Chapter 3. The Kiss

My heart pounds against my ribs, the thought of coming out to Gabrielle equal parts terrifying and tempting. Tempting because some stubborn part of me refuses to accept the idea that Gabrielle isn’t gay. Why would he be so nice to me otherwise? (Yes, I know, I’m delusional. But drunk me—powered by seven gin and tonics—is the most irrational person to ever walk the Earth.)

My tipsy brain argues that if I tell Gabrielle I’m gay, I might actually gauge his reaction and figure out if he is, too. And if he isn’t, maybe I’ll get a sense of how he treats gay people in general.

But the risk? Oh, the risk. If I confess I’m gay and he isn’t, then this entire conversation might come across as me hitting on him. And while that wouldn’t be completely wrong, I really don’t want him thinking I’ve been scheming all night just to make a pass at him.

As Cat and Gabrielle laugh together, trying to guess what’s in the shots they just downed, I mull over my options.

I could refuse the dare, but that means facing the final dare, which Cat can make as outrageous as her devious little mind can imagine. And worse, I wouldn’t be able to skip it.

Ugh. What’s the lesser evil here?

I glance between Cat and Gabrielle, weighing my options. But then I notice the way they’re laughing together and how at ease Gabrielle seems with her. It hits me like a bucket of ice water: He must be interested in Cat. I’ve never seen him act like this with any other woman at the hospital. He must really like her.

For the sake of the dare, I could still go through with it—just tell him I’m gay and get it over with. But suddenly, the idea feels heavier, sharper, more personal. Vulnerability washes over me, and a knot forms in my chest.

I don’t want Gabrielle to know I’m gay if he’s straight. Not like this. It would only make me feel more exposed—more pathetic. Like some pining fool who thought for a second, he had a chance. And that’s the last thing I need.

I quickly type back to Cat:

No way. I’ll take the wish on that one.

Cat’s phone, sitting on the table, lights up. She stealthily picks it up, not missing a beat in her conversation with Gabrielle. For someone as drunk as she is, she manages to type her response surprisingly discreetly:

CHICKEN!!!! Fine. You owe me one wish then.

I exhale shakily. That, I can handle. Although I already know I’ll regret it when Cat cashes in her wish to drag me to her favorite bar— Bikers & Lumberjacks . A place where she picks up hairy men, and I awkwardly play wingman while avoiding eye contact with the burly clientele.

The music in the basement suddenly cranks up so loud it feels like the walls are vibrating. I turn to see who’s messing with the volume and spot one of the resident doctors crouched in front of the sound system.

The music is deafening, and I’m still looking over my shoulder when I feel Gabrielle lean in. I turn back abruptly, and for a moment, we’re so close our faces are practically inches apart. The sudden proximity steals the air from my lungs, and my heart skips a beat.

“I’ll go grab some more drinks,” he says, leaning to speak directly into my ear, his voice carrying over the blaring music. His hand hovers lightly against my elbow as he asks, “Want me to grab you something?”

I’m too taken aback by his closeness, by the casual touch that sets my skin tingling, to form a coherent response. I just shake my head, and Gabrielle nods before disappearing into the crowd.

I watch him cross the room, my gaze lingering longer than I want to admit. My head feels dizzy, my pulse erratic, and I realize I suddenly feel very, very drunk—even though I haven’t had anything to drink in at least fifteen minutes.

As soon as Gabrielle is out of earshot, Cat leans across the table, her voice cutting through the thrum of music as she practically shouts in my ear, “Okay, Sunshine, I’ve got the last dare for you.”

“Shoot,” I say, bracing myself for the inevitable disaster.

“Last dare: kiss Gabrielle .”

I blink, my heart leaping into a freefall. For a moment, it’s like the ground beneath me has vanished entirely.

“Cat,” I say, attempting to summon the most serious tone I can muster, “I can’t kiss him.”

Cat laughs, completely unfazed, and squeezes my hand. “What’s the big deal? You can give him a peck on the cheek or something. That would count, too.”

“We’re not Europeans,” I reply, frustration bubbling in my chest. “That would be extremely weird.”

Cat sighs, but she’s clearly too drunk to put up much of a fight. “Fine,” she says, waving it off like it’s no big deal.

“Are you going to give me another dare?” I ask, praying the answer is no.

“Nah,” she says, shaking her head. “I think I’m waaay too drunk. I probably need to get some sleep.”

Relief washes over me, but there’s a small part of me that feels bad for deciding to give up. Kissing Gabrielle—even something as innocent as a peck on the cheek—would probably feel amazing. And let’s face it, I’m so drunk I could easily blame it on the alcohol and avoid feeling bad about it tomorrow.

Wait…am I seriously considering this?

I stop myself before my thoughts spiral any further. I glance at Cat, and it’s clear she’s barely holding on—her eyes drooping, her movements sluggish. Time to call it a night.

I stand up and help her to her feet, steadying her by the elbow. “Let’s go,” I tell her gently. “Time to sleep, Callahan.”

Cat nods, leaning into my support as I guide her toward the exit. As we pass the buffet, I spot Gabrielle picking up two gin and tonics. For a brief second, I wonder if one of them is meant for me.

As we walk past him, Gabrielle catches my gaze. His eyes flick quickly to Cat and then back to me, and I lean toward him to speak over the music. “I’ll take her home,” I say, my voice loud as I gesture to Cat.

Gabrielle nods, leaning closer in response, his voice soft but clear. “Do you need help?” His lips are so close to my ear that the almost-brush of them sends a shiver down my spine. God, his scent—clean, warm, intoxicating—is enough to make my head spin.

“No,” I reply firmly, raising my voice to cut through the noise. “We’ll take a cab.”

But Gabrielle moves quickly, putting the gin and tonics down on the table. “I’ll help you,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the three of us exit the basement and take the elevator up, I force myself not to overthink what’s happening. Gabrielle actually helping me feels incredible, and for once, I decide to let myself feel good about the fantasy in my head. I even push aside the thought that he might only be doing this for Cat. Tonight, I’m claiming this small victory.

“I have a car,” Gabrielle says as we ascend in the elevator, “and I feel pretty sober. But to be honest, I don’t trust those shots 100%. I don’t know what was in them, but they tasted kinda funny.”

I laugh, glancing at Cat, who is practically asleep on my shoulder. “Yeah, Cat can usually drink a lot, but those shots knocked her out.”

Ten minutes later, we’re leaving the hospital and sliding into a taxi cab. We decided to leave our coats in the changing rooms upstairs since Cat actually fell asleep on the way out. It’s inconvenient, but it also means Gabrielle and I will need to head back to the hospital afterward to pick our things up for tomorrow. I make a mental note to grab Cat’s coat and bag and bring them to her in the morning.

As Cat and I slump into the backseat and Gabrielle takes the front seat by the driver, the car pulls away into the snowy night. The streets are buried under a fresh blanket of snow, and flakes are still falling, making the city look like a fairytale.

Despite the beauty, the cold creeps in. Sitting here in just my shirt, I suddenly feel like an idiot for leaving without my coat. When you’re 30 years old, you should know better than this.

It takes us five minutes to reach Cat’s apartment building. We help her into the elevator and up to her fourth-floor apartment. I fumble with her key—one of the spares she gave me—and push the door open while Gabrielle waits outside, politely giving us space.

Once inside, I carefully slip off Cat’s hospital shoes, walk her into her bedroom, and put her into bed. She murmurs something incoherent before rolling over, and I quietly leave, closing the doors behind me.

Gabrielle is standing right outside, patiently waiting. There’s something about the way he watches me lock the door, his gaze curious and unhurried, like I’m doing something worth admiring—painting, maybe, or singing. It could be my overactive imagination, but the instant we’re alone, the air between us shifts.

The tension is almost tangible, stretching between us like a taut wire. I feel it in my chest, in my throat, and in the way my skin seems to buzz under his gaze.

“Ready?” Gabrielle says, his voice low and suddenly husky.

I turn around, startled, and almost bump into him. His nearness makes me shudder, and I can swear I feel the heat of his body, the pull of him as if some magnetic force is drawing me in.

God, I really, really want him.

“Yeah,” I say, and as we walk toward the elevator in the narrow hallway, our shoulders brush. The contact sends a jolt through me, and suddenly my mind spirals, filling with vivid, borderline-pornographic images—pushing him against the wall, kissing him hard, and then taking an Uber to my place where we’d fuck like rabbits until morning.

“Ray?” Gabrielle’s voice snaps me out of my fantasy, and I blink up at him, startled.

“Huh?” I say, disoriented. It’s only then that I realize we’re standing by the open elevator, Gabrielle nodding toward it, waiting for me to step in. I quickly move into the cabin, and he follows.

Was it always this tiny? When the three of us were inside earlier, it didn’t feel this cramped. But now, with just the two of us, it’s suffocating in the best worst way. We’re standing so close, our chests nearly touching. My eyes flick to Gabrielle’s collarbone, peeking from the open collar of his button-down, and I try—desperately—to avoid ogling his broad chest and bulging muscles. God, I am too fucking horny for this, and the proximity is killing me.

I feel drunk, but not from the alcohol. No, this is all him—his body, his scent, his ridiculous everything that’s making my head spin.

“Should we go back to the party?” Gabrielle asks. The way he looks down at me sets my pulse racing, and there’s something in the way he asks that makes my mind whirl.

Is he really just suggesting the party? Or is there something else in his voice—like we could skip it altogether and end up at his place…or mine?

I suddenly feel a surge of boldness as I look up at Gabrielle and say, “Can you take me home?”

In that moment, it feels like I’ve stepped outside myself, watching as though I’m the main character in some Christmas rom-com. Gabrielle’s eyes meet mine, and I can see him thinking, processing what I just said. His gaze flicks down to my lips for the briefest second, and my heart leaps.

He’s going to kiss me.

But before anything can happen, the doors behind him slam open with a loud bang, shattering the fragile moment between us.

Gabrielle quickly says, “Sure,” his voice steady, then turns away and walks out of the elevator.

I follow him, my legs feeling like jelly. I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol, the arousal, or some dangerous mix of both.

As we step into the lobby, Gabrielle asks for my address. I tell it to him, my voice quieter than I intended.

And now I can’t help but wonder: Are we doing what I think we’re doing? Or is he just taking me home like a very responsible senior hospital staff member, always looking out for everyone?

The car arrives in less than a minute, and soon, we’re sitting in the back seat, quiet. I’m painfully aware of our shoulders touching, hyper-focused on every inch of him next to me. A small shiver runs through me, partly from the cold, and Gabrielle notices.

“Are you cold?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. In the dim light of the car, I glance at him, and something about the way he’s looking at me makes my pulse stutter. His eyes seem darker, pupils blown wide. He must be drunk—or maybe I am—because this feels too intense, too surreal.

“Yeah,” I admit, squeezing my hands between my knees to warm them. I chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Leaving the coats at the hospital was a bad idea.”

Before I can process what’s happening, Gabrielle reaches out, takes both of my hands in his, and covers them with his own. His palms are warm—so warm—and the gentleness of the gesture leaves me completely stunned. I freeze, my breath catching, as my brain struggles to keep up.

The way he’s holding my hands like they’re something precious makes the world tilt on its axis. My thoughts grind to a halt, and I’m left with one conclusion: I must be drunk, passed out cold somewhere on the basement floor of the hospital, because there’s no way this is real.

It’s intimate, almost erotic—the way he’s holding my hands yet avoids looking at me. His gaze stays fixed downward as if he’s shy, and the quiet between us stretches, charged and heavy. For the entire ride to my apartment, we stay like this—my hands in his, neither of us daring to move or breathe too deeply. When the car finally stops in front of my building, Gabrielle lets go, the loss of his touch too sudden. Without meeting my eyes, he opens his door and steps out.

The wave of disappointment that crashes over me is so overwhelming I barely notice anything else—until the car drives off into the snowy night, and it hits me: Gabrielle didn’t stay in the cab. He left with me.

Wait, wait, wait. My mind spins wildly. Did Cat get it wrong? Is Dr. Gaybrows actually gay? Could she have misconstrued everything? The questions buzz in my head like an alarm as I walk toward the building, Gabrielle trailing two steps behind me, silent.

I don’t dare look at him, don’t dare say a word. The moment feels as fragile as spun glass, and I’m terrified of shattering it. My breath comes faster as I open the door to my building, and we step inside. The warm air of the lobby feels electric, buzzing with something I’m afraid to name.

And then the drunk and horny demon in me—the one I’ve been trying to hold back all night—takes over. Without letting myself think, I turn, spin around, and push Gabrielle against the wall. I see his eyes—wide, surprised, but there’s no hint of protest. My hands find his chest as I rise onto my toes, and before I can talk myself out of it, my lips crash onto his.