.

Samira should have anticipated that.

He bends down and breathes her in. Jack places kisses near both of her hipbones and nuzzles into them. His smirk grows as he trails his fingertips over the coarse brown curls peeking out over her mound. His nose notches at her clit through her underwear before brushing his fingers down her entrance, dragging his nose behind them. As he moves his fingers back up, he can tell how excited she is. 

She’s wet even through the lacy thong. Jack uses two fingers to barely push them to the side and runs his fingers along the hem, letting her coat them in her slick. 

Although Jack hadn’t had more than three sips of wine at dinner, he feels completely inebriated now. 

“Fuck, baby,” he lets out a shaky breath.

Jack mindlessly pulls her panties down her legs and discards them. 

He plants one hand on each hip and draws Samira down toward him. Climbs his way back up to her core with sweet kisses along her right leg. 

He’s careful at first, observant. Studying her reactions to his touches like his life depends on it. 

He flattens his tongue and brushes it over her center. He can feel her getting wetter, warmer. Her legs start to get restless.  With his tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves, she’s a little squirmy, her left leg involuntarily shaking, but her face is pretty blank. 

Jack knows he can do better than that. Samira deserves better than that.

He flicks his tongue up at her clit, like he had with her nipples and she’s whimpering, her whole body shaking. 

“Yeah, you like that, pretty girl?” 

Samira feels like she’s having a fever dream. A loud whine slips from her throat and then she’s covering her mouth with the back of her hand to trap the sounds escaping her.

“Don’t do that. I want to hear your pretty sounds,” he chides. “Now keep your eyes on mine.” 

She nods, her teary eyes meeting his wild ones again. He’s driving her crazy. 

“Good girl. You’re being so good for me.”

She should cringe, she knows that she should. But tonight, instead, she’s completely  gone for him. His smoky tone sends a bolt of electricity straight to the inside of her legs. 

He tightens his grip on her thighs, lapping her up before returning to her clit.

Samira has been doing a fairly good job at keeping her cool so far, but there’s nothing that can hold back the full body shudders that roll through her like thunder when she hears—no—feels him breathing, growling into her cunt. Relentlessly flicking his tongue over her clit as she’s panting through the orgasm, stopping only to catch his breath.    

“You look so stunning when you’re falling apart,” Jack groans. “Fuck. You’re making such a mess for me.” 

“I’m sorry—” She almost apologizes for it but can’t because he’s back at it. Her mind completely empty, everything fading away until all she can think about is the pressure building between her legs. She chases it, grinding against his face. 

Samira lets go of the dress completely, one hand tangling his hair, the other clawing at his hand until he caves and slips one of his thick fingers inside her. Her eyes roll back into her head. 

“God, you’re so perfect. So tight and I can feel you still clenching around me.” 

She can barely make out anything he’s saying but she sees him bending another finger and uses context clues. 

“Yeah, you think you can handle two?” He’s talking into her, and she can feel every word ripple through. “Want me to put another finger in you, sweetheart?”

She nods desperately, her legs shaking uncontrollably.

“Use your words for me, Samira,” he urges. “I know you can do it, smart girl.” 

“Yes. Another finger. Now. Please,” she begs.

“Shh, patience, baby. This isn’t a race. But I’ll let it slide right now since you asked politely.” He adds his ring finger, stretching her open. His fingers curl up towards him until she bucks her hips.

“I—Fuck, yes. Jack—” Her words are cut off by labored breathing. 

Jack pulls her right leg over his shoulder and sucks at her clit resolutely. His arm stretched across her abdomen holding her in place as she writhes. She digs her heel into his back and he moans into her.    

Samira barely remembers crying. She only knows that when she stops shaking, Jack wipes her tears away with his clean hand.

She laughs weakly, coming down but still in overdrive.

He crawls up her body and kisses her hard, sharing the taste of herself. She bites at his bottom lip, lost in the aftershocks.

After a minute, he helps her out of her dress. It, along with her bra are quickly retired to the floor and he sheds his pants. Samira is about to drop to her knees when his hands reach out to stop her. 

“As much as I want that—and I do—I already know that I’m not going to last long.” He lets her hand go. “And I need to feel you come undone again or I won’t sleep properly for a week.”

Samira’s face is still flushed. She feels emboldened. “Well we can’t have that.”

He shakes his head, grinning.

“I want to feel you,” she decides. “I want you inside me.”

Jack helps her settle on the bed. He can feel the needy pull between them. He loves to see her come out of her shell for him. Because of him. “Yeah? You sure?” He leans back, staring at the bedroom door. “Shit.” Jack rubs both hands down his face. “I left my bag in the car.”

She runs her hands over his chest, enamored by the way the flushing of his torso matches the shade of his sun-kissed, freckled arms. Needless to say, she’s not paying much attention to his revelation. “Not so prepared now, huh boy scout?”

Jack, however, is not as amused. “Samira. Do you have a—a condom?”

Her smile fades too. “I might,” she says. “I can go look or…”

“Or?” Jack presses.

Samira bites the inside of her cheek. “I have an IUD. And I got screened twice after the accidental needle stick. Everything was negative.” She shifts her weight, suddenly feeling more exposed in this conversation than she had with his face buried between her legs. “And before that it had been… a while.”

She folds her hands and starts rubbing her thumb into her palm. “And I know you get screened regularly to donate. So if you’re clean, I’m—”

“Samira,” he catches her cheek with his thumb. “ I’m clean. Are you sure?” Jack’s still hesitant, scanning her face. 

“I’m sure. Next time—I just want you too much right now.” She knows it’s reckless, knows exactly how reckless it is, but this call of the void is too powerful to walk away from. 

“I want to feel you, please Jack?”

Jack watches her for another few seconds before nodding. “Okay.” He’s in trouble because as much as he knows it’s reckless, he wants this too.

Samira hooks her fingertips into the waist of his boxers pulling them down. She’s met face-to-face with his cock, springing out and standing at attention. 

It’s big. Of course it would be. The length itself is manageable, she estimates it falls just above his navel. But, like everything else on him, it's thick and veiny and big. 

Samira can't stop staring and she feels a deep infatuation brewing. She drags her index finger along the vein that runs up the bottom of his shaft. It jerks in response. She wonders what it would feel like to have her mouth there, what he would taste like on her tongue. 

Her eyes lock in on the two tiny drops of pre-cum at his tip. Had he really gotten this hard just from eating her out? 

Her thoughts are interrupted by Jack’s hand warm at the base of her head. His fingers grip and give her a light tug away. 

“How do you want to do this?” His voice is low, though it's gravelly and fraying at the seams. “What do you like?”

She looks away. “Oh, um, whatever you want is good.”

He’s about to tell her that it’s not about him, but she’s retreated, biting her cuticles. He can tell she’s feeling shy. “Okay, how about this?” Jack pats the edge of the bed. She moves to sit there. He removes his prosthetic and sets it on the floor and out of the way by the headboard. 

Jack shuffles over on the bed to where she had been against the pillows. “C’mere, baby.” He waves her over and pulls her onto his lap. 

Her legs are still aching from before, but he’s got this animalistic spark in his eyes that stokes the fire deep in her belly. Samira swings them over his hips, settling back on his thighs just below his cock. His dark blond hair prickles into her hamstrings. She can feel Jack's erection, somehow more prominent, tapping against her belly. 

His hands find her waist naturally, warm palms spreading along her sides. He ducks his head to meet her eyeline. “What is it?”

Samira’s not sure she’s ever felt this comfortable with a partner, if she can call him that. Never talked this openly about her deepest, most private thoughts and needs. But that’s how it is with Jack, always. 

Even at work, she’s never had to fake anything around him, put on a front, toughen up. Never had to pretend she was someone she isn’t. Never had to make him feel better about himself. He’s just there for her when she needs him and there to make her better.

So she’s honest with him now, “I want to feel you, but…” Samira looks down between them and swallows, “I don’t think it will fit.”

Jack stifles a laugh, “We will, uh, just have to take it slow. Adjust, make sure you’re ready.” He brings one hand around her waist to reach between her legs. Her slick is still shiny on her thighs and folds. “Luckily, we got a headstart…” He drags his hand over her center, moaning as he dips two of his thick fingers back inside her. “Shit. I’ll never get over how good you feel.”

She shivers when his thumb grazes over her clit.

Jack snaps his fingers forward, crooking them with a gentle rhythm until her thighs begin to shake again and she’s dripping down his palm. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Samira whines when Jack withdraws his fingers. Staring into her eyes he licks his fingers clean before his hand returns to her waist and plants firmly. She grinds on his thighs, desperate for more friction.

“You control the pace, how far we go, okay?” He nods with her. “I’ll be here to catch you and—stop me, please—if anything feels wrong.”

Samira nods, admiring the palpable mixture of desire and concern coming from Jack’s expression. “I trust you,” she sighs. She rises up on her knees beside his hips and takes him into her hand, barely wrapping around it. She lines him up with her entrance, the fingernails on her left hand digging into his shoulder as she brushes the tip of him through her wet folds. It makes her want to drop down and take all of him, right then. 

A deep breath in and she’s slowly sinking down on his cock, lowering her hips inch by inch. Jack slows his breathing to match hers, his firm hands holding her waist to keep her from moving too fast. His jaw tightens around a low grunt. Jack’s eyes slip closed, hands gripping her ass as their hips meet.

He gasps, “Oh fuck. Fuck. God, Samira.” The whimpers roll from his trembling lips when he opens his eyes to take her in. It takes immense restraint, but Jack doesn’t move, giving her time to adjust to the pure size of him. 

He stares up at her. Her eyes clenched shut, brows knit together, her lush bottom lip caught between her teeth. Sweat gathers at her hairline and slips down the smooth column of her neck, disappearing between her breasts—he’s seen her sweaty before, but tonight he wants to lick it away. The straighter pieces framing her face are more damp than the dark curls that hang over her shoulders. Her chest is dewy.

God, her tits.

“Samira, you feel so damn good.” His hand lifts, unsteady, to push the hair back from her face. His eyes drag over her again. “You look so fucking beautiful.”

Samira takes another deep breath and exhales. She opens her eyes and smiles in spite of herself. “You’ve been saying that.”

“Well you do. You have. All night. Always.” 

Under her, his skin glistens with sweat, veins poking out along his arms as the muscles flex beneath her hands. His broad chest rises hard with every breath. She must be dizzy because she’s convinced his chest is getting bigger with every breath too. His pink lips are swollen, still damp with her saliva and slick.

God, she could look at him forever.

Samira rocks her hips slowly, finding the rhythm again. “You feel good too,” she breathes. “You make me feel really good.”

Another slow stroke, deeper this time, and Jack rolls his hips up to meet hers. The movement coaxes a moan from her before she can try to hide it. 

“I was so happy you said yes,” she says.

His hands come up to cup her breasts, tweaking at her nipples. “To what?”

“Ellis’ idea. The date.” She swallows, trying to keep her thoughts together when he bucks up into her again. “Even though it wasn’t going to be with me. I—I just…”

“You just what, sweetheart?” His mouth twitches. “Wanted to watch me go out with another woman?” He’s teasing but there’s still a sweet, self-deprecating edge to it, like he can’t quite believe she could have wanted anything else.

Samira shakes her head and looks to the side.

Jack’s hand comes up to her jaw. “Hey. Look at me.” His thumb taps her cheekbone. “Come on. Eyes on me.”

She gives in. “No,” Samira admits. “I wanted to see you.” Her face is burning, but she keeps looking at him. “And I wanted you to see me like that.”

Jack thrusts again, keeping his rhythm as her voice gets breathier. “You could’ve asked me, Samira.”

She coughs out a laugh. “Asked you what?”

“Anything.” His hazel eyes glued to hers, voice roughening into a growl. “I’ve wanted you for ages.”

Samira’s face goes blank for a moment, hips still grinding. 

“You have no idea what it took for me to sit across the table at dinner and watch Steve put his arm around you and not lose my mind.”

Her mouth parts. “You noticed that?”

“Mohan,” his jaw tightens. “By now, you should know I notice everything about you.”

“Jack.” His name comes out softer than she intends, almost lost beneath her rapid breathing.

Jack’s hands drag down her back. “Fuck,” he growls. “Hearing my name come out of your mouth like that… like this…”

Samira feels heat crawl all the way up her neck.

Jack is still beneath her, his hands kneading her hips and ass, but whatever composure he’d managed to hold onto until now is slipping. His curls are damp, there’s a line of sweat at his forehead, his chest heaving, pupils dilating every time she squirms over him. Her thighs are getting tired again.

She finds herself wondering, not for the first time tonight, what Jack Abbot actually looks like when he loses control.

She’s seen him wild-eyed at work, wired on a trauma call, angry, nostrils flaring when people are acting like dumbasses. But none of that could possibly compare.

“Think you can come again for me?” he asks.

“Um—” Samira barely has time to process the question before Jack’s hands shift. He moves her off his cock and onto her back on the mattress next to him. The rush of cold air and absence of him makes her cry out. “Jack—”

It isn’t particularly graceful. He has to brace himself with his left leg and arm, but a second later he’s settling over her.

Jack pushes back into her in one rough thrust, filling her to the hilt. 

The weight of him steals what little breath she has left. He surrounds her head with his forearms, his chest dragging against hers with every rough inhale. Her breasts heave with every thrust. His body pressed close, coarse happy trail brushing against her clit while he settles back into a rhythm that makes Samira’s nails drag down his back.

“Fuck.” Jack’s mouth drops against her neck, giving wet kisses as she mewls. “That’s good. Use your nails, baby. You’re so fucking tight around me.”

“Do you think this was their intention all along?” She gets out.

“Who, Ellis?”

“Ellis, the others.” She has to stop when his hips buck against hers again, hitting a new spot, and stealing the rest of the sentence from her. It takes her a second before she can continue. “Do you think this is what they thought would happen? That we wouldn’t be able to handle each other dating someone else?” 

Jack laughs into her neck. “You think they planned this?”

“No.” Samira digs her fingers into his shoulder. “God, no.” She sniffles, trying to catch her breath. “But maybe they saw something.”

Every word catches on the rhythm of his hips driving into her, his thumb grinding just above her clit. 

She inhales sharply. “I know I’m not exactly the quickest person in the world when someone’s flirting with me. Half the time I don’t realize it until somebody else points it out, and even then I usually think they’re wrong.” Her brows furrow. “Maybe everybody else figured us out before we did.”

Jack keeps his rhythm steady. “Maybe,” he says, almost breathless.

“Okay, move faster,” she begs. 

“Hold on.” His eyes narrow on hers. “Slow down. Nice and slow. I know you can do it.”

Samira obeys, forcing herself to match his measured pace even though every part of her is begging to move faster. His thumb keeps teasing her clit, luring helpless little gasps and whimpers from her while his hips move with maddening dedication. He’s completely fixated on her, and somehow that only makes the ache worse, her stomach shuddering, her cunt clenching around him, her toes curling into the blankets.

Jack feels it. His mouth twitches and he finally gives her what she’s been asking for, driving into her harder, deeper, his pace quickening beneath every broken sound she makes.

“God, you’re beautiful like this.” His words come faster now too, little praises murmured against her cheek between kisses. “Come on, baby. Stay with me.”

“Jack— ” The pleasure has been building for so long now she can feel an edge to it.

“I know. You’re so close.”

Her fingers tighten over his at her shoulder and center.

“Keep looking at me when you come.” His request comes out gritty and strained. “I want to see you fall apart on my cock. Let me see you, please.”

Samira tries to hold his gaze, she really does. But the pressure finally crests and her face crumples before she can stop it, a breathless sob tearing out of her as her throbbing cunt clamps around him. “Jack—fuck—fuck.”

“That’s it.” His arm slips beneath her back, holding her against him before she can collapse into the bed while the tremors roll through her. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

She does.

For several seconds she knows nothing except Jack’s voice in her ear and the violent little aftershocks that keep rolling through her, her fingers and toes going numb. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs into her hair. “God, Samira. You did so good.”

She can barely hear him over her own breathing.

His movements have lost their earlier precision now, his rhythm breaking every few strokes. 

She manages to open her eyes, meeting his. “Come for me, Jack.”

His mouth falls open, and whatever control he has left finally breaks. He buries his face against her shoulder, muscles tightening over her as he comes inside her, his breathing hard against her skin.

She runs her fingers into the damp curls at the back of his head. They’re both drenched in sweat.

Samira cracks the window open to let some fresh air in. 

Once they've cooled down a little, Jack lies on his back, Samira to his right, her head turned to him.

His smile is soft, crow’s feet deepening at the corners of his eyes. “Next time?”

Samira’s mouth curls. “Yeah. Next time we’ll be more careful.”

“Next time,” he repeats, like he likes the sound of it.

“And you need to be comfortable,” she continues. Her eyes flick down to his leg. “I want to know if it’s bothering you as soon as it does. Don’t just grit your teeth and pretend you’re okay because you think it’ll ruin the mood.”

Jack huffs a laugh. 

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I promise I’ll tell you if it bothers me.” 

He leans over and kisses her forehead.

When she has to go to the bathroom ten minutes later, Jack pulls his boxers back on and reattaches his prosthetic so that he can help her. It’s not comfortable—if he were at home, he probably would’ve reached for his crutches. But Samira is still a little shaky on her feet, and there are very few discomforts Jack wouldn’t tolerate for her.

He waits outside, leaning against the wall to take some of the pressure off.

 “Oh my God,” she cries from the bathroom a few minutes later.

Jack straightens immediately. “Samira?” 

The faucet shuts off. 

“What is it? Are you okay?” 

Thirty seconds later, the door opens.

Samira stands there staring at him, horrified. “I can’t believe we slept together after zero dates.”

Jack blinks. “Well.” He slips her arm over his shoulders and helps herd her back toward the bedroom. “Dinner was one. The walk was two. I suppose ice cream could’ve been the third?”

Samira groans as she climbs back into bed. “This is awful.”

“We’ll remedy it.”

She looks over her shoulder.

Jack is taking off the prosthetic again, completely serious now. “As soon as possible.”

Something warm settles behind her ribs. “Okay.”

Later, Samira is tucked into his right side with one leg thrown over his, Jack’s fingers scratching lazily through the baby hairs at the back of her neck. Her cheek rests against his chest, she can hear the slow, steady beat of it.

“This night could’ve gone so wrong.”

“I know.” She traces a finger over his chest, stopping at each freckle like she’s connecting dots. “And to think, I almost brought Walsh.”

Jack’s head shudders involuntarily. "You did not."

"Who knows what would've happened then?"

“Nothing.” He gives her shoulder a light shove. “Absolutely nothing. Also, can we not talk about Emery Walsh while you’re naked in my arms?”

Samira starts laughing. “But talking about Ellis while you were inside me was completely fine?”

Jack closes his eyes. “I knew I was going to regret that conversation. Fine. No shop talk in bed. At least not about people we work with.” He opens one eye. “And she can never know about any of this.”

She settles against him again, still smiling.

A moment passes.

“So.”

Samira’s stomach drops. She already hates that tone.

Is this the part where he tells her they got carried away? That tonight was a mistake? That whatever chemistry that had existed between them for years should have stayed dormant?

She proceeds cautiously. “What?”

“What does a guy have to do to meet six-drink Samira?”

“Oh.” The tension leaves her shoulders so quickly it’s embarrassing. "You're never meeting her."

His grin spreads. “Never say never. Still got five drinks to go. We’ll get there.”

Samira smushes her face into his chest to hide her smile. “How about you take me on an actual date first?”

He kisses the top of her head. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’d like that.”

His arm tightens around her. “Saturday? We both have it off.”

She nods into his skin. “Saturday.”