Page 2 of A Really Bad Idea

“No, I don’t,” I argue and sidestep the conversation, waving a hand in dismissal. “Well, I do … someday, but we were just talking about Yves Saint Laurent boots we’re coveting.”

Christian laughs with a deep baritone, and it draws the attention of the other nurses on staff today. “Well, the baby thing I can’t help you with, but I’m more than happy to fulfill your foot-fetish fantasies.”

One of the nurses lets out a giggle, which he ignores, as Angela chimes in, “They’re twelve-hundred-dollars.”

He shrugs like this is a mere drop in the bucket. I suppose it is when you’re a cardiothoracic surgeon. “Meadow’s birthday is around the corner.”

I lower my forehead and glare at him through scolding eyes. “You are not buying me twelve-hundred-dollar shoes for my birthday.”

Angela lets out the same dreamy sigh she had before, but this time, she’s looking up at Christian. “I wish I had a best friend like you.”

He winks, and her cheeks redden as I go back to my paperwork. The exam room door opens again, and a patient exits.

“All set, Mr. Thompson?” Christian asks, leaning his elbow on the counter. His white doctor’s coat is open, showing off a pinstripe button-down and cobalt tie.

“Thanks, Doc. I can’t believe, two months ago, I was in critical heart failure, and now, I’m standing here with you.” Mr. Thompson puffs his chest out, like he’s king of the world.

“That’s the miracle of surgery. I want you to follow up with my father in a few weeks, and I’d like to see you again in another four weeks to make sure that valve is strong,” Christian advises as Angela hands him a follow-up card.

“A father-and-son team—cardiologist and heart surgeon. There must be something in the Gallagher water,” Mr. Thompson jokes as he grabs his coat from the rack and then tips his hat before walking out the front door and onto the streets of Manhattan.

“That’s your last patient of the day!” Angela throws her arms up in celebration.

“Thank God. Penn Station is a nightmare,” Christian says, loosening his tie and undoing the top button, revealing the Yankees T-shirt underneath. He secured box seats for tonight’s Mets-Yankees game and asked Angela to clear his afternoon.

He runs his fingers through the dark strands of his hair as he makes his final notes on a patient’s chart.

Angela stands up and lifts her scrubs. It looks like she’s going to flash him when, really, she’s proudly displaying her own Yankees T-shirt she bedazzled with pink rhinestones. “I came prepared in case your plus-one cancels.”

He shakes his head and grins, his eyes still focused on what he’s writing. “If I’m going to take anyone, it’ll be Meadow.”

“Me?” I ask incredulously.

“Her?” Angela mimics my tone. “She hates baseball.”

I twist in my seat. “I don’t hate baseball.”

She leans back with a sashay of her body and motions toward her shirt. “You certainly don’t bedazzle the shit out of your shirts for it.”

“Touché,” I concede and then turn back to my own notes.

Christian laughs, that deep vibrato sending a hum into my chest. He hands Angela the folder to file away and then turns to me. “Ticket’s yours if you want it.”

I look up to see him staring at me with mischievously grinning eyes.

“I thought your dad was going?” I ask.

Christian and I have been friends too long for me to know there is no way his father, Dr. Thomas Gallagher, would pass up a chance to see his beloved “boys in blue” play.

“He is, but if I tell him I’m taking you instead, he’ll understand.”

I cross my arms and raise a brow. “To a Subway Series game? I don’t believe it.”

He chuckles, his dimples highlighting his rugged grin. “What can I say? The old man loves you.”

The senior Gallagher has been playing matchmaker with me and Christian since we were ten and our parents had us enrolled at tennis camp. My parents were no better, constantly dropping hints about Christian and his accomplished physician family. While they were never able to get us to date, they did help us forge a friendship that has spanned over twenty years.

“Enjoy a boys’ night.” Noticing the time, I give him a shoo. “You’re ahead of schedule, so take advantage. It’s the first afternoon you’ve taken off in a year.”