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she absolutely was not his type, had never been his type, would never be his type—and if you had put a gun to his head and told him he had to say she was his type, he probably would have to accept death. He went for luscious, curvy, brown-haired, Slavic-looking women with bright red lipstick and asses that went on forever. That’s who he dated, that’s who he bedded, and that’s who he assumed he would eventually marry and have kids with.
    Even her friend, the blonde pregnant woman, was more Alex’s type than Josie. Staring at this skinny little pixie of a woman, he’d been dumbfounded to find every sensor in his body going mad. Four months ago he had seen her for the first time, and the sad part was that he had squandered every single opportunity to say something, anything , other than “hi” to her.
    When she walked in the room wearing a lab coat and whatever clothes were on under that, it was as if her mere presence was enough—actually interacting with her was too exquisite. What a great lie he told himself—the bottom line was that he was too much of a pussy to actually come out and introduce himself, get to know her, ask her out and see if whatever triggered this animal instinct in him that made him clam up and be a stupid eighth-grade boy was real.
    Life was hectic. It was easier to go to a bar, pick up some chick, take her home, bed her, date her for a few weeks, and then end it all amicably—or not—than it was to actually understand why Josie triggered that reaction in him. Attraction like this was something he needed to protect, pregnant with possibility and yet not quite ready to be born.
    Maybe tonight was symbolic. Perhaps the pregnant woman’s baby, the new life that would emerge in the next few hours or days, would give him a reason to conceive his own new relationship, let it gestate, and see what kind of life came from it.
    Hot breath on his shoulder surprised him as he waited for the elevator. “You don’t have to do this, you know?”
    He turned, stunned out of his own thoughts to find himself staring down at Lisa, who looked up at him, her nose piggish and bulbous, nostrils flared as if she were pissed off about something. “Don’t need to do what?” he said.
    “Don’t need to go up on labor and delivery. Collins is up there, they don’t need you right now.” Collins was the other OB resident on shift tonight. Known as the barber of Boston, he was ready to slice and dice at will, with a C-section rate that pushed forty percent. If Collins got to that case first, Alex knew the inevitable outcome.
    “So he’s up there,” Alex said as derisively as he could. He turned away and stared at the silver doors, willing them to part so that he could get on the elevator.
    Lisa took a step away. “It’s about that woman, isn’t it?”
    Hardening his body, Alex steeled himself and said, “What I do is absolutely none of your business, Lisa. Go back to whatever work you have.” It was lame. He knew it was lame, but it was what he needed to say because otherwise he was going to say something laced with profanity. And he wasn’t that kind of guy, no matter how much she was making him wish he was.
    Sniffing, she turned away and flounced off, to the extent that someone with a stick up their ass could flounce. The elevator doors opened and as he took a step forward his mind processed, atom by atom, molecule by molecule, the fact that there before him, in the flesh and in full, stood Josie.
    She stared at his chest and then looked him dead on and said, “Alex Derjian?”
    “Yes?” he said, taking two steps onto the elevator and turning toward her. How did she know his name? He touched his chest, the spot where she’d just stared, and realized his name tag had it in block letters. His heart began to race and an impulse to reach out and touch any exposed flesh on her body permeated him, making him take a long, slow, deep breath to hold back. What the hell is this? he wondered, the elevator air