Can't Always Get What You Want (21 page)

—

Brett pulls his lips away from mine.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“You tell me,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Where did you go just now? It felt like you were off somewhere else.”

Gulp.

“What makes you think that?” I ask nervously.

“I don’t know. Your kiss just felt different.”

Note to self: do not reminisce about your past boyfriend while kissing your present one.

Chapter 17

Street Fighting Man

Whirrr, whirrr, whirr, WHIRRR!

Come on! Start!

Whirrr—whi
rr—cough, sputter, whirr…

I bash the steering wheel repeatedly. Damn it! I’m already running late for work.

What should I do?

Call Brett.

Hmm…I suppose I could. I’m sure it’s in the boyfriend contract, after all. You know, the unwritten contract that all couples sign the minute they become an “item.”

Article 2, Section 4, Clause 3: In addition to maintaining your girlfriend’s car, you will also promptly respond to any and all car breakdowns, and offer your services as chauffeur when time allows.

Yes. I’m certain that’s a relationship rule, somewhere. Right after other important details, like romantic comedies being mandatory.

I pick up my phone, hesitating over Brett’s name in my contact list. Is this a good idea? I don’t want to be “needy.” Maybe I could call a taxi?

Yeah. Try explaining that to lover boy later.

Okay. Here goes nothing.

“Hello?” he says.

“Hey, babe,” I say. “I hate to bother you at work, but my car just died, and I’m running late for an evening shift. Do you think you could give me a ride?”

The line is silent for a couple of seconds.

“Be there in three minutes.”

The line goes dead.

Not one to fail in keeping a promise, Brett screeches to a halt in front of my house exactly three minutes later.

“That was fast,” I say while fastening my seat belt.

“I was working from home today. Paperwork, blueprints, contracts. Boring stuff.”

“So sorry to take you away from all of that—you seem devastated,” I say, smirking, and he grins back.

“I would’ve called Sam or my mom if I could. I even thought about calling for a taxi…”

“Soph,” he chastises. “It’s okay. Besides, I welcome the distraction.”

He peeks at me from the corner of his eyes.

“What?” I say, laughing.

“You look incredibly hot today.”

He can’t be serious.

I’m wearing ratty blue scrubs, and my hair is tied in a messy topknot. I look like I’m getting ready for bed.

“Whatever does it for you,” I say.

“You look good in scrubs.
Really
good.”

“Don’t tease me. I know these aren’t the nicest ones I have. I’m doing laundry, and these were the only clean pair I had, and…”

Is he…laughing at me?

“You don’t know how to take a compliment, do you? I like how you look in your uniforms.”

Pfft—yeah, right.

“Maybe someday, you can be my naughty nurse.”

I whip my head over to look at him. He simply gives me a sideways grin and winks.

“Ugh…don’t torture me with something you can’t offer,” I groan.

“Well, I did say ‘someday.’ ”

Someday.

Naturally I start planning my naughty-nurse routine. I’ll begin with a slow, seductive striptease in my uniform.

First, I kick off my orthopedic shoes, complete with arch supports. Then, I leisurely pull my scrub pants down, rubbing the deep red indents left on my stomach by the tight elastic waistband.

I’ll slowly pull my name tag in and out of its retractable clip.

“You like that, baby?” I’ll ask, my voice husky.

I erupt in a snort of laughter. Real sexy.

Minutes later, we pull into the hospital parking lot.

“I’ll see if Samira can give me a ride home. She’s off work this evening.”

“Nonsense. I’ll pick you up.”

Hmm. I dunno if I should let him start doing things for me. Independence is a good thing. Because what if I got used to having his help available all the time? And then, one day, he suddenly wasn’t around to help me anymore? What would I do then?

I don’t want to be there again.

He smiles at me, and raises a thumb to my forehead, smoothing out the worry lines.

“You are so cute,” he says.

He plants a soft, unhurried kiss on my lips. “See you tonight.”

—

It’s the following morning. My shift went well last night, and as promised, Brett was there to pick me up after work.

A few of the evening nurses were standing outside with me, waiting to see (err, ogle) my “mysterious” new man.

I’m almost afraid to bring him onto the unit. I don’t know what they’d say or
do
to him if he exited the safety of his truck. When you’re surrounded by disease, vomit, and wrinkled balls all day, you tend to notice when someone young and good-looking walks by.

My car is still dead in the driveway. Best to get reinforcements (aka my Auntie Alex).

“Hey, Auntie, how are you?” I say into the phone.

“I’m good,” she says. “We’ve missed you. When am I going to see you?”

“How about today?”

I explain my car trouble. Alex is a mechanic, and owns her own garage. When I was a teen, she showed me how to change the oil and filters, and how to diagnose basic problems with the engine.

She’d probably kill me if she found out I take my little car to Mr. Lube for oil and filter changes now.

—

“How are you getting to work?” Alex grunts from under my car hood. Pieces of my engine are sprawled all over my driveway. I’d be completely screwed if I had to put this back together myself.

“My boyfriend is taking me,” I reply absentmind
edly.

“I wondered when you were going to mention him,” she says.

“How did you know about him?”

She cranes her head out from under the hood.

“I got a phone call from the Julie hotline as soon as you confirmed you had a new
lovaaah
.”

Figures.

I hear the purr of a familiar engine rumbling down the street.

“My
lovaaah
is here,” I say.

She whistles as Brett exits his truck.

“Damn…you sure know how to pick ’em.”

I chuckle along with her, and turn at the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the driveway.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I say.

“Fancy that.”

He smiles down at me, and I’m transfixed.

Yup, definitely falling for him.

Alex clears her throat behind me.

“Brett, this is Aunt Alex,” I say, “Alex, this is Brett.”

Brett nods at her. “Pleasure meeting you.”

“Thanks for fixing my car,” I call out.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she corrects, and clangs another piece onto the driveway.

Brett and I settle into the cab of his truck, and he pulls me to the middle seat.

“That’s better,” he says. He leans over and nibbles on my ear while I fasten the seat belt.

“Stop that, or else I’ll want you to drive me to work every day,” I tease.

“I can manage that,” he whispers, while tracing my jawline with his teeth.

“Put the brakes on, Romeo, or I’ll never get to work on time.”

He leans back, laughing quietly to himself.

“I personally think that was more fun than work,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.

“Did I drag you away from another thrilling day of paperwork?”

“Nope. Was on-site today.”

“Argh! I feel awful. I know how much you love your job.”

“For the last time, please don’t worry about it. It’s one of the many perks of being the boss. I can make my own schedule.”

Well, I suppose when he puts it that way.

“Okay,” I relent, and relax into his side.

For the first time ever, I actually wish I worked farther away, so I could stay in this moment longer.

When we pull into the hospital parking lot, Brett gets out of the truck with me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He slings my work bag over his shoulder. “Walking you in.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’ll eat you alive.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Hand in hand, we walk through the hospital corridors. With Brett at my side, even the boring paint colors and the cheap artwork look exciting today.

We approach the unit desk, and I retrieve my work bag from Brett. I feel about ten pairs of eyes watching us.

He shoves his hands into his jean pockets. “See you at eleven?”

“On one condition,” I reply.

“And that is?”

“In return for your chauffeuring services, you let me repay the favor in any way I choose.”

He eyes me curiously. “
Any
way?”

“Don’t worry. Nothing bad,” I promise, crossing my heart.

He pulls me into a tight hug.

“I never know what to expect from you. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Gulp. “There are
many
things?”

“Yep. I’d give you the full list, but time is running short,” he says, nodding toward the clock. “To be continued,” he whispers, and plants a soft, too brief kiss on my lips.

A chorus of “oohs” and “awwws” sound behind me.

“It seems we have an audience,” he mumbles happily.

“You’re lucky that’s all they’ve done. I thought for sure they’d tie you up and keep you here as unit mascot. Or walk you around as eye candy to cheer up the older female patients.”

He puffs out his chest. “You know me, always willing to help those in need.”

I back away toward the report room.

“See you later, babe,” he calls as he turns away.

I’m about to enter the report room when tonight’s charge nurse pulls me aside.

“Do you think you could work in ER tonight? They’re really short-staffed.”

“No problem.”

And with that, I pack up and head toward the emergency room.

The shift goes well enough. Around 9
P.M.
, I get a new patient in bed four. Thirty-five-year-old male, recently involved in a bar fight. The triage notes say he has contusions to his face and a long, deep laceration to his left forearm.

I walk toward his bed to start my assessment.

He has short, light brown hair, and is wearing dirty jeans and a bloodstained T-shirt. His face looks like it’s been through a meat grinder.

“You should shee the erther guy,” he slurs, smiling.

Alcohol oozes from his pores. He seems like a happy drunk. I wonder what he did or said to warrant such a beating.

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” I ask, my pen poised above the chart.

My patient points toward a tall, skinny man with long greasy black hair seated in a chair beside his bed.

“Itsh all this guy’s fault,” he mumbles. “If you hadn’t of shot off your fucking mouff, I wouldn’t have got the shit kicked out of me.”

The greasy-haired guy punches his friend in the shoulder.

“And you should learn how to fight.”

“Are you in any pain, Mr….”

“Call me Billy. And this ash-hole over here is Keith,” he grins, pointing at his friend. “Hey! If I say I’m in pain, can you get me some Oxy?”

Keith’s eyes light up at this.

He must mean OxyContin. Oh, joy.

“No. I can only give you what the doctor prescribes. How would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“Pain? What pain? I’m feeling nooooooooo pain!” He laughs. “I’m invincible.”

Thank God I’m near the end of my shift.

“Okay, Billy, I’m going to get some bandages and clean up the cuts on your arm and face.”

He looks excitedly over at greasy Keith. “I have cuts on my face? That’s so badass!” He starts exploring the contours of his face with dirty fingers, searching for his newest battle scars.

“Uh—maybe don’t touch those. They might get infected.”

Billy either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care, and starts fondling a deep gash on his forehead.

“Keith! My face feels swollen as fuck! You got a mirror?”

Keith shakes his head, his snakelike eyes never leaving me. A cold shiver runs through me. He notices, and smiles imperceptibly.