Once Brad leaves the locker room, I change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, grabbing my bag, more than ready to go home for the day. I walk out of the neurosurgery department and find Ashlee and Patrick walking down the hall, chatting animatedly.

"Hey, girlie," Ashlee greets me chipperly. "How was the first day?" she asks more cautiously, slightly cringing, telling me she already knows how my day went with how fast word supposedly travels around here. Maybe I'd know if I hadn't spent a quarter of my day in the shower and finding new scrubs to change into, cleaning off throw up.

I only grunt in response.

She gives me a sympathetic look. "Yeah... I heard. If it makes you feel any better, my day wasn't that great either."

"What happened to you?" I ask.

She grins. "Tell you over a beer," she coaxes, a hopeful sparkle in her eye.

I let out a long, tired sigh. "Not tonight."

Her lips form into a pout. "Oh come on, you have to go! Almost all the new residents are going. It's practically a tradition to go to EBS after your first official day."

"I'm so tired, I don't think I can stand for more than five minutes," I complain, my body sagging back against the wall for emphasis.

"Well lucky for you EBS has plenty of seating. Plus, nothing drowns first day blues better than booze and burgers."

"I think you mean nothing drowns first day blues better than going home, dropping into bed and passing the fuck out."

Ashlee shakes her head, grabbing my arm and dragging me down the hall, Patrick in tow. Too tired to fight back, I let her drag me to the scrubs machine to dispose of our used scrubs and out the hospital doors. I manage to walk the two blocks to EBS, heavily leaning on Ashlee the whole way, and collapse into one of the last available booths.

EBS is jammed packed with people, majority first year residents and even some attendings—all probably needing a drink after a very long and grueling day. There's a loud buzz throughout the dim bar, everyone talking about the eventful day, tones ranging from excited, to dreadful, to exasperated, and everything in between.

I scoot to the inside of the booth, next to the wall, and dig in my purse, pulling out a twenty. I throw the bill at Patrick and beg him to go up to the bar to get me a burger and a beer, telling him to use the change to get whatever he wants. Surprised and amused, Patrick obliges.

"Get me a whisky sour!" Ashlee calls after him.

"Pay me too or get your own!" he calls back over his shoulder, disappearing into the crowd.

Ashlee huffs, shooting me a glare. "Look what you did. Now he thinks he's entitled." With a childish stomp of her foot, she runs after her cousin, fearlessly elbowing her way through the crowd to catch up to him.

With the two of them gone, I guard the table by folding my arms over it and resting my forehead on them, closing my eyes. I listen to the hum of the bar and more specifically the nurses at the booth behind me bitching about all the new doctors trying to boss them around and about all the times they had to save the newbies asses today.

I start to doze off. Just as I'm about to fully submerge into unconsciousness, I hear someone slide into the booth across from me. I automatically assume it's either Ashlee or Patrick, but there's no form of bickering going on. I know I haven't known the cousins for long, but I feel like I know them well enough to know that they're never this quiet. Maybe it's just Patrick, because if it was Ashlee she would have woken me up by now. But I'm too tired to look up at who it is. Whoever it is, I know Ashlee will run them off if she doesn't want them at our table.

After a few moments, I feel the faintest tug of my hair, as if someone twisted a lock around their finger and let the curl unwind itself. Still too tired to move, I convince myself to glance at the culprit, worried it might be some random weirdo.

I turn my face so that my cheek is now resting on my arm and open my eyes, glancing across the table through my lashes at the person. Yep, definitely a weirdo.

Brad sits across from me, arms crossed over the table as he leans in and stares down at me.

"Didn't anyone teach you it's not polite to stare?" I grumble.

His lips twitch up in the faintest of smiles. "Didn't anyone teach you it's not polite to fall asleep at the table?"

I grunt in rebuttal. "Don't you have someone else to bother? Where's your nurse friend? I'm sure she'd love your company."

He only shrugs. "But it's so much more fun talking to you," he taunts.

I mutter an explicit under my breath before closing my eyes again.

I hear him softly chuckle before I hear the sound of glass sliding across wood. "Here," he says. I glance up to see a beer bottle in front of me.

I scrunch up my nose. "Why are you buying me a beer?"

"I know this should be the other way around—you know, since I won today, and all—but you look like you could really use one."

I huff, finally sitting up straight in the booth. "Well I don't need you to buy me one."

He pursues his lips together, like he's trying to suppress a laugh.

"What?" I snap.

He smiles, eyes twinkling with humor in the dim lighting. Using his index finger, he points to his forehead, signaling.

My hand immediately flies up to my forehead, fingers brushing across it, feeling a small indent on the left side. I glance down at my hand, realizing it's from my momma's ring. I laid my forehead on top of my hands when I was dozing off, hence the indent.

I groan, scrubbing at the spot, hoping to buffer it out some.

"Nice ring," Brad comments.

"Ooo, really pretty," Ashlee comments, suddenly sliding in next to me, burger and whisky sour in hand.

Patrick cautiously slides in next to Brad, balancing two burgers in one hand and two beers in the other. He slides mine to me across the table.

"Bless you," I praise, my stomach growling loudly.

I grab my burger, ready to stuff my face, but Ashlee grabs my hand away from the greasy goodness, observing the ring. "It's so cute and dainty. Where did you get it?"

"It's my momma's. My daddy got it for her on one of their very first dates."

Ashlee awws obnoxiously, and I can't help but smile. My parents love story will always be one of my favorites.

I glance down at the ring, admiring it for a moment, and remind myself to pick up a chain to wear it as a necklace, because I'm afraid if I keep wearing it on my finger it'll get peeled off with one of my gloves and end up lost in the trash forever. If that ever happened... I'd be devastated.

Ashlee releases my hand and just as I'm about to finally devour my burger, Brad asks, "How did your parents meet?"

I stop mid bite, the question catching me off guard. Especially coming from him. He doesn't seem like the one to care about sentimentals.

I finish my bite, chewing slowly. Setting my burger down, I pick up a napkin, wiping my greasy fingers. "My dad studied abroad in India. That's where they met," I inform, once I finish chewing and swallow.

"And she came back here with him?" Patrick asks.

Following a swig of my beer, I tell them the full story of how my parents met and fell in love. Unable to help it, I glance at Brad every now and then. I can't quite read the emotion on his face, but he seems genuinely interested, engrossed in what I'm saying.

"Wow," Ashlee says, full blown swooning. "That so dang cute." Her eyes swing to Patrick, shimmering with humor as she makes another jab at his last name.

"Fuck off," he mutters through a mouth full of burger.

Ashlee glares at him. "Didn't anyone teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"

"Didn't anyone teach you to stop talking?" he retorts, sending the cousins into another argument.

I shake my head, taking another sip of beer. Feeling a pair of eyes on me, I glance across the table to find Brad looking at me, absentmindedly thumbing at the label peeling off his bottle from condensation.

Awareness and, strangely, self-consciousness slides down my spine under his gaze. I take the last gulp of my beer, needing another one.

As if reading my mind, Brad slides over the beer he brought me earlier, and even though I don't want to, I accept it, needing some form of distraction. From him.

Not wanting to squirm under his gaze any longer, I blatantly cut into Ashlee and Patrick's argument.

"So, you said you had an awful day, too?" I ask, my question directed at Ashlee.

She stops mid argument, perking up at my question. "Oh yeah! My patient today—the worst."

"Can't be any worse than mine." A red headed girl I recognize from orientation slips into our booth beside Ashlee, seeming to know her.

Another dark haired girl slides in next to Patrick and everyone rehashes their day's events, making me feel a little better about mine.

"Did you hear, some guy had a code blue and had to give compressions? Got her back to sinus rhythm all by himself," the girl next to Patrick announces.

I glance at Brad to see him take another sip of his beer, humbly and surprisingly keeping the fact that it was him quiet. Until Ashlee has to go and run her mouth.

"Hey," she says, her gaze swinging to Brad. "Wasn't that you?"

"Huh?" he plays coy.

"Didn't you save that girl?" she asks.

"Oh, yeah." He casually shrugs a shoulder, still nursing his beer.

"Wow," the red head next to Ashlee fawns. "That's insane. I wish I had my first day go down like that. Teach me your ways, master." She says the last part a little too flirtatiously, suggestively, her blue eyes sparkling at him.

The only form of acknowledgment he gives her is the tiniest, cockiest of smirks.

She smiles playfully. "You know something like that counts for a celebration, right? Shots for the table!" she insists, sliding out of the booth and sauntering up to the bar, dragging her friend with her.

Patrick stares after the girls, clearly having interest in the brunette that was sat beside him. "I better go help," he murmurs, slipping out of the booth and following after them.

Ashlee rolls her eyes good-naturedly before turning to face me and Brad. "And then there were three."

Brad drains the rest of his beer, shaking the empty bottle. "I could use another drink," he says, slipping out of the booth, probably wanting to run after the girls with Patrick. Specifically the red head that's clearly into him. "Either of you want anything?" he asks.

I shake my head and Ashlee does the same.

Shamefully, I watch as Brad disappears into the crowd and passes the bar, heading towards the back where the restrooms are.

"Hellooo. Earth to Delilah," Ashlee says, waving her hand in my face.

"Huh?"

"I said, isn't that your attending that just walked in?" she asks, pointing towards the door.

I glance in that direction to find Dr. Allen walking in with none other than Dr. Larson, making my heart cartwheel at the unexpected surprise of both of their appearances. Dr. Larson's more so than Dr. Allen's. Don't get me wrong, Dr. Allen is incredibly intelligent and an up and coming star, but Dr. Larson is the best in the game. He's won numerous awards for his work and graces plenty of magazine covers for his raw talent and innovative techniques. To most he's basically God in human form. He's the best of the best in the neurosurgery field and it's a pleasure to even be breathing the same air as him.

I watch as both doctors sit at a table with other surgeons, chatting amongst themselves.

It's almost funny seeing them together, both men complete opposites. Dr. Allen is average height and lanky with dark brown hair while Dr. Larson is gigantic. The man is tall and burly and intimidating, his early silver hair making him look more sophisticated and sharp. Dr. Allen is more soft spoken, and while I've never spoken to him, I know Dr. Larson has a strong, commanding voice. I know from the countless videos I've watched of him on the internet, giving lectures and performing surgeries.

One day, I think to myself. One day I may be so lucky as to work beside him.

I watch the two men talk for a moment, and Dr. Allen nods towards the far back corner where I spot the other neurosurgery first year Jack laughing and drinking with a large group. He seems to tell Dr. Larson something about him, and then his eyes drift, scanning the bar. His eyes shift in my direction and I pretend to not be blatantly staring. I steal a glance or two at them as they seem to talk about me, both of their faces impassive. And as soon as Brad comes out of the restroom, heading for the bar to get another drink, Dr. Allen's gaze hones in on him, and he starts to talk more animatedly to Dr. Larson.

Then, I don't hear him over the noise of the bar, but I watch Dr. Allen call Brad over. But Brad doesn't hear him over the noise of the bar either.

Dr. Allen stands, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth to make his voice carry. "Dr. Gallow!"

At a closer range now, Brad seems to hear him, perking up and glancing around the bar to see who called out his name. He registers that it's Dr. Allen, and I watch him physically stiffen at the sight of who is next to him.

Hesitantly, Brad walks over to them and Dr. Allen introduces him to Dr. Larson. In a daze, Brad shakes Dr. Larson's hand and Dr. Allen seems to brag about Brad to Dr. Larson.

Dread immediately floods my stomach as I watch Dr. Larson's eyes train on Brad's face, nodding approvingly at whatever Dr. Allen is saying. He's probably bragging about how well Brad did today in comparison to me and Jack. And now that Brad is on his radar, I'm going to be eating his dust. If Brad steps into an OR with Dr. Larson before me, it's going to be game over in a heartbeat.

The girls from earlier come back to the table, obnoxiously announcing that they have shots. Patrick comes up behind them with the tray full of shot glasses, placing it on the table, forcing me to tear my gaze away from Brad and two of the most important people in our lives right now.

"Hey," the red head pouts. "Where did he go?"

I try my best not to look back over at Brad, training my gaze on the tray of shots instead. But even the thought of alcohol—or anything for that matter—in my stomach right now has me wanting to barf. And I've definitely had more than enough vomit for today.

"I think I'm going to head out," I announce abruptly, already slinging my purse over my shoulder, itching to leave. I stare at Ashlee expectantly, needing her to move so I can slide out of the booth.

She draws her thin, dark brows together, looking at me skeptically. "What's the rush?"

"I've had a long day and I got zero sleep last night." I rush out the excuse. "I just want to go home," I admit, not missing the desolation in my own voice.

At my tone, Ashlee's dark eyes fill with concern and understanding. She nods, no questions asked, slowly sliding out of the booth to let me slid out behind her. "Let me know when you get home," she instructs, giving me a tight, meaningful hug.

"I will," I promise.

I meekly bid everyone else at the table goodbye, ducking my head and weaving my way through the crowd of people until I'm out the front door.

I swore to myself I wouldn't look back in Brad's direction, but as some sort of sick, self-inflicted torture, I glance at where I last saw him through the window. He's still at the table with Dr. Larson and Dr. Allen, the three men chatting and drinking as if they're old buddies. And by the charming smile in place on his face and the hearty laugh he just earned from Dr. Allen, I know I'm royally screwed.

Beyond defeated, from the day itself and from the fact that Brad is living my absolute dream, I walk the seven blocks back to my apartment and collapse into bed.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi friends! How are you liking this story so far? Any favorite characters or moments? I know we're only a few chapters in but I just want to know your thoughts and opinions. I promise the plot is going to pick up more soon! :)