31'Come out with us, Hermione' Lavender had said.
'It'll be fun! Cedric's bringing a friend' she'd promised.
'Patrick's a sure thing.'
Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
It was all fucking bullshit, and now that she was past the point of buzzed and well on her way to drunk, she was more than a little put out about the idea of being the third wheel to her work-girlfriend (as Harry put it), and her latest flavor of the week.
Patrick, if that fucker even existed, was sick according to Cedric. Which meant while Lavender was off in the bathroom with the posh programmer, likely getting fucked six ways from Sunday, she got to sit at the bar entirely and utterly alone.
Sure, there were people around her. And yes the bartender was friendly enough, but it wasn't the same.
She was promised a good time. The kind that ended with drunken kisses, and day old regrets. She was promised sex, and frankly, unless she intended on going home with Phil the hawaiian shirt-wearing weirdo, or hipster Aron with one 'A' (he made sure to let everyone at the bar know this… several times) her chances of getting laid were looking bleak.
Drunk Hermione was unlike sober Hermione in many ways.
She was a bit louder. Sassier. More willing to shop on Amazon without remorse, and tonight? Tonight she was less content with taking her licks and heading home empty handed.
No, drunk Hermione was set on seeing this night through, which is precisely why she ended up sending that first text message.
Can I set an appointment with you tomorrow Dr. McLaggen?
One bolus and maybe some zofran?
I'm technically off, but I'll come in if you promise to wear those maroon scrubs.
She fired off the three messages before her mind could even comprehend the first one. It was almost as if her thumbs were moving independently from her brain, like they had a direct link to her uninhibited subconscious and were bound and determined to only listen to her drunken inner goddess.
The chat bubble appeared, ellipsis bouncing menacingly, teasing her with the possibility of what his response might be, and she picked up her vodka soda and took a hasty drink. Liquid courage. Or perhaps the alcohol would just numb her enough to make her forget all about this in the morning.
She was off work for the next three days. While under normal circumstances the small break was something she cherished, this time around it was daunting. Three days of solitude. Three days of sitting in her condo with her cat, and take-out. Three days of cleaning, lounging and being lost in her own toxic inner monologue . Three days of being unable to stare at the muscular backside of a particular radiologist who refused to leave her mind.
She really ought to charge him rent, considering how he'd taken up residence in her consciousness.
Since meeting up at Badlands he was all Hermione could think about. The way his body felt against hers as they danced. The feeling of his arms around her waist. The warmth of his breath across sweat-stricken skin. Every opportunity her mind was not humming from workor random personal endeavours, it always drifted back to him.
Between patients. While charting. When she got into her car after a long shift, and god help her if she actually needed a Radiology consult while on the clock. She practically prayed he would respond instead of Dr. Corner.
Hermione?
One word. One fucking word— her name at that—and her heart fluttered.
It was stupid. Juvenile. She was a grown woman with an advanced degree. A fucking doctorate for Christ's sake! Surely she should react more maturely than the purely pre-teen response of giddy that burst to life inside her.
Practically squirming in her chair, she set her glass down and took a couple deep breaths, trying to calm her runaway emotions before she got too excited over a one word response.
Last time I checked, yes.
She chewed her bottom lip and stifled a smug chuckle that bubbled up her throat, unable to resist laughing at her own cleverness while several drinks in. She watched the chat screen eagerly, waiting for his reply, hanging off every bobbing of the chat bubbles that bounced enticingly on her screen.
So is that a yes to the maroon scrubs tomorrow?
Just as suddenly as they appeared, the bubbles vanished. Poof! Off her screen, and she was left to stare at the meager messages already exchanged. The drink-induced confidence she had felt seconds earlier waivered, a maelstrom of doubt and confusion pushing it away, twisting through the fog that clouded her mind.
He'd flirted with her all week when they did cross paths. Subtle innuendos, smirks sharp enough to cut, and his eyes? He'd flash those big beautiful blue eyes at her and she could have sworn she saw some lewd fantasies behind them.
The potential of having the Medical Center's resident sex god bed her after what felt like years of mediocre sex followed by months of unintended celebacy was both exciting and terrifying. Like riding on the back of a motorcycle. She needed the thrill and fear. She needed release—both mentally and physically and Cormac was the perfect man for the job.
He'd practically volunteered! Sure, he didn't say the exact words, but body language counted for something, right? It had to.
The spaghetti string of thoughts came to a screeching halt when the once silent phone began to vibrate, pulling her back to this plane of existence.
Across her iPhone big bold letters read: CORMAC.
Her eyes widened and she gulped. Why would he… call? What sort of millennial was he? Didn't he know voice calls were reserved for parents, emergencies and businesses? Booty calls were obviously text based only! It was like some sort of unwritten rule. 'Being a Shitty Adult: 101'.
Clearing her throat, as if something so simple could remove the slur of her speech, she pressed the large green answer icon before placing the speaker against her ear. "Well hello."
"How did you get my number, Hermione?"
Oh. Yeah. That.
Leaning back, she reclined in her chair, letting her knees press against the bar wall as she picked up her glass to take a lazy sip. "Uh… Well, you see—that's a secret."
"Tracey in Peds?"
"Nope." She popped her p for good measure.
"Hannah A?"
Hannah? Good god, he had better taste that that, right? Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head, momentarily forgetting he couldn't see her. "Negative."
"Gabriella? Parvati? Emmeline?"
Jesus. He was literally working his way down the female nursing staff in the E.R., and while technically it shouldn't bother her, something about the way he could rattle off their names so easily, like he was intimately acquainted with each and every one (which he was rumored to be) got under her skin.
"From Poppy," She interrupted before he could move onto another department, tongue sweeping across her lips. "I went through your personnel file and got it yesterday."
She could make out the sound of mattress springs creaking and what sounded like the shuffle of bedding. "You went through my file?" He sounded surprised, his voice light and airy in disbelief.
"Don't flatter yourself. I also got Jordan's number too." Not a lie. But she didn't need to let him know it was because he'd bought Ron's old Xbox off her and she lost his contact to arrange pick up this weekend. "But… yes. I went through your file. Nice reviews from Minerva by the way. Very glowing. She can be a bit of a bitch at times, so that's a feat—also, don't tell her I said that."
Lifting her near empty glass, she gestured to the bartender, sloppy smile gracing her lips. "One more please... Lime wedge this time though. Thank you—sorry Cormac, anyways, is that a yes to the scrubs?"
Back on track.
Operation 'Get Laid' was in full swing, and with the liquid courage flowing through her veins, she knew she needed to strike while the iron was hot. "Because if you're really opposed to the maroon, that navy pair you have is a close second to my favorite."
"Where are you?"
"Do you always answer questions with other questions?"
"Do you always go drinking alone?"
"How do you know I'm alone?"
"If you weren't, you wouldn't have answered my call."
Touché.
If Cedric's friend had showed up, she probably wouldn't have texted him—probably. But she would never know, because she was alone, and getting real fucking tired of taking out her sexual frustrations on silicone and her fingers.
"Fine." She sounded like a brat, like some unhappy thirteen year old shit-head who just got her phone taken away. But not because she was irritated with him. No, Cormac was fine. He'd guessed the truth—how easily he'd spun this conversation around on her—forcing her to admit that yes, she was alone and she clearly had shit friends.
Well, Harry wasn't bad, but he was on-shift, so it hardly counted.
"No, I don't always go drinking alone." Shifting forward, Hermione mouthed a quick 'thank you' to the bartender and took a hasty sip of her freshly refilled drink., The vodka no longer seemed to burn as it made its way down her throat. That should have been concerning. That should have given her pause. But instead, she was slightly glad, because it meant that any future drinks would go down a tad easier. "Technically, I'm not alone. I came out with Lavender but she's—"
"Lavender? As in the blonde with the butterfly tattoo on her lower back?" He was on the move, footsteps thumping with each breath. "What's her last name… something with a B."
"Brown, yes her—wait How do you know about the butterfly tattoo?" Her stomach clenched as her teeth sank into the fleshy part of the inside her cheek,trying to push back the runaway feelings of jealousy that bubbled inside.
There was no way. No fucking way Lavendar hooked up with Cormac. First off, she had a gigantic mouth. She would have never been able to keep sleeping with the Medical Center's most eligible bachelor a secret. Secondly, Lavender wouldn't! Mainly because she was more than privy to Hermione's massive crush on him, and while a loud mouth and a sassy bitch, Lavender was a good friend. Third, see number fucking one.
"Because everyone knows! She damn near flashed me her backside when she—" his voice trailed off, continuing on about her showing it to practically every damn member of the Medical Center staff after she'd gotten it last summer, frankly, she didn't care. Not because he wasn't right. No he absolutely was. Lavender had gotten it on a whim, and was quite eager to display her 'ink' as she called it. No, it was the slow seeping warmth of relief that emanated from the center of her chest with the knowledge that he hadn't bedded her that made the world slip away.
It shouldn't matter.
It didn't matter.
But…
Okay maybe a little. Maybe she was glad to know that while he'd supposedly slept his way through every damn department, he hadn't claimed her friend as one of the notches on his bedpost. So what? Sue her.
"Earth to Hermione." The distant jingle of keys brought her back from the momentary relief. "Where are you?"
"Uh… The Torch Club."
"Okay, good. Don't leave. I'll be there in ten minutes—tops."
Her brows rose, nearly hitting her hairline and suddenly her mouth felt parched despite the numerous libations she'd enjoyed. "Wait—what? You're—"
Beep—beep—beep.
Her phone signaled the end of her call, and she pulled it back from her face, staring dumbfounded at their text messages. This was a good thing, him coming to pick her up. This was precisely what she wanted, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this might not pan out the way she'd hope.
Mainly because that liquid courage she felt moments earlier was gone.
"It's not steaaaaaling."
She was drunk.
Not just tispy. Well past buzzed. Full blown, flat out drunk. And Cormac? Cormac was her knight in shining armor. Except he was in a hoodie...and jeans… and worn Chuck Taylors. But even without chainmail and a metal breastplate, he was still fucking hot.
From the time he'd hung up on her until he walked through the door of the Torch Club she'd managed to hastily down not one, but two more vodka sodas—because liquid courage. Because even if Cormac didn't show up, at least she was going to have a good time.
But he did.
He walked over, keys spinning on his index finger. He looked dog tired, rings around his eyes like some adorable little racoon, but he was kind.
He asked to take her home, offered his hoodie when they went outside, and even buckled her in his Passat like some sort of overbearing parent. He didn't need her address this time, which was probably good because she wasn't sure if she could remember her exact building number (1413, or 1431?).
"I never said it was," He laughed as he slipped off her socks like he did that first night he took her home. "I just said going through my personnel file was unethical."
Hermione was laying back on her bed, curls spread out, haloing her head, arms haphazardly resting on her mattress above her. "Pfft. Ethics. Subjective non-sense anyways." Sober Hermione definitely wouldn't agree with that. "Whass-it matter anyways? You don't like me having your number?"
"On the contrary. I don't mind at all." He rose to a tall knee, hand gently tapping the outside of her thigh to get her attention. "I would have been happy to give it to you myself had you asked."
Lifting her head, which felt like it weighed approximately six thousand pounds, a lazy smile slipped over her painted lips. Despite that floaty feeling that only a stiff drink could induce, there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her insides coil and twist.
No, he wasn't looking at her. Not like any other man she'd ever been with. It was almost as if he could actually see her. Like he knew her inner desires, fears, and needs. Like he might understand that high-strung goddess inside her who demanded to be the center of someone's world, but have the autonomy of being her own person at the same time. Like he could decode the complexities of being a working thirty something year old woman who wasn't prepared to push pause on her career for the sake of following societal norms.
Like he didn't just want her, but wanted to get to know her. And all of that, combined with the gentle brush of fingertips across his cheek as he tucked stray curls behind her ear, well it was almost too much to comprehend. "God, you're handsome."
"Thank you." Shit. Did she say that outloud? "You're pretty cute yourself, Dr. Granger."
Pink darkened her already drink-flushed cheeks and she pushed her curls back across the crown of her head in some desperate attempt to look effortlessly cool. She could do this. She could be a seductress. "So… does that mean you might stay the night tonight?"
In her periphery she could see his hand on the mattress twitch, his fingers flexing as if to contain some impulsive decision she longed he'd make. But judging by the almost crestfallen softness that suddenly invaded his eyes, she knew what he was about to say was likely not going to leave drunk, nor sober Hermione happy or sexually fulfilled.
"Not tonight, I'm afraid." He smiled, sympathetic and soft. She wanted to hate him, to be flustered by him turning her down, but it was hard to—especially when he looked at her like that. So kind, and gentle—fuck. Why was he so god-damn nice?!"Let's just get you dressed for bed, yeah?"
She didn't want to get ready for bed.
She didn't want to go to sleep alone.
She didn't want him to be a fucking nice guy.
Cormac was a ladies' man, wasn't he? He'd slept with nearly all of the nursing staff! Tales of his prowess were well recited, and a man with a body like his certainly didn't not put it to good use. None of this made any sense, though, frankly nothing made a whole lot of sense in her current state.
She watched him open her drawers with a familiarity that both embarrassed and excited her, and he pulled a large UC Berkeley hoodie from her drawer—ahh… her undergrad years. Even now the well worn garment brought a warmth to her heart. "You're a hard case to crack, McLaggen."
Cormac cocked his head to the side, confusion coloring his face as he approached her once more. "What do you mean?"
Using what little abdominal muscles she did possess, Hermione sat up and closed her eyes, and waited for the world to stop spinning before continuing as she fumbled to pull her shirt off over her head. "You just… I just don't get it." Yanking the cotton blend over her elbows, she yanked her head free from the neck hole and tossed her tee on the floor. "You're just a… you're an an-...anen...anemone—"
"I think you mean anomaly." Laughter tinted his words as he turned around, averting his gaze now that she was down to her (good) bra.
"Whatever." Snatching the hoodie from the mattress, she pulled it on, letting the familiar warmth of the old sweatshirt envelope her as she fell back on the mattress once more to work on shimming out of her jeans. "My point is you're odd."
That deep baritone chuckle filled her room once more, and Hermione bit her bottom lip, fingers pausing at her belt as she looked up to watch his shoulders shake. Why did everything he do have to be so damn attractive? Laughing, talking—fucking breathing. It was all like it was specifically designed to check her proverbial boxes.
"I am going to take that as a complement."
"As you should." Her legs kicked wildly, the flapping sound of her denim shaking to and fro filling the room before they finally hit the floor accompanied by a small noise of frustration.
"You decent?"
She could answer that so many ways, but she could only take the crushing blow of rejection so many times before her ego was mortally wounded. And as much as she felt like shooting her shot (yet again) she preferred not to bleed out tonight. At least not while he was in her condo.
Wiggling back on the bed, she slipped beneath the plush comforter and tucked it around her waist, hands smoothing across the soft cotton. "As much as I'll ever be." Her tongue swept across her lips, gaze glued to his form, watching as he turned around, that same softness in his eyes from before.
His dimpled smile seemed to grow wider, if even possible, as he took her in. While she was fairly certain her eyeliner was smeared, her hair was more frizz than curl, and the sweatshirt did her figure no favors, she could pretend, even if just for this moment, that his look meant something.
This—this was the look people dreamed of. The kind she had hoped to find etched across Ron's face. The kind that never came.
And now, written so plainly in Cormac's expression, it frightened a small part of her because as much as she wanted him, she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for whatever that look was.
Not now.
Not yet.
"Can I get you anything?" His hand swept through his cropped curls as he approached the side of her bed, moving cautiously, as if she were some sort of stray kitten as opposed to a very willing and consenting woman. "Water? Tylenol? Motrin?"
She shook her head, eyes drifting away from him to look down at the blanket, possibilities of what she wanted to ask—beg floating through her mind. "No… thank you though."
"Of course. I'm happy to help."
Help.
Right. Because that's all this was. Despite his flirting and sly glances. Behind the tempting smile and press of his hand on her lower back, all he wanted to do was… help.
"Cormac?" Her eyes lifted, finding him still unmoved from the spot just a few feet from the side of her bed and she bit her bottom lip. She shouldn't ask. It was probably too forward and he'd already made it clear he wasn't wanting to do that but… the prospect of being alone, even without physical intimacy, sounded fucking horrible.
That was probably the worst part of ending her near decade long relationship. How utterly lonely it made her feel. Ron was horrid in the end. A coward, worthless, and a liar. But at least he was a body to curl up next to at the end of a tough shift.
"Yeah?" His hands slipped into his front pockets, brows lifting, a wayward golden curl hanging across his forehead in that oh-so charming look reminiscent of James Dean. God, it was really unfair how handsome he was.
"Can you… would you maybe—" Her voice wavered, cracking with uncertainty and her fingers plucked at the edge of her comforter as she cleared her throat in some meek attempt to gather her bearings. "Can you stay until I'm asleep?"
It was absurd, really, she knew this. And wholly inappropriate, and tomorrow she'd likely be embarrassed by even asking, but right now? Right now she just didn't want to be alone anymore. "This isn't sexual. I just… I mean unless you want it to be, but honest I just don't—"
"Yes."
One single word had never sounded so fucking amazing before. Looking up, she found he'd edged just a tad closer towards the bed, within arm's reach if she wanted to lean out and touch him. Her eyes found his, and that softness she saw seconds earlier was replaced by something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
His eyes sparkled in the soft light, happiness lined with that unidentified glimmer as he looked down at her. "Where should I…?" His brow cocked, eyes reluctantly leaving hers to look around her bedroom, seeking out a place for him to sit while she drifted off to the land of nod.
"Here." She scooted over on the mattress, leaving plenty of room for him to claim the space without having to be particularly close to her. Not that she'd mind if he were close, but… one thing at a time, right? Baby steps. Clearly running head first into impulsive decisions wasn't working for him.
Cormac slipped off his shoes, taking the spot on the bed beside her, opting to lay on top of her comforter as opposed to underneath with her. She didn't mind though, because once the bedside lamp was turned off, his hand found his way to hers. Thick fingers laced between her own, and the methodic sweep of his thumb across the back of her hand a metronome she set her breath to.
Though he didn't lay directly beside her, the soft dip in her mattress and warmth from his body was welcomed. As much as she longed to close the space between them, to curl up under his wing and find comfort in his hold, she made sure to respect the boundaries he'd so clearly set.
Maybe he didn't like her like that. Maybe he was just a flirt.
Though it was hard to resign herself to that fate when she could have sworn she felt the gentle brush of his lips across her brow just as she finally managed to fall asleep.
Author's Note:
Chapter title from: ME! by Taylor Swift feat. Brendon Urie
I like saucy drunk vulnerable Hermione. I also like gentleman AF Cormac. sue me.
until next time. xx
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