The sun paired with a cloudless sky and sounds of traffic greets me as soon as I step outside of my new New York apartment. Car horns, breaks squeaking, tires running over potholes, motors that should really be checked out. I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath to try to soak in this moment, but all I seem to breathe in are exhaust fumes and the faint smell of hotdogs from a nearby street vendor, making me cough uncontrollably for a few seconds.

Okay, moment not as glamorous as I pictured it. I always imagined my first day in New York to be magical, with birds chirping and people singing and dancing around in a flash mob of some sorts. Guess not.

But nothing a little T-Swift can't fix.

Pulling out my wireless headphones, I pop them in and blast Taylor Swift's "Welcome To New York" on repeat to enhance my experience and strut my way through the streets like I'm in a music video. Warner Central Hospital is only nine blocks away from my apartment so I decide to walk instead of taking a taxi. Upon moving to New York City, I sold my car back in California instead of driving it all the way across the country to a city where it would hardly be used anyway.

I take in all the sights, taking my time walking now that the morning rush hour has died down and the sidewalks aren't jammed with people. I memorize restaurants and cafes I pass that seem promising until I finally reach Warner. Looking up at the tall building, I feel a sense of intimidation wash over me for a moment before a tingle of excitement runs down my spine, shooting all the way down to my toes.

Walking through the glass doors of the main entrance, I observe the modernized lobby that has white marbled floors and large floor to ceiling windows that let in natural light. Everything is so clean and bright and smells of antiseptic, making my heart happy.

I walk past the reception desk and past the small fountain in the center of the lobby before taking the stairwell to the next floor up, beginning my adventure. I decided it was best to go to the hospital before orientation to refamiliarize myself with the layout. I've been here once before when I did my interview for residency, but I didn't get the chance to really roam around and get a feel of the whole layout. So today I decided to swing by and get a head start at figuring out where everything is so I can have a leg up on all the other first year residents tomorrow for the first day of orientation.

I go down every nook and cranny of the hospital I'm allowed access to as unauthorized personnel yet, memorizing where all the different departments and units are, along with the cafeteria. I find out that the neurosurgery department is on the third floor, and I stand outside the door, wishing and itching to go inside, but I don't think that would be appropriate considering orientation isn't until tomorrow and no one knows who I am yet. Plus, an ID badge is needed to open the door, and even then the receptionist behind the front desk doesn't look the friendliest, her mouth set in a hard line as she seems to argue with someone on the phone.

With a disheartening sigh, I continue down the hallway, wondering what's behind the door of the neurosurgery department. I wonder if they have a decent lounge with a couch or two. Hopefully with this being one of the best and most funded hospitals in the country—and the number one ranked neurosurgery department in the country for the past twenty years—they have one of those kickass coffee makers I can take advantage of.

I guess I'll just have to find out tomorrow.

I walk down the hall towards some operating rooms and stop for a moment outside the first set of double doors, obviously not allowed to go in. Another bolt of excitement rushes through me, and I imagine the first time I'll be able to push through those double doors and work on patients of my own.

After a few moments of wishful thinking, I walk further down the hall to the surgery unit where patients are getting prepped. I peek my head around the corner to spot patients on gurneys with loved ones beside them before they're whisked off to surgery and their loved ones are asked to wait in the waiting room. Doctors, nurses, and other members of the surgical team move around from patient to patient, waiting on the green light for their case. Nothing out of the ordinary, but there is one sight that makes me do a double take.

Leaning against the nurses' station, tan and taut forearms propped on the counter with his hips cocked back to practically show off his perfectly rounded and toned ass, Brad smiles at the young nurse behind the counter. Dipping his head, he whispers something to her and she full on belly laughs. The nurse looks to be a couple of years younger than us. Probably fresh out of nursing school. She has a fresh, youthful face and dark blonde hair that's thrown up in a ponytail. She's pretty, that's exactly why he's flirting with her, but clearly she's not that bright if she's falling for his charm.

I watch the interaction for a while longer, Brad seeming pleased with his ability to make her smile and blush. But as if feeling my gaze, Brad turns and catches me staring, a smirk forming on his face. He murmurs something to the nurse before pushing off the desk and sauntering my direction. I don't miss the pathetic look of disappointment in her eyes as he walks away.

"Harper," he states, casually slipping his hands in the pockets of his dark wash jeans paired with a simple black T-shirt. It almost feels funny seeing him in anything other than scrubs or business clothes. I've seen him once or twice in athletic wear when he would go on jogs or play basketball around campus, but it still feels weird. Personal, or even intimate, maybe?  Either way, it's weird.

Not backing down or breaking his intense gaze, I cross my arms over my chest, still hating how I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. "It's Dr. Harper, Gallow" I correct.

The corner of his mouth twitches. "My apologies. Dr. Harper." The deep timbre of his voice sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, making me cross my arms tighter. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

His smirk deepens. "Just getting reacquainted with the place before tomorrow. I can show you around if you'd like?"

"How gracious of you, but I'll pass," I say, turning on my heel and walking back down the hallway.

I feel his big, looming presence behind me, following me.

"C'mon, Delilah, let me show you around. I've already made friends," he brags with the widest shit eating grin.

"I bet you have," I mutter, the blonde nurse immediately coming to mind as a prime example of one of his friends.

Throughout med school, Brad seemed to get anything he wanted by throwing that smile of his around and batting his lashes. Practically all the females, and even some of the males, fawned over him, bending over backwards—and forwards, might I add—to make him happy. If I didn't know how smart he actually was, I'd say he slept his way into such a competitive residency.

"I can give you a tour of the neurosurgery department," he offers.

I skid to a stop, coincidentally a few yards away from the neurosurgery department, spinning around to face him. "How the hell did you get into the department?"

"Anna's aunt is the receptionist," he states.

I blink. "Who is Anna?" I ask, refraining from using an explicit.

He thumbs behind him. "The nurse I was talking to."

"Of course," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. Of course he would manage to find a way to weasel his way into the neurosurgery department, all the while finding his next fling.

"I can show you around inside? Pam, the receptionist, is a real sweetheart."

I almost want to laugh, and I don't know if it's because he's actually offering to let me into the neurosurgery department, like he already works here, or because if he wants me to believe the lady behind the desk with a harsh frown is a 'real sweetheart'.

"The lounge is pretty awesome," he continues. "It has leather chairs, plenty of tables, a state of the art coffee maker,"—guess that answers my question—"a refrigerator and microwave—"

Brad's voice fades to background noise in my ears as a large figure approaches behind him, coming straight at us with power and purpose. I immediately recognize the man as world renowned neurosurgeon Dr. Neal Larson. He's an absolute legend in this field and to be seeing him in the flesh and breathing the same oxygen as him has me sort of geeking out.

Dr. Larson breezes past us with purposeful strides, paying us zero mind, clearly on a mission in his green scrubs and scrub cap. As soon as he passes, I shamelessly turn around to stare after him and Brad stops talking, probably just as star struck as I am. I watch as he swiftly scans his ID badge and waltzes into the department, the receptionist—Pam—doing a complete 180 and smiling perkily at him. I watch him through the glass until he disappears and Pam's smile falls back to a frown.

Dr. Larson is a large body and presence. He isn't fat, but he isn't necessarily Hulk Hogan either. He's just big and burly. I'd place him at about 6'4 ft. and 240 lbs. But I guess he needs such a large body to house such a large presence, brain, and no doubt ego.

I turn back around to face Brad, still in awe. "Was that Dr. Larson?"

I watch the long lines of his throat and his Adams apple bob as he works on a swallow. "Yeah. I think so."

I blink a few times, waiting for the shock to leave my system. "What I would give to scrub in on one of his cases," I say under my breath, more so to myself.

Nevertheless, Brad hears me. "Yeah," he comments, voice raspy. He clears his throat before speaking again and straightens his spine. "Anyways, as I was saying, I can give you a tour if you'd like. Anna's a great tour guide and showed me almost all the ins and outs of the hospital. I can fill you in."

My head clears and I return to a state of normalcy, realizing I'm standing in the middle of the hallway with Brad. "Yeah, no thanks," I say, turning and continuing my way back down the hall to explore some more myself, as originally planned. "Have fun with Anna," I call over my shoulder, condescendingly.

"Oh I will," he calls back, just to be a jackass. I practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Once I'm certain of my directions around the hospital I head home for the day, stopping by the great looking Thai place I saw on my way in this morning. I order enough food for a small army and head back to my apartment complex, plopping myself down on the couch with all my food. I pile my paper plate—since my dishes aren't unpacked yet—with a mound of food and surround myself with all my old textbooks to brush up on some topics for tomorrow, wanting to make one hell of an impression.

After going in for seconds and skimming through three large text books, I decide to get up to try to digest my food baby and devote at least one hour to unpacking. By the time 10:00 p.m. rolls around I have everything except for four boxes left to unpack and I call it a night. I get ready for bed and make sure to set my alarm for tomorrow before sinking into the mattress and cuddling my body pillow, mildly exhausted from all the moving and unpacking and studying I've done the past few days.

Just as I'm about to drift off to sleep, there's a light bang on the other side of the wall. I wait for a moment in the silence, ready to chalk it up to my neighbor being a klutz and literally falling into bed, their headboard hitting our shared wall. Until it happens again.

And again.

And again.

Repeatedly.

Persistently.

Then I hear a woman start to moan loudly.

Fuck. My. Life.

I shove one of my pillows over my face, praying it ends soon so I can get some decent sleep for tomorrow.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Poor Delilah. lol

TSOA readers, in case you missed it, I posed a full bonus chapter of Bronx and Olivia's engagement. I hope you love it❤️

Thanks for reading and see you next chapter,
Nicole