#reader: gn

Behind the counter, you can’t disguise the way your mouth drops. Gaze dropping to the already prepared drinks sitting on the serving tray. “Oh.”

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding, I’m so sorry. I was kidding.” His hands on the edges of the tray, stopping you from dragging it back to your side of the counter space.

“No, I mean, you can try something new if you—”

“Oh, I absolutely don’t want to. I’m a creature of habit.”

Ellis, who’s already claimed their table, laughs. “Shen, buddy.”

“I’m sorry,” Shen says again, but he’s grinning like it’s the best prank he’s ever initiated.

You shake your head. “You know, I don’t think you are. But I’ll accept it.”

Shen beams. You think he winks at you, but you’re pretty sure that’s just you and your wishful thinking.

Abbot slides in next to him, tapping his card against the EFTPOS machine. “Thank you. Sorry about him.”

“Thank you. Enjoy.” You wave them off.

Their table stays quiet for the first 15 minutes as they always do, unwinding from their shift in companionable silence.

You keep working, and as it passes 8 AM, they leave, as they always do. The three of them don’t come every day, but it’s close enough that you’ve learned their orders and names.

You’ve never quite breached the wall of hospitality you’ve upheld, but something changes after Shen’s stunt.

Three days later, they’re back again, albeit later than seven. The tinkling of the bell signalling their arrival after the morning rush. They probably had to put in some overtime, if the tired way they shuffle through the cafe door is of any indication.

You tell them you’ll be a moment, and they sit at their usual table while you work on their order. When you’re done, you walk to them, balancing the serving plate.

“Whoa, what’s this?” Ellis’ hand on yours, stopping the trajectory of your hand after you set her latte down.

You falter, staring at her hand. The hand that’s touching yours. “What’s what?”

Her thumb brushes over the dark smudge below your knuckles. Voice lowering, “Did you get hurt?”

Movement from the other two, attention snapping onto you.

“Oh. No—it’s paint.” Flexing your fingers in her hold. It hadn’t come off in the shower, or through your rigorous hand washing, and you’d forgotten about it.

“You paint?”

“Yeah. I wanted some new pieces for my wall.” You gesture the serving tray towards the wall of small canvas pieces you’ve hung up. Because Ellis is still holding your other hand. Whatever. That’s normal. You don’t need to freak out about it.

“You painted those?”

“I did, yes.”

Ellis lets go, pushing out of her chair, walking over to inspect the pieces closely. “Damn. You got talent.”

“Ah—thank you.” You’re both relieved she let go, but mourning the loss of contact. Fingers closing around the tray you’re holding, now in both hands.

“How much for one?” Abbot cranes his neck, studying them from where he’s sat.

“They’re—I did them for fun. I’m not selling them.” You’re shaking your head as you chuckle, attention falling onto Abbot.

“I’m serious. Name your price. I could do with a few pieces in my place.”

“Ugh, look at the big shot attending, with his big attending money,” Shen says, rolling his eyes.

“You’re an attending too—”

“I’m not trying to buy a painting—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just jealous of my big attending brain because you didn’t think of it first—”

“Shut up,” Shen sniffs, shoving Abbot’s shoulder. “Hey, I think the pedes floor in the Pitt were talking about wanting a makeover.”

“They were. You should put your name in for it,” Abbot says to you.

“The—I’m sorry, the what?” You blink, looking between the two of them.

“Hospital. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Pitt for short, since PTMC is still a mouthful.”

Ellis is back. She bumps her shoulder against yours gently. “We could probably update our pedes room too. You’d get to see us in our element if you’re down in the ER.”

Abbot’s face does something complicated at the mention of the pedes room.

“Yeah, that’d be a good idea,” Shen says.

“I can’t—I just do this for fun.”

“They’ve got the vision. They just need the artists.” Leaning into Abbot’s shoulder, Shen holds his phone out to you. “Put in your name and number, and I’ll pass it onto… admin? Or whoever handles this.”

You stare at his phone. Long enough that he starts wiggling it in your direction.

“C’mon.”

You gingerly take his phone, inputting your details. Missing the way Ellis shoots Shen a look, rolling her eyes at the completely smug grin on his face.

Abbot elbows him, despite not seeing the expression. He’s sure he can feel it, though.

“Great,” Abbot says, when you hand Shen his phone back. “So we’ll get to see more of you, then.”

“Yes, we will.” Ellis’ hand on the small of your back as she passes behind you, taking her seat again.

Your mind feels blank. You’re saved by the bell ringing, a couple entering. You scurry behind the counter with a quick thank you to the doctors.

“You lose the kids in the divorce?” A warm smile when Abbot steps towards the counter.

Abbot chuckles, shaking his head. “Is that what they said?”

The morning consisted of only Ellis and Shen. Of course you noticed that Abbot wasn’t there. Ellis informed you it was Abbot’s day off—perks of being a senior attending. Shen, the little shit that you’re learning he is, told you that he was going to tell Abbot that he was sorely missed by their favourite barista.

“No, but I’ve got an active imagination that can fill in the blanks. The usual for your day off, Dr Abbot?”

“Yeah. And it’s—just Jack.” He’s come in at a time when the cafe’s quiet. No other customers around. He watches you fill the portafilter with ground coffee. Tap it out, flatten it with the puck. “You hear back from admin yet?”

“No, not yet.” You’re not expecting anything, really.

“Hey, I got it on good authority they’ve got the contracts ready.”

“Thanks for the insider knowledge.” You incline your head, smiling as you affix the portafilter to the machine. Press the button for the shot. Mug underneath.

“You planning on closing up when you’re in there?”

Steaming the milk. “Don’t think I can. Cafe’s too new. Still trying to find my feet.”

“You’re still going to open?”

“Place isn’t going to run itself.”

Jack makes a displeased noise, but doesn’t say anything more on it. He takes his usual seat, despite the table being empty of its usual occupants. Saucer, then mug on top. You walk it over to him.

You take down one of your older paintings from the wall. A sunset you replicated. The image still resides on your phone, a memory captured in time. Set yourself by his table. “Here.”

He stares at it. Then drags his gaze up to you. “I thought you said you weren’t selling it.”

“I’m not selling it. I’m gifting it.”

“No, I can’t just take—”

“Please.”

Jack falls quiet. “Okay.” Carefully takes the canvas from you, studies your brush strokes.

“Thank you,” you say. Then you’re back behind the counter as another customer walks in.

It’s not until after he leaves, and you’re cleaning up the tables, do you notice the two $100 bills tucked under his saucer.

A week later, you receive an email from the PTMC’s Administration team about your expression of interest when you’re in your kitchen, testing out a new recipe for brownies.

Then, incoming texts from a new number:

check your emails :) oh it’s john shen btw :)) night shift dr regular with abbot and parker

You stare at both the email and texts for hours.

Why the hell not? You respond to the email. And to Shen, you text back a simple thank you to which he responds with another smiley face.

The next time you see them in the cafe, you set down three plates of bagels at their table. “I’m testing out something new.”

“You made these?” Ellis asks.

You nod.

She pulls out the chair next to her. “Sit.”

“I need to—”

“You’ve been on your feet all day,” Abbot says.

“It’s my job.”

“Oh, you’re too cool to hang out with us?” Shen pokes.

“No,” you sigh, knowing this is a losing battle. They’re ganging up on you, and you’re weak willed against them.

You take the seat next to Ellis as they chatter, pivoting from hospital speak.

Shen nods, sipping absentmindedly at his Dunkin cup. “You want to get coffee after?”

“Why would I get coffee if I want to sleep?” You have to remind yourself that he’s not interested. You’re reading into things that aren’t there. Shen wouldn’t ask you out—he’s probably inviting you out for night shift traditions that he upholds with other staff. It’s not a personal thing.

“Alright,” he says, shrugging.

And that’s the thing too. If he had any intent to follow through with his flirting, he wouldn’t back off that quickly, you think. He wouldn’t be that nonchalant.

Later, much later, Shen leans his forehead against the desk at the nurses’ station. Parker pats his back. “What am I doing wrong?” he bemoans.

Parker stifles a laugh. “Have you tried asking for a date?”

“I have.” Quickly approaching a whiny intonation that’s unbecoming of his attending status. But he and Parker have been close since their med student years. Hanging out with her brings back juvenile behaviours.

“A proper one, dumbass.”

“What if I get rejected?”

“That hasn’t stopped you from flirting.”

“Yeah, but that’s testing the waters.”

“You flirt with everyone.”

“I don’t flirt with you.”

“Because I’d punch you in the face if you did.”

Shen sniffs, groaning as he straightens his back. “Valid. I’d expect nothing less, Parker.”

“Um,” you hedge, a sudden appearance.

“Shit—hey.” Shen contorts his face into a smile for you.

Parker smothers a laugh by clearing her throat, turning her head away.

“Can I present my case to you?” you ask, holding out the tablet between you as an offering.

“Yeah, course.” He takes it, skimming through your notes as you talk about your patient.

You yawn, knuckles rubbing against your eye. Shutting your locker.

“Hey,” Shen says, sidling up to you.

“Hey,” you respond, soft. “Did I forget something?”

“No. Uh—” Uncharacteristically nervous. Lips pursing. “Did you… um. Ever want to get breakfast together? Just you and me. As a date.”

You blink at him, owlish.

“And no coffee,” he adds.

You’re still staring silently. Brain sluggish.

“You know, it’s—”

“Yes,” you say. “Yeah, I’d like that. As a date.”

Shen grins, and something about it makes your face respond in its own smile. “Great. I’ll message you and we can schedule something. You probably still want to catch your sleep, right?”

A tired chuckle escapes you. “Yeah. Um. I’ll—respond. When I’m awake.” You wince; it already sounded stupid before it left your mouth.

“Great.” 

When you leave, Shen finds Parker by Central, charting.

“Put it here.” Holding out a palm.

“Seriously?” Parker gives him a high-five.

“Yeah. It worked.”

“What worked?” Abbot asks, narrowed eyes aimed towards his troublesome doctor duo.

“I got a date.”

“With?” 

Parker raises an eyebrow, as if there really is any other option.

“Shit. Really?” Abbot asks.

“Yes,” Shen answers, smug.

You turn your attention to the voice, setting down the towel you were using to dry a glass. “Always am.”

Two older gentlemen. You know them as your regulars; Robby and Jack. Doctors from the PTMC, the hospital a couple blocks away. They’ve been frequenting the bar longer than you’ve been working here. Long enough that they’re considered family to Josie—the bar owner and your boss. They have tabs and discounts that keep them returning time and time again.

Jack makes a displeased sound. “You sure?”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before, doctors.”

“Doesn’t make it okay.”

“I’m not saying it is. That’s why they get kicked out.” When you see Barry enter the bar again, he raises a thumbs up at you from his vantage point near the door, and you lift your arm to respond with your own.

As much as you know your regulars, they know you too. They definitely know that Josie sees you as her own flesh and blood, and is fiercely protective of you in a way that someone that’s known you for years could be. They also know that you have a notorious habit of pissing her off every time you flirt with customers that you’ve labelled as non-regulars for that extra bit of cash.

And if they have a horrible habit of enjoying your flirty production a bit too much? That’s something they can only confess in the walls their home. Josie is omnipresent—eyes and ears everywhere in her bar, and they’re not prepared to face her wrath.

“You’re not working today, Dr Abbot?” you ask, changing the topic.

This essentially counts as day drinking for him, with his night schedule. But here he is with Robby. They don’t always arrive together due to work commitments, but you’re more than aware of their… relationship? Friendship? You’ve yet to figure out what they have with each other.

“Late start today. Which means I get to see my favourite person while making sure Robby has his head on straight,” Jack grins.

You laugh. “Careful, Jack. Your man is right there.” The back and forth with them has always been harmless, never characterised by the intention to follow through. They pay their dues and move on.

Robby snorts. “This man doesn’t care as long as you keep the drinks going.”

“Aye aye, old man.” You pour their usual two shots, sliding it across to them.

“Thank you, honey.”

You perform a little curtsy before heading to the other end of the bar where another regular sits.

They’ve known you for a few years now. A young thing that Josie introduced to them on your first ever shift, demanding they keep an eye on you.

In that time, they’ve never seen you seriously consider someone once they started flirting with you. You’re adept at toeing the line and pulling back. The ones that get too physical get kicked out. The ones that enjoy the conversation spend the rest of their night in the bar, either to never come back, or to return as another regular.

Except this time.

Another night they both have off. Both of them in their usual seats by the counter. Watching you.

A younger guy, conventionally attractive. Leaning onto the bar counter where he sits. And that would have been normal—usual. People like your company. Except you’re also leaning halfway across the bar counter when you’re not busy. Reciprocating.

“Hey.” Jack waving you down.

“Need more?” Despite the question, you’re already taking the bottle, floating over to them.

“What are you doing, honey?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Topping up his glass, then Robby’s too.

“You’re getting close with your new friend.”

“I’m just having a little fun.”

“Yeah?”

“I always do. You know me.”

“I don’t like him,” Robby adds.

You snort, rolling your eyes. “You don’t know him.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know enough to know it’ll be a good time.”

Robby raises a brow. Jack casts you a look.

“Oh, come on. I don’t know what Josie told you, but you don’t have to watch over me. I’m not a child. I don’t need you guys treating me like one.” The two of them and Josie have a tendency to treat you like you’re new to the world. Incapable of independence. In need of protection. As if you don’t have a life outside of the bar that they’re unaware of.

“That’s not where this is coming from,” Robby says. Gentle, despite your souring mood.

“Then where is it coming from?”

His attention on you, but he doesn’t attempt to offer up anything else.

It makes you shake your head, even more pissed. “I’m an adult.”

“I know. We know.”

“Then you should know that I have adult needs. Like everybody else. I don’t need Josie, or any of you—”

“That’s not what we’re saying—”

“I’m not done talking—”

“Yes, you are.”

His audacity shocks you into silence. You blink at him.

Robby taps his knuckles against the counter, jaw clenching. “C’mon. Clock out.” Nodding towards you.

“Excuse me?” You shoot him a look.

“Call Josie. Tell her you’re sick. Get Barry to cover for you.”

“I’m working.”

“Not anymore.”

“Some of us need money, Robby.”

He fishes his wallet from his back pocket. Takes out a few bills and slides it towards you. You can count at least two hundreds in there.

“What the hell?”

“Call Josie and make up an excuse, or I’ll call her myself. And trust me, you won’t like what I have to say.”

Your gaze travels to Jack. His lips are lifted in a smirk. He doesn’t say anything, merely tilts his head to look down at you.

Despite the irritation that lights you on fire, you obey. You call Josie. Shuffle into the staff area to affect a pathetic tone, telling her you feel sick.

She’s worried as she asks if you need anything, and when you tell her that Jack and Robby are here, she calms. You text Barry, who lives less than a 10 minute walk away. He’ll be there soon.

And you wait. Barry arrives, shares a wave to Jack and Robby. He pats you on the shoulder, sympathetic. “Feel better.”

You’re wrangled out of the bar, between them. You try going to your car, but Robby bites out a leave it, so you follow him to his. Jack in his own.

It’s quiet, neither of you talking. You make it to Robby’s house. Property parking. Through the door, where Jack follows.

Robby crowds you against the wall. “Were you really going to go home with that dumb frat guy?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Right. You’re an adult,” Robby says. “You have needs.” Mocking you.

You feel that rabbiting in your chest. “I’m allowed to.” An assertion for yourself. To them.

“I know.” Hovering closer, nose brushing along your cheek.

You’re flattened against the wall.

“Tell me this is okay,” Robby murmurs.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Robby drops to his knees. Jack pushes close, catching your jaw in his hand. Angling your face to kiss you.

And right there in the hallway to his home, Robby eats you out. Your pants long discarded. Your leg over his shoulder, fingers twisted in his hair, rutting against his face, feeling so close.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Jack whispers. He’s relentless with the hickies he’s sucking down the column of your neck. Along your shoulder. His hand gripping and bruising across your chest. “Next time you’re feeling needy like this, you come to us, okay?”

“Oh my God, yes, yes, please.” And you come like that, with Robby’s fingers inside you, his mouth on you.

They don’t let you catch your breath. Jack nudges you down the hall.

You fill up your gas.

“I can watch your bike,” he says.

A gloved fist stretched out towards him. He bumps it, then you head into the gas station to pay. When you’re back out at your bike, you watch as he sits on his, walking it out.

You frown. Getting in front of him, stopping his trajectory.

He looks up at you.

You tap your helmet, then point at his head.

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

You flip your tinted visor up. “Helmet.” Voice is slightly muffled, but clearer than if you hadn’t put the visor up.

He falters, seemingly taken aback. Then pats the side of his bag, where said helmet is hanging uselessly. “I have one.”

“Then wear it. I might be young and reckless, but even I’m not that dumb.” Your legs are stationed on either side of his front wheel, arms crossed.

He comes to the realisation that you won’t budge. Practised care, despite the lack of familiarity between the two of you. An inclination of his head, unclasping it from the side of the bag. Donning it. It doesn’t cover his face like yours, but you have a feeling that his Triumph Bonneville doesn’t manage the speeds that your bike does.

“Where are you headed?” You shift to the side of him, adjusting his chin strap.

You don’t see the startled blink from behind his sunglasses. “Passing through Chicago.”

“Come for a ride. There’s a group of us.”

And that’s how easily it starts. Keeping pace until winding, empty roads turn into the suburbs of Chicago. Until more bikes roar around you—friends and acquaintances founded through the biking interest. A bike meet, and an organised ride.

You salute him when he drives into the city. You don’t expect to see him again.

But you do. A random bar—Molly’s. He’s nursing a beer, sitting on his lonesome at the counter. You slide in next to him. “Hey, stranger.”

It takes him a beat to place you. And when he does, a warmer smile graces his face. It’s those eyes. Previously framed by the gap in your helmet. Now complementing the rest of your face. You’re a lot younger—and prettier—than he thought you were.

“Hey yourself. How was your ride?”

“Really good. We did some races. I bet on a friend and we won.”

“Treating yourself with your spoils?”

“Something like that.” And it’s you and him sitting together at the bar. Introducing yourself to him, and you get his name. Robby. You don’t ask if it’s short for anything—he doesn’t volunteer the information.

He’s sightseeing. Intending to head up to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. You tell him that you’re enjoying your last few days with your friends before you move for a new job.

You ask if he’s staying the night in Chicago.

Then you’re pushing him through the dingy door of his motel room. An arm wrapped around your waist while his lips are bruising on yours.

Onto his squeaky bed. Climbing into his lap. His fingers are biting into your sides, your thighs.

In between breaths, you manage, “I want to ride your face.”

Robby swallows, thick, enamoured at the suggestion. And you think you have a handle on the dynamic—he’s an older guy that has too much going on, needs to give up control for some semblance of quiet in his head.

But that changes after your first orgasm, thighs squeezing around his ears.

Too easily he flips you over and fucks you into the mattress, broader hand pinning both your wrists above your head. Moaning and scrambling, losing that charge you thought you had.

You leave before he wakes. It’s ridiculously early, but you’re more than familiar with this dance. You get on your bike and leave, never to see him again.

You move, starting your new job in Pittsburgh.

And then a month later, your new coworkers are abuzz with gossip since their chief attending is coming back from a sabbatical. The way they talk about it sounds like it’s an older man with a mid-life crisis.

Robby comes back in the middle of a shift. Jack’s covering the morning, Robby starts in the afternoon. Both of them attending until Shen’s scheduled to relieve Jack at shift change.

He misses your bike when he parks his.

Maybe it would have prepared him.

He’s not expecting the same person he met during his sabbatical in hospital scrubs, walking around his ED.

And you’re not expecting to see him either. “Of course it was you,” you say, despite the surprise. Biker guy without a helmet definitely has mid-life crisis written all over it.

“New job,” Robby says, echoing your words months ago. Eyes flickering over your scrubs. “Bit of a travel for you. I’m sure there were hospitals closer to home that needed med assistants.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t paying nearly as much.”

Robby snorts, nodding. Sounds typical of the Pitt. Desperate moves to obtain new staff, but nothing to placate their current ones. “See you around, kid.”

You almost make it a week. Of pretending like you’re normal coworkers, until he’s falling into bed with you again. Your apartment, this time, his bike chasing yours after a long shift. He wears his helmet like it’s second nature when he drives, now.

Again, your body deliciously sore after he fucks you. Gives you three orgasms to remember him by. By the time you wake, all traces of him are gone. You shouldn’t be surprised.

It keeps happening. More often than it should. You come to his place, too, but neither of you stay when you’re at each other’s places.

And then Noelle Hastings. You’ve met her, back when you first started and were given the brief tour of the hospital and each floor. She’s nice enough, but you’ve learned that everyone in the ED likes to villainise anyone that works upstairs.

You think that’s the case when you first see her and Robby interact. You quickly realise that it’s different. She oscillates between acting like a scorned ex-something, and a dismissive, cavalier attitude.

From what you can piece together, it sounds like she was the fling before he left for his sabbatical. And then he met you. You’re not special. You shouldn’t feel special—there’s no reason for you to make this into a thing.

You’re young and petty, so yeah, maybe you start flirting back with the EMT that comes through to deliver the trauma cases. You both push the gurney, and you’re talking to him about the bike that he sees—and is very impressed by—whenever they park the ambulance.

And if Robby is more snappish than usual when he assigns you to helping Lupe in reception? Well. At least you don’t have to see whatever the fuck is going on between him and Noelle.

The end of your shift, you straddle your bike; Robby not quite on his. “We don’t owe each other anything, Robby.” You flip the visor to your helmet down. Tighten the leather gloves around your wrists.

“But we’re—”

You rev the throttle, drowning out his words. “Can’t hear you!” Tapping the side of the helmet at your ear, shaking your head.

He waits until the noise settles. Opens his mouth—

And again, you twist the throttle. The bike roars. You gesture to your ear again. Walking it out, then speeding out of the ambulance bay.

Two hours later, he’s at your doorstep. “Tell me to leave and I will,” Robby murmurs.

You don’t. Can’t, maybe. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when he’s back in your bed.