Текст книги "Sweet Nothing"
Автор книги: Teresa Mummert
Соавторы: Jamie McGuire
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Copyright © 2015 by Jamie McGuire & Teresa Mummert
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher(s) except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 150760601X
ISBN 13: 978-1507606018
Interior Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting
To Michelle Chu, thank you for your unwavering support.
To Misty Horn, thank you for reminding me that people can be kind without expectation.
~Jamie
To Joshua, my own lucky penny. Together we make cents. ;)
~Teresa
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As I pulled up to the light at the intersection of Holly Road and Jackson Avenue, all I could think about was a hot shower and grabbing a beer with my partner, Quinn. We’d earned it after the day we’d had, helping rescue thirteen passengers from an overturned bus.
My phone lit up in my hand as I flipped through my contacts to find a woman who might want to join us. I could use a little company to take my mind off everything else. I paused and hovered my finger over Cara, a bleach-blonde with a smart mouth, who happened to be very flexible. I’d hooked up with her a few times in the past, and I knew I’d have to delete her soon before she thought our get-togethers were something more serious.
A birthday card from Quinn still sat on my dash, tossed there the week before. Twenty-six years was plenty of time to find love, settle down, and grow up. I spent my work hours in a meat wagon, more than just witnessing some of the most horrific and tragic events around Philadelphia—most nights, I was elbow deep in them. I’d earned the right to blow off steam, even if it meant using someone else to help me forget. I’d been ignoring the pang of guilt that accompanied the thought of a meaningless fling since I’d moved to Philadelphia.
I glanced at the comically ugly Prius to my left, locking eyes with the uptight nurse who had given me hell only hours before. Quinn and I had delivered four patients to her ER that day, and her first words to me were telling me how to do my job.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I smirked at her, even though my body struggled to make even the simplest movements after my long shift in the back of the ambulance. “Jacobs, right? St. Ann’s?”
Her face screwed into a disgusted frown. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
Readjusting my grip on the worn steering wheel of my sixty-nine Alpine White Barracuda Fastback, I stepped on the gas pedal to allow the Mopar to purr.
Jacobs curved up her lips. I could tell the day had dragged on just as long for her in the ER. The meticulous bun I’d seen hours before was now hanging in sun-kissed wisps, framing her tired face. Her pink scrubs still held the brown stain near the collar from when she had run into me, sending her pudding flying and expletives exploding from her plump lips. She had berated me for not watching where I was going without a second of flirtation. She didn’t like me, and I liked it—a lot.
I opened my mouth to speak again, but she did her best to rev her baby-shit-green Prius, its sorry excuse for an engine barely making a sound.
My window complained as I cranked it down further, motioning for her to do the same. Her window slid smoothly the rest of the way inside her doorframe as she cocked her head to the side, listening.
I have her attention. The nervousness I felt surprised me. Jacobs had intentionally and successfully ignored me since the first time I had brought a patient to her ER. Now that we were alone and she was speaking to me, I wasn’t thinking about the usual smut running through my mind. Instead, I found myself embarrassed. Thanks to the ER break room gossip and my penchant for nurses, Jacobs likely knew about half my trysts.
“You got something to say to me?” Jacobs asked.
“I don’t know what that noise was, but I think your car just soiled itself,” I joked.
She pretended to be angry. “I’ll have you know my car gets great gas mileage and has a minimal carbon footprint.”
“Seriously? Was that your best attempt at talking shit? I’m disappointed, Nurse Ratched.”
Jacobs showed me her middle finger but was unable to contain her giggle. It was fun to watch her unravel from her uptight shell.
“Oh, come on now. At least let me buy you dinner before you proposition me.” I glanced at the red light ahead of us before looking back at her.
Her mouth hung open, unable to form a witty retort.
After recouping from the level of self-satisfaction only a Prius owner could understand, I smiled. “Me and some friends are hitting O’Malley’s. Why don’t you tag along?”
“Are you asking me out?”
My memory flashed to the first time I’d seen Jacobs in the ER as she tried not to stare at Dr. Rosenberg. Everyone else seemed oblivious, but I couldn’t help but notice her lingering gaze, and the thin silver band on his left ring finger. Jacobs, however, wore no jewelry.
I couldn’t compete with a guy like Doc Rose, even if he was out of reach for her. Jacobs wasn’t the gated-community type, but she had her bar set high. She was attracted to the white lab coat and tie—the stable, sophisticated type. I was the guy who’d always done just what I needed to get by, no more and no less. If I was honest, my father had pulled strings to make sure I had a career at all. I had been too busy partying and spending the small savings my grandfather left me when he’d passed away.
I had been a cliché, and a pathetic one at that. Rarely came a night when I didn’t take home a college freshman only to kick her out hours later with some lame excuse of having to work in the morning. I didn’t make connections or share my feelings—I had no reason to—but graduation changed everything. I’d been thrust into the real world, alone. Part of me liked it that way. If you didn’t get close, you couldn’t get hurt when they left you.
“It’s not a date,” I said, rubbing my palm against the back of my aching neck.
I struggled not to look like a desperate douchebag. I didn’t do dates, and she was way out of my league, but there was something about this girl I wanted to explore—and I didn’t mean just her panties. “I just thought … maybe you could use a drink.”
“I could, actually.”
My gaze dipped to her mouth, my foot accidentally pressing down on the gas pedal again. Jacobs was the fucking unicorn—the one we all talked about but could never seem to capture. She was smart, knew her shit at work, and didn’t resort to dumbing herself down for guys who showed her attention. Instead, she walked with confidence, knowing she was the kind of woman who could hold out for the right guy. Unfortunately for her, the guy she thought was right for her was married to someone else, and she wasn’t a woman who would take what wasn’t hers.
Her giggle cut through the loud roar of the engine.
“Yeah? So, you wanna go grab a beer?” I asked.
She tucked the honey-colored wisps of hair behind her ear. Even disheveled and shiny from day-old makeup, she was beautiful. “Thank God I have a bottle of wine at home waiting for me.”
“Is that an invitation?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“At least give me your number,” I begged as a car behind me honked. The driver waited just seconds before swerving onto the shoulder, leaving as quickly as he had arrived.
I glanced up at the green light and cursed under my breath, hoping my time wasn’t up. Like my prayers had been answered, it switched to a dark yellow, and I returned my attention to her, instantly deflated. She couldn’t have been less impressed. I needed to try harder.
“Give you my number,” she repeated, amused. “So I can be added to your little black book of shame?” Her teeth dug into the plump flesh of her lower lip. “Do you really think the nurses don’t talk?”
I chuckled, feeling nervous, watching her smile fade into a scowl. She was getting more annoyed with me by the second, but I couldn’t stop myself. As long as she was talking to me, I was still in the game.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No, no, Jacobs. I’m laughing at myself. I should have known better.” I bent down, picked up a penny from the floorboard, and tossed it into the ashtray. Running my hand over my short, dark hair, I noticed the tension in her expression hadn’t eased. “You’re just too uptight.”
“I guess you’ll never know,” she said as her whisper-quiet car pulled out to cross the intersection.
I reached out, already seeing what she would see just a half-second later, but that would be too late. The light had already turned red. She stiffened her hands on the wheel, watching helplessly as the tractor-trailer approached her driver side at forty miles per hour. Her expression turned to horror as the sound of metal twisting and cracking under impact filled the air.
My fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly, my bones felt like they could snap under the pressure. I watched as glass exploded and the crumbled remains of her Prius launched toward me. The semi’s brakes whined in protest and Jacobs’ name ripped from my chest in a warning that had come too late. It was all too late.
I was used to saving people after tragedy struck, but it was easy to remove yourself from their pain when you didn’t have to witness the shock and horror of the event.
The last words Jacobs had spoken to me tumbled over and over in my subconscious as I scrambled to back my car away from the wreckage barreling toward me.
I resigned to my fate as my car propelled backward, my neck slamming against the headrest. When the semi finally came to a stop, the world stilled. The silence was more deafening than the horrific accident. It took me a few tries to open my door. Using my shoulder, I shoved my way out, rushing over to Jacobs’ mangled Prius. The sound of stones under my boots turned to broken glass. I was going to save her. I was going to save us both.
I sat in the waiting room down the hall from her room, biting at my thumbnail, my knee bobbing up and down. Nurses, doctors, and family members passed by without acknowledgment, oblivious that my entire world had shifted on its axis. Everything had changed.
“Josh,” Quinn said, appearing above me. He sat in the chair next to me and patted my shoulder. “You okay?”
I didn’t answer, staring at the floor.
“It’s going to be all right. Just hang in there, buddy.”
“She was there. She was right there, and then she wasn’t,” I said finally.
Quinn watched me, waiting for me to continue.
“I’ve been trying to get her attention since the first time I brought her a patient. She was finally talking to me, and … I can’t explain it.”
“That had to have been hard to see. It’s a miracle you’re okay.”
I cringed. “Even at the stoplight, when she was talking to me, I was thinking of ways to get her into bed.” I shook my head, disgusted. “Avery has been this un-gettable get, you know? She’s sitting there, smiling, finally acknowledging I exist, and my mind defaults back to the same douchebag shit.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Josh.” Quinn shrugged. “Avery’s a beautiful woman. All the guys at the station talk about her. She’s confident, feisty, and those eyes …”
I glowered at him.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Everyone knows you’ve had a thing for her, too. I’m just saying that just because taking her home crossed your mind, that doesn’t mean that’s all it would have been.”
I didn’t want a would have or should have. My story had no more room for regret, yet I had watched it take physical form right in front of me.
I grazed my nose with my knuckle. “This is my fault.”
Quinn shifted in his seat. “Don’t go there, Josh. You can’t take the blame for this one.”
“I was there. If I hadn’t been talking to her … I’ve told you that when people get too close—”
Quinn blew out a frustrated breath. “You’ve got to give that up, man. The universe doesn’t have it out for you.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t get to her fast enough. She was hurt, I ran as fast I could to get to her, but my whole body was moving in slow motion. And then—against all my training—I cradled her in my arms and held her. That’s all I could do.” I felt Quinn’s fingers press into my shoulder. “I’ve only felt that helpless one other time in my life. I’m tired of being too late.”
“All paramedics get that way, buddy. It’s why we do what we do.”
“No, this was different. I wasn’t doing just my job. I needed her to be okay, Quinn. I need her to be okay. I have to see her again.”
“She’ll be okay.” Quinn said the words slow, watching me intently. “Are you? Okay?”
“I’m fine. And I know what you’re thinking.”
“That you hit your head harder than I thought? A little,” he admitted.
“I saw her get T-boned by a semi. I thought I’d lost her.” Heartbreak and loss were a part of life. Those of us who worked hand in hand with death learned early to appreciate those few precious moments we had before it was all taken away. I recoiled from Quinn’s expression. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I get it. Sometimes I think about the people I’ve lost, and it makes me work that much harder to bring people back,” Quinn agreed.
“That’s not it. I made a decision in the ten minutes I listened to the sirens get closer.”
“What kind of decision?”
The possibility of losing something before it was even mine was something I'd never imagined. Watching what could have been slip away before it was in your grasp was enough to break a man. But it had also given me the chance to redeem myself, make myself worthy of her, in the event we finally got our moment.
“You’ll see.”
My muscles hurt even before I opened my eyes. I hadn’t dreamed, nor could I recall the moment of impact. My only memory was the pain. But when the room around me came into focus, it all but went away.
The hideous brown and mauve wallpaper was peeling in the corners. The fake plants and watercolor prints were meant to resemble a nineteen-eighties living room, even though anyone would know by the smell alone where they were.
Nurse Michaels walked in with a stethoscope hanging from her blue floral lab jacket. She had the same dark circles I’d had when looking in a mirror mid-shift. Michaels typically worked in ICU but sometimes moonlighted in the ER with me, not that she was any help at all. Being in her care was unsettling.
The tiny catheter wiggled a bit beneath the thin skin of my hand while she fussed with the tape covering the entry site of my IV. I frowned and peered up, seeing Michaels’ infernal, frizzy orange hair, and then my surroundings. Yep. I was definitely in Step-Down.
Unfortunately, it appeared Step-Down, the hospital wing for stabilized patients adjacent to the ICU, was short staffed, and Michaels clearly had hours to make up—as usual.
“Looking good, Jacobs. You hang in there. We’re all worried about you,” she said, pulling at the tape again.
“Jesus, Michaels. Take it easy,” I said. My voice sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together, and my throat burned.
She startled. “Oh.” With her finger, she pushed her black-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose, her tone more surprised than excited.
“If you’re here, who’s taking my shift?” I asked.
“I’m just going to—” She reached for the tape again.
I pulled away from her. “Would you fucking stop?” I snapped, already feeling guilty. It was true: nurses were the worst patients.
Dr. Rosenberg’s Italian leather shoes clicked across the tile. Concern hummed from his throat, and my chest fluttered. His ocean-blue eyes sparkled, even if he was seeing me in a sack-like hospital gown. My face probably looked like a misshapen tomato, but I still reached up to flatten the rats in my hair, hoping a decent hairdo would distract him from the rest of me.
I refused to let out a sigh, or stare too long at his perfectly thick eyebrows or squared jawline, or snarl at Michaels when she did everything I refused to do. After all, Dr. Rosenberg wasn’t mine. He belonged to Mrs. Rosenberg and their teenaged daughter. But, unlike Michaels, I didn’t have to fantasize that Dr. Rosenberg cared about me. He did. He was standing right next to my bed, scanning over my embarrassingly thin hospital gown and looking rather upset, even though he worked three floors below in the ER.
Dr. Rosenberg touched my hand, and I tried not to let a squeal spill from my mouth. His warm fingers traveled up my palm to my wrist, and then he waited quietly while he checked my pulse. “Strong, considering. We can probably—”
The PA system paged him, and he nodded to Michaels. “Take care of her.”
“Of course,” Michaels lilted.
My blood boiled at her flirtatious tone. He was gorgeous and smart and charming, but knowing he was married didn’t calm my instant and irrational jealousy, even if Michaels flirted with everything with testicles and a PhD.
After the doctor disappeared down the hall, I pushed up to sit higher on the bed. “What is today?”
“TGIF,” Michaels said with a sigh, checking my monitor.
“See if you can expedite my discharge, would you? I’m too late for today’s shift, but I can’t miss tomorrow. I’m supposed to cover for Deb.”
Deb Hamata and I had gone to nursing school together and had the same hire date. We had been through a lot together in St. Ann’s ER. She was the only colleague I referred to by first name, and the only nurse I wouldn’t annihilate for calling me Avery.
Michaels leaned in to gently push back a stray hair from my face. I recoiled. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you covered, sister.”
I crossed my arms and huffed as she walked away. Michaels was usually a lazy, unprofessional brat. She was just a few years younger than me, but her parents still paid her bills, leaving her without motivation for a solid work ethic. If a Bruno Mars concert were within driving range, she would call in sick. I had been burned enough times to know not to like anyone. At the moment, Michaels was compassionate and patient with my foul mood, making it very hard, but not entirely impossible, for me to dislike her.
I ran my fingers over my teeth. Thank God. All present. Felt my face. Whoa. Better than I imagined. I wiggled my toes. Yes. I’m walking out of here.
Not long after I took stock of my injuries, Michaels gave me the green light along with the few pieces of personal property that had been gathered from the wreckage. I hobbled from the sterile C.-diff-and-bleach smell of the hospital to the sweaty mildew odor of a cab.
The driver looked unsure as I retied the second gown around me that I’d used as a robe. “You sure you can go home just yet?” he asked.
“That bad, huh?”
I tried to ignore his curious eyes in the rearview mirror as I struggled to secure my seatbelt.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“You sick? You’re not gonna puke in my cab, are ya?”
“Car accident. I feel fine, thank you.”
“Your family couldn’t pick you up?”
“No family,” I said. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me to call anyone. I’d been alone for so long, family was a foreign concept to me. There was an aunt and a few cousins in Florida, but I didn’t know them. Certainly not enough to let them know I’d been in a minor accident.
I kept busy enough with work that I barely noticed I was alone, but family was good for situations like this. Family kept you from having to ride home in a cab wearing two hospital gowns and oatmeal-colored non-skid socks.
“Where’s your clothes, kid?” he asked.
“In my closet.”
“Don’tcha have someone to bring you some? Anyone?”
I shook my head, giving him the address of my building. The driver finally pulled away, and after he learned the answer to the expected what do you do, he talked over jazz radio about his bunions, a life-long aversion to raw vegetables, and his two-pack-a-day Pall Mall habit. For some reason, when people learned I was a nurse, they felt the urge to confess their health sins. I guessed it was so I would either absolve them or diagnose them, but I had yet to do either.
“Is this the one, sweetheart?” the driver asked, pointing with his fat, tar-stained finger. “I think one of my ex-girlfriends lived here once.”
“I thought everyone your age married the first person they dated?”
He made a face. “Nah. I would have, but she wouldn’t wait for me.” He pointed to his embroidered hat that read VETERAN. “Navy.”
“Thank you for your service.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. His yellowed nails were lined with grime, and he had at least a day’s worth of silver scruff on his weathered face. He’d served our country and, by the looks of his hands, had worked harder jobs than driving a cab, compelling me to give him an extra-nice tip. I had no purse or pockets, and definitely no money. I opened my hand, revealing a few wadded up dollar bills and my keys.
“Let me just run up to get some more cash,” I said, my sore muscles complaining as I pushed open the door.
He huffed. “The hospital fares never pay.”
“No, I’ll pay you. Please wait here. I’ll be right back. Keep the meter running. I’ll pay you for your time, too.”
His eyes softened and he smiled. “Pay me next time, kid. Most people don’t even offer.”
For half a second, I’d forgotten there would be a next time. No telling what salvage yard my poor little sea-green Prius was in. It had crumpled around me as we cartwheeled together across the intersection into a patch of grass on the other side. I had somehow made it out in one piece, but there would be many more taxi rides in my future. That thought made my heart hurt. The Prius had protected me, and now it was spare parts.
“Thanks,” I said, looking at his license on the dash. “Melvin.”
“It’s just Mel.” He handed me a bent, smudged card. “Call me if you need another ride, but no more freebies.”
“Of course. I will. Thank you.”
He left me standing on the curb in front of the stoop of my building. I waved and then padded up the steps and pulled open the door, glad my apartment was only on the second floor. After just half a flight, my body slowed, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I slid the key into the lock and turned it, shoving open the door and then leaning back against the wood until it closed.
“TGIF,” I said with a sigh, sliding down to the floor.
Almost two years in the same apartment, and it still looked like something a property manager would use to entice a potential renter. Nailing holes into walls that didn’t belong to me just didn’t feel right, but that didn’t explain why I hadn’t bought real plates, either.
I looked over at the door-less kitchen cabinets, exposing my collection of paper plates and plastic cups to match the plastic cutlery in the drawers below. Just one glass casserole dish, a skillet, and one pot were sitting in the space beneath the countertop gathering dust. Eating out had been more of a pastime than a necessity until that moment.
I pulled myself up and forced my feet across the room in order to rummage through the medicine cabinet for an old bottle of Lortab. I rolled the tiny robin’s-egg-colored pill in my palm before tossing it to the back of my throat, chasing it with a gulp of flat Mountain Dew.
The Formica felt cold against my backside as I waited for my veins to carry the hydrocodone and sugar through my body.
Once I began feeling human again, I showered, slipped an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt over my head, and stepped into my favorite royal-blue cuffed sweatpants. As I piled my still-damp hair on top of my head, it crossed my mind that I would probably meet who might be the love of my life while dressed like a colorblind cat lady. But I had to eat, and I would rather make the walk across the street without a bra than try to scrounge up something to cook—not that I had any groceries.
I glanced in the mirror and paused. My face was not the frightening mess I’d imagined. Instead, I looked … normal. Tired, maybe, but otherwise fresh-faced and not at all like a mushy tomato.
Keys in hand, and gripping the railing the whole way down, I headed back downstairs, pausing just long enough to check for traffic before crossing against the light to JayWok, my favorite Chinese eatery in Philadelphia.
The soy sauce and grease filled my nose before I even opened the door, and I smiled. The takeout line was long, so I sat at my regular table and waited for Coco to take my order.
Within moments, she was standing next to me in a maroon apron over skinny jeans and a name tag that read Cocolina pinned to a too-small white polo shirt. She was holding a menu I didn’t need and filling a glass with water I wouldn’t drink. “The usual?” she asked.
“Probably,” I said.
She frowned. “Did you quit the hospital? I don’t think I’ve seen you without scrubs on.”
“I have the day off.”
“Sick?”
“Not really,” I said.
She turned on her heels, knowing I wouldn’t expand on my answer.
I cupped my chin in my hand. Dozens of people of all shapes and sizes passed by the large window next to the booth I’d made my own since I’d first walked through the door twenty-three months ago. Summer break was in full swing, and now that the sun was out, tourists grouped in families and crowded the sidewalks, making an old wound throb in my chest. I was an adult, but still, I missed the feel of my father’s large hand around mine. I envied the little girls who passed by with wide grins and impatient, pointing fingers, either being pulled by or tugging their daddies along. By now, I knew it would never go away. I would always miss my parents and mourn every moment they couldn’t experience with me.
A white sack crinkled when it was set in front of me, bearing the simple JayWok logo on the front: a cherry-red medallion with thick, mirrored lines and spaces. I always wondered what the mini-maze meant, but I was distracted by the knuckles covering the rolled-down top of the sack.
“Eating alone?” the man asked.
His hands were sexy. Yes, sexy. Thick, just the right size, and muscular. Yes, muscular. When a woman had been single as long as I had, we began to notice certain things, like hands, that others may not. The tiny dark hairs on his fingers, his freshly cut nails, and the scar on his right index finger. Most important was what his hand was missing: a wedding band. The only thing worse than a wedding band was the dreaded tan line on the ring finger of a man looking to stray. He was missing that, too, and I couldn’t help but smile.
I looked up, seeing a familiar pair of gray eyes belonging to a guy I knew was definitely single. “Excuse me?”
“Are you eating alone?” he said again, this time enunciating.
“Uh, yes.” His assessment was more than a little embarrassing. “I know. It’s kind of pathetic.”
“I don’t know,” he said, sitting in the chair across from me. “I think it’s kind of romantic.”
I narrowed my eyes. Romantic? That didn’t sound like the obnoxious paramedic who flirted with every nurse in my ER.
He let go of the sack and held up his hands. “I’m glad to see you’re okay. If you’d taken off a few seconds earlier, it would have been a lot worse.”
“It’s all pretty fuzzy.”
He frowned, lost in thought. “Not for me.”
“Well, keep it to yourself if you don’t mind. I’d rather not know.”
“You’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“Digging you out of the crinkled can of a car and calling nine-one-one.”
I blinked. “Oh. I mean … thank you. I didn’t realize.”
He waved me away. “That is not my coolest act of heroism. I have way better stories.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to hear them sometime. Just to know what I’m up against.”
The break room gossip had circulated that the new paramedic was also new to Philadelphia. I wasn’t sure what he was running from, but it was obvious what he was chasing: tail. Tall, thin, short, voluptuous, and any combination in between. He loved to conquer, and until that moment, I wouldn’t have dreamed of giving him the time of day. Knowing what he’d done—even if it was a normal thing for him—his eyes seemed a little softer, and his smile a little sweeter. It was easier to see him, not as a predator but as having the potential for more than a one-night stand.
He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t follow you here or anything. My shift is in an hour and I was grabbing something to go.”
The hydrocodone made it more difficult to process everything he was saying, and I was more than just a little aggravated he didn’t respond to my pickup line.
After a short pause, I finally found an appropriate response. “I didn’t think you were stalking me. I can’t see you putting in that kind of time.”
“That’s not true.”
“You have the attention span of a toddler.”
He grinned, his eyes bright. “What’s your name?”
“You know my name.”
“Not your work name, Jacobs. Your first name.”
I hesitated. We kept to last names at work to keep things professional. I sometimes had to work with this guy. Even if the accident had changed certain things, I had a hard time believing he was someone I could trust with my first name.
Maybe it was because I had remembered how alone I was more than once that day, or maybe I had no reason at all, but I chose to give it to the flirty paramedic who had sexy, ringless hands. “Avery.”
He shot me a dubious look. “Avery.”
I nodded, unsure if I had, in a Lortab-induced haze, mispronounced my own name.
“Avery?” he said again in disbelief.
“Yes, why? Is that okay?”
He pointed to his chest. “Josh Avery.”
“Oh!” I said, finally understanding. “Maybe we’re related.” I was proud of myself for managing humor in my current state.
He turned up one side of his mouth, and a dimple sunk into his left cheek. “I hope not.” His thoughts were anything but innocent as his gaze bore into me.
He reached across the table, extending his hand. I barely tapped it with my fingers, but he held on to them a bit longer as I pulled away.
Even before I knew his name, I’d known Josh as Quinn Cipriani’s new partner, the charming, bed-hopping paramedic who had come out of nowhere to seduce every nurse under thirty-five in the ER. Even aware of all that, I had no choice but to be flattered.
