I try convincing myself that I didn't plan any of this. That I went to the doctors' lounge just to grab one last cup of coffee before I left for the night. That I didn't expect her to be there all alone.

I blame it on my tiredness, having been awake for almost 40 hours straight. I couldn't really control my actions in that state, could I?

And she wasn't making things any easier. So I blame it on her as well, for being so damn hot, and so damn caring. Did she really have to notice how tired I was looking? Did she really have to come that close and look me in the eyes and touch my arm while asking if I was ok? No, she didn't.

But it doesn't make this any less my fault. Because I did expect her to be there: I had seen her walking in that direction just a few minutes before. I went to the doctors' lounge after her, screw the coffee. I was tired, but still totally in control of my actions.

And I knew exactly what I was doing when, instead of answering her question, I pulled her closer. I even had the distinct thought that maybe I shouldn't be doing that, but wanted to do it nonetheless, as I smashed my lips against hers and slid my hand across her back, holding her firmly to keep her from running away.

Not that she tried to. Her body did stiffen in a first moment, but I guess it was mainly because she wasn't expecting my fast reaction. She relaxed right after, and kissed me back with all she had.

I had seen the way she looked at me, the way she studied my every move, the way she blushed ever time I caught her staring. She felt attracted to me. She wanted that, too. It's just that this attraction was so new for her that she'd never be brave enough to take the first step; that would be on my account.

I had already considered all of that. Still, I hadn't decided yet whether I should take that step or not; she's not officially divorced yet, after all. And I have just come out of a relationship. And I may be a lot of things, not all of them good, and some of my values might be somewhat questionable, but I do value relationships. That's exactly why I usually keep myself away from them.

But in that moment, that precise moment when I saw her walking to the doctors' lounge, when I knew we were the only ones still at the hospital, I made up my mind. I might not have specifically or even conscientiously thought about it, but, in the back of my mind, I knew what (or better, who) I was going after, even if just by instinct. In that minute, I decided now was definitely better than never.

I was right: that was the perfect timing. She was also tired, her movements were slower and her resistance was down. Being fast as I was, there was no time for the what-if's that I knew would come in another situation, no time for her conscience (or mine, for that matter) to say anything to stop us; our bodies were the first ones to answer. And her body craved for my touch, the same way mine craved for hers.

This showed in every breath we took, desire dripping from all our pores as I pinned her against a wall and kissed my way down her neck and chest, one hand holding her arms above her head, the other moving under her scrubs and blouse up her stomach.

I fucked her, then and there. It wasn't soft or beautiful; it wasn't even that gentle, although it was far from being brutal; it was voracious and hungry and hot, just like the two of us.

As she came around my fingers, with me holding her up, since her knees couldn't, I felt like we were in the eye of a hurricane, and still nothing could bother us; because it felt oh, so right. And as I waited for her to regain her balance, my lips grazing her cheek lightly, I knew I didn't regret a second of it.

I knew I'd do it all over again, simply because I already wanted to do it all over again in that very second. But, more importantly, I wanted to do more than that: I wanted to watch her sleep and wake up and take a shower and eat; I wanted to know how she was like at home; I wanted to take her hand and watch a movie with her; I wanted to be a part of her life. Even if that meant opening up for her.

If there's one good thing that I've taken from my brief, bumpy, unstable relationship with Eric was that I actually needed to open up sometimes. I just chose the wrong person to do it. But I have a feeling she might be the right one.

Not many words were said as we left the hospital together. We didn't need or want them at that moment. No one seemed to notice that we were walking around hand in hand, or that her car followed mine out of the parking lot and into my garage.

She felt instantly at ease at my place, putting on some background music for us, and I had the distinct sensation that, somehow, she belonged there. We sat on the floor at my living room, eating takeout dinner which I placed at the center table. Tired of the silence, we talked about trivialities such as musical taste, movies, books, House, weird patients.

I felt like, maybe, I could get used to it, to coming home everyday to find her there, to caring for her and to letting her care for me. She didn't invade my personal space, didn't ask things I didn't want to answer, didn't push me any further than I was willing to go, didn't rush things ahead of their time.

We showered together, and it wasn't awkward. Again, it was natural, as if it should be happening. And she didn't find it any weird that I asked her to spend the night. Actually, I found it weirder than she did, since I know I'm usually the one pushing people out of my apartment and of my life.

Now, as I'm holding her close to me, her breathing already slow and steady from sleeping, I recall the actions that led us to this moment. I went after her purposefully, I tested her and she gave in. But, when we kissed, did we know what would the outcome be?

I don't know exactly until when I knew what I was doing; I don't know exactly what I planned and what I didn't; I don't know when I lost control of things. The only thing I know is that, if this is all an accident, it's the most perfect and the best planned accident ever to occur.