Gentlemen Only

Just Breathe

In and out.

In and out.

Breathe.

Meredith stood on the sidewalk across from a rather large brick building, attempting to quiet the staccato thumping of her heart. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and while most people would have a thrill of excitement in response, the excess chemical caused heightened anxiety in her. The unknown had always been a harsh trigger for her, and she pointedly avoided new experiences at all cost.

Meredith's agenda was extremely regimented; she only shopped at familiar places, rode the same trains, took the same routes to her routine destinations. Standing outside of a club full of men was out of the question. Immediately upon arrival she'd phoned Janet and begged for reassignment, the reply to which was a threat to resume a strict medication schedule. Meredith hadn't good reactions to the types of pills they'd been able to prescribe her, and the side effects were atrocious.

Thus, she stood on the stoop of a very intimidating building, eyeing the door distrustfully. She had no idea what to expect when she walked in, and she was trying very hard to calm her nerves. The familiar mantra played over and over.

In and out.

In and out.

Breathe.

"You going in, or are you going to stand there all night?" A jovial voice issued from her left. She jumped out of her skin, which had immediately begun crawling. The strange man's face was uncomfortably close to hers, and her breathing stopped altogether as he leaned in front of her to knock on the door. Her body froze as his torso crossed inches from her, straight blond hair flopping in his eyes.

"Mph." She gurgled, suddenly drowning in her own saliva, too stiff to swallow. Air squeezed painfully into her lungs with every struggling breath she took.

The stranger pulled back; a cursory glance cast over her form as he observed her with bright green eyes. "Janet told me you were coming." He supplied, waiting for the mahogany door to open.

"What?" Meredith choked as he continued inspecting her. She felt scrutinized under his gaze.

"You're Meredith, right?" He swallowed and extended his hand in greeting. "I'm Corrigan. Corrigan O'Malley."

Meredith was too immobilized from shock to return the gesture; however, Corrigan lowered his arm indifferently and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You can call me Cory." He offered. Meredith now noticed the slight Irish lilt that edged his smooth voice.

Meredith's tongue unglued itself from the roof of her mouth long enough to utter "You can call me Meredith."

The man, Cory, was significantly taller than she, with a lean athletic form and tight, muscled arms and shoulders. He carried himself easily, though his posture was straight and formal. He caught Meredith observing him and chuckled, eyeing her loose slacks and baggy button up top. Her shoes were nondescript black loafers, the kind great grannies plodded around in while they walked arthritis ridden poodles.