I'm at her place. We're tucked into her sheets after a dinner date then sex on her couch. I'm laying face-down next to her while she watches a Christmas movie. I'm reminded, once again, that I'm not as flexible as I used to be. She's rubbing absent-minded circles on my back, which is nice. I work out and I eat well, but I'm still thirty-three. She doesn't seem to mind that I'm older than her, even though it's not by much. I'm wearing a pair of sweatpants and a grey t-shirt from the drawer she's dedicated to me. I wasn't supposed to stay at her place, but she lives close to the hospital, and I'm quite happy with my current predicament, back pain and all.

"Hey, baby?" I start, propping myself up on my forearms. She hums in acknowledgement. "Can we go for a bed next time? I wasn't even bottoming but I think you've blown my back out." She snickers a little but apologizes, gently shoving me. She gets up and comes back with a sports drink for the electrolytes, along with some muscle relaxers. I take the pill with the Gatorade, and she sits on top of me while she massages my back. She makes fun of me, sure, but she takes care of me. I groan and flop back onto the mattress, limp as she works her magic and the pills start to take effect.

When she's finished and sitting up against the pillows, I rest my head in her lap as her hand cards through my short, dark hair. I always enjoy the way she smells- vanilla and jasmine, sometimes with an undertone of chlorine, as she swims to stay fit. My back feels better now, the medicine having taken the edge off. She unpauses the movie, and I sling one of my arms around her waist. We haven’t talked about what we are, but we’re something. She brings my hand to her mouth, and presses a kiss to my knuckles. I catch her hand when she lowers mine, and she smiles. This could blow up in my face, but it would be worth it to have tasted her lips.

Wow, I sound like a poetic asshole. I don’t know if that can be classed as poetic, exactly, but I decide it doesn’t matter. I like her place. It’s clean, big, and it’s nice. I remember her in medical school, and getting flirty back then, though nothing happened back then. Then she had to move to Denver for her residency. Even as I think these things and attempt to actively recall these memories, they’re fuzzy and soft at the edges. I’m tired, tired enough to fall asleep on her lap. It’s always easier for me to fall asleep with someone.

So thats what I did- I slept around. I know I’m attractive, I have a sports car, I make good money. She’s the first person I’ve found myself wondering about in a while- wondering if she’ll stick around. I get the impression that she hasn’t dated as many people as I have. She’s very work-centred, so much so that it’s all she thinks about sometimes. She likes to take extra shifts, but we can usually sneak a call in on her break when she’s working extra shifts. She even has a bookshelf dedicated to clinical trials. She practices her sutures on oranges, just for shits and giggles.

“Are you getting tired, Gail?” I hear her ask, my face concealed in her stomach as she rubs my back. She’s a night owl, and it’s only eight-thirty. I’m a morning person myself, and I just groan as tuck my face further into her. She huffs a small laugh, and slides down in the covers. Her smile softens as she makes eye contact for me, and I lean in for a kiss. She smiles against my lips, and I smile back. She opens her mouth, and I open mine. It might look obscene, but it’s gentle and tired. I chase her lips when we pull apart for air, and she snorts. It’s how we joke- pushing each other’s buttons.