A/N: I believe the story is coming to an end so I'm going to be winding it down over the next few chapters. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. You guys rock!
"Any more Thomas's in your future?" Greg asked as I got up and rinsed out the cereal bowls. I barely ate any of my breakfast. It's time like this when I'm glad Greg has a garbage disposal. The gooey mess disappeared down the drain.
"I hope not."
"Why's that?"
"I have enough exes who hate me," I answered with a deep sigh. " I don't need another one to worry about running into."
"What do you do when you miss your ex?" he asked, pulling himself up with the cane.
"Turn the car around and try again," I finished with a chuckle while wiping the soapy hot water from my hands.
"I see you've heard that one before." He joined me at the sink, putting a reassuring arm around my shoulder. I immediately felt better. "Now that Jimmy Wilson is officially off the market again, who are the poor nurses going to flirt with?"
I looked up and grinned. "You?"
"They never flirted with me to begin with. When they find out whose bed you're sharing, they're going to freak out and never flirt with you again."
"Chase?"
"I suppose, as long as they don't mind that he's prettier than they are."
"You've been checking out Chase? I don't believe it."
"I hired the damn guy and work with him every day. That has given me more than a few ample moments to admire his nice little wombat ass."
"From a distance, I hope."
"Exactly. The kid is straighter than your average two-by-four. Even if he did swing my way, he couldn't handle me. I'd eat him alive, no pun intended. Pretty boys don't usually do much for me, but still, he's nice to look at."
"It's nice that you have standards," I remarked.
"Heterosexual Australians who would have an aneurysm if I tried to put my hand down his pants don't make it into my top ten if that's what you mean," he said. "And I'm not in the mood for a sexual harassment lawsuit right now, and neither is Cuddy."
"Since when did you care about what Cuddy thinks?"
"Me being a jackass to patients is one thing. Me jumping on all the pretty doctors, male or female, is another. If I did ever bring Chase to my side, Cameron would have no one to sleep with if she ever decided to binge on meth again."
It was a whirlwind of a day, I barely had time to scarf down a sandwich and chug a soda between patients, meetings, and clinic duty. Papers to sign, tests to check, one right after the other. When I was able to stop for a second, catch my breath and remember what planet I was on, the sun was nothing but a big red and orange stain in the west. Twelve hours gone by in heartbeat.
Greg wasn't in his office.
He wasn't home either. He was sitting on the hood of my car.
"Your bike break down?" I asked, walking around to meet him. "Why didn't you wait for me in my office?"
"My bike is fine, and you weren't in your office when I looked so I came out here . I figured you wouldn't drive off with a cripple on your hood."
"Yeah, I don't think that kind of hood ornament is legal," I said. "Then again, I didn't go medical school because I wanted to be a lawyer." I settled next to him on the car. "What brings you to my Volvo?"
"Making sure no nurses sunk their claws into you. That might lead to a fight to the death, and I always win." He looked me up and down with a hard stony glare, slowly and deliberately. I broke out in goosebumps. "No lipstick traces on you."
"Should there be?"
"No. I'm just feeling possessive of what's mine. It must be a full moon."
"I'm head of the oncology department," I reminded him, like it was breaking news. " I'm expected to do some work every now and then. My patients expect me to know what's wrong with them. I didn't have time to flirt with anyone today."
"Work is overrated. You could have stopped by for a quickie. And we haven't kissed in front of Cuddy yet. Remind me to get the camera out and ready for that Kodak moment."
"If you wanted a quickie so bad, you could have come by my office. The corridor goes both ways, Greg."
"Hmph. You've had pesky patients around you all day. I'm sure that elderly Mrs. Sherman is nice and all, but in her mind it's still 1954 and nice boys just don't make out other nice boys."
"What do nice boys do then?"
A wicked smile broke across his face. "I don't know. We're not nice boys, Jimmy. Let's go do some bad boy stuff."
