Convenience and Compatibility
Read Convenience and Compatibility Online
Authors: Emily Jones
Tags: #romance, #erotic, #sexy, #seattle, #girlfriend, #boyfriend, #nurse
Convenience
and
Compatibility
an erotic story
Emily Jones
be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the
prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental
.
Contents
Chapter 1
I reposition my ponytail, pulling the sticky
strands of hair off my neck. Who would have thought that a
mid-September day in Seattle would be so hot? Thank goodness the
Health and Wellness Fair will be over soon, and I can go home. I’d
given over thirty flu shots, removed a splinter, and bandaged a
couple of kid’s knees. Just another hour and my twelve-hour shift
will be over.
I’m both tired and excited. Tonight is girl’s
night; the first night out since being single. I’m playing through
my mind all the steps I will go through to make myself sexy:
shower, hair, makeup, clothes. Oh, what should I wear?
My mind is meandering through my closet at
home when I notice a man in a wheelchair being pushed by a hulky
attendant coming towards my booth. I stop playing with my hair and
try to look professional.
“What can I do for you?” I look at the
attendant, a tall muscular man with dark skin. He’s huge and has
got to be at least 6-4. I glance at the man in the wheelchair. I
notice his haunting brown eyes locked onto mine and lose all train
of thought.
The attendant answers my question, “Um, ya. I
seem to have ran him into the concrete wall.” He has a thick accent
and a kind face – I instantly like him. I try to place the accent,
maybe French? The attendant glances around, looking nervous. “Could
you look at his knee? I think it’s bleeding.”
“Sure. I’d be happy to.” I look down at the
man in the wheel chair and notice how well he is dressed; khaki
slacks and a button down dress shirt. His eyes are still following
me but he isn’t talking or moving. Blood is oozing out of his pant
leg at his knee. I crouch down to his level and look into his eyes
again. “Does it hurt?” I ask as I put on my gloves. I notice those
eyes again, boring hole into my soul almost, and become
distracted.
“He doesn’t speak ma’am.”
“Oh,” is all I can say, looking up at the
attendant. Wanting to ask more, but knowing it’s none of my
business, I keep my mouth shut. The look on my face must show my
confusion as the attendant explains.
“He can feel it, I’m sure. He just can’t tell
you. He has a form of catatonia.”
I smile at my patient and start pulling his
pant leg up. His leg muscles are atrophied, he’s been in a
wheelchair for awhile. I can feel my patient’s eyes on me and I’m
self-conscience. “You can have a seat,” I motion to his attendant.
“It seems to just be a scrape; it’ll be a few minutes while I patch
him up.” The attendant sits, looking nervous and scans the crowd of
people moving past the booth. My patient’s beautiful eyes haunt me
and I continue to glance up at him and smile. Why am I acting so
weird?
“I’m Mallory,” I say, hoping to learn my
patient’s name.
“I’m John, and this here is Dean.” The
attendant explains, glancing around him again, looking nervous for
some reason.
I look up to Dean again and study his face.
He’s not particularly handsome, he has a plain face but with
beautiful Ken doll dark hair. His eyes are large, brown, and…
mesmerizing. They remind me of a stray dog that wants to be let in
from the cold. I look down and focus on my work; cleaning the
wound, applying ointment and a bandage. Carefully I guide his pant
leg over the bandage when I am finished. I can feel Dean’s eyes
watching me as I work, and I’m less intrigued and more
uncomfortable. I’m ready for them to leave.
“Well that’s it. You’re all done.” I avoid
Dean’s eyes and instead look to John, hoping he will leave
quickly.
John stands up and gapes at me. “He’s staring
at you.”
If I wasn’t uncomfortable before, then I am
now. “No,” I shrug, trying to blow it off, “he’s just making eye
contact.”
“But you don’t understand, he never does
that. I’ve worked with him since the accident three years ago, and
he’s never made eye contact – with anyone.”
I stop what I’m doing and look at John.
“Maybe he’s getting better,” I say with a bit of nervous laugh. I
will myself not to look at Dean again, but I can’t help it. I look
down and smile. Dean’s head hasn’t moved but his eyes are on mine,
and somehow I’m sure he is smiling too. There is something about
him that I can’t place my finger on, it feels safe but scary. I
find myself feeling somewhat attracted to this mysterious man.
“Um, thanks,” John says without looking at
me. He seems distracted and fumbles with the breaks of the
wheelchair. “Let’s go find Mrs. Collins.” John backs the
wheelchair, and moves from my booth quickly, scanning the crowd. I
assume looking for “Mrs. Collins,” whoever that is.
Before I can say you’re welcome they are
gone, lost into the crowd within seconds. I am left alone in my
booth, going over the past ten minutes in my mind. What was it he
had said? He never does that? I try to put it out of my mind as an
elderly couple come up to my booth, inquiring about the flu
shot.
Chapter 2
By the time I am able to leave the hospital,
rain is gently misting the air. The sun still shines, but the heat
seems a little more bearable with the rain - a littler cooler. The
smell is amazing; clean, fresh, wet. I almost run down the steep
hill to the bus stop, knowing that once I get onto the crowded bus,
the packed wet vehicle will be nearly unbearable with hot moist
bodies stuffed into the closed container.
I get home before my roommate. Tara and I
have been friends since high school, and there is no one who knows
me better. When she walks in the door, I hesitate in recounting my
odd encounter at work. I want to keep it mine, but am also a little
embarrassed that I thought a man in a wheelchair was hot. As much
as I love her, Tara can be shallow.
“I’m going to hop in the shower, how was your
day?” I ask Tara, standing half naked in the hallway.
“Exhausting,” she says, putting her purse on
the counter. “Hurry up, I want to get going. I hope it’s okay,
boyfriends were invited too. We’re supposed to meet everyone
soon.”
Oh great.
I thought it was just the girls. Sometime
throughout the day our ‘girl’s night out’ has been transformed to
boyfriends too. Last month I broke up with my boyfriend – Tara’s
boyfriend’s best friend. Now my stomach is sick with worry that he
will be showing up. Tara and Adam have been more than brutally
honest about how I made such a mistake ending things with him. And
Greg, as great as he is, can’t seem to let go.
I hop in the shower without the courtesy of a
reply. She has to know that this is not okay. It’s hard enough
breaking up, even harder when you’re still in love with him. Tara
has been trying to get us back together and I’m suspicious this is
just another of her attempts.
I’m driving us to the restaurant in my
dilapidated Honda when I confront Tara.
“Is this you’re feeble attempt to get Greg
and me back together?” I shift down and speed up, I’m pissed and I
want her to know.
“Not at all. But Greg will be there tonight,
so behave Mallory.” She’s putting on her lipstick in the visor’s
mirror, oblivious to my anger, or doesn’t care.
By the time we get to the bar, my stomach is
in knots. I hope Greg doesn’t use this opportunity to try to get
back together. It will be hard enough to see him tonight. My body
responds to his in a way that I never experienced before with other
boyfriends. Just seeing him usually turns my legs to jello and my
thoughts drift to a porn video. It’s been only a few weeks since
the last time I saw him, but I am pretty sure that tonight will be
no different. It takes a tremendous amount of willpower not to
climb into his bed again.
I spot our friends in the large booth in the
back. My legs feel wobbly as I follow Tara through the bar and I
make a plan in my mind in order to survive the evening - drink.
Drink a lot.
“Hey guys,” I say as we walk up to the table,
my heart in my throat. I scan the gang tonight. There’s Adam,
Tara’s boyfriend, Chris and Heather, and on the end Greg. This was
definitely a set-up. Bastards.
I slide in next to Greg and try not to drool
over him too much. I’m sure he came over straight from the firm;
wearing his usual tailored slacks and a pin-striped shirt. His dark
hair is thick and wavy; longer than his usual crew cut. There’s
something about a man all dressed up that does something to me.
Greg’s five-o-clock shadow makes him even sexier.
I take a deep calming breath, the kind I
learned in the only yoga class I ever attended, as I look over at
my friends. They’re all chatting like nothing is wrong and I’m
pissed. Are you fucking kidding me, I thought you were my friends?
Apparently I’m the only one that is uncomfortable here.
The waitress saves me and I order a white
russian. Fuck the calories. I wait for my drink and look away from
the table, unable to pretend with a fake smile for very long that
nothing is wrong. I was never able to mask my emotions very well.
Let them think I’m being a bitch – I don’t care.
As much as I try to forget that Greg is
sitting next me, the smell from his cologne is intoxicating;
reminding me of our good times. I still can’t believe this Greek
god and I used to go out.
Greg then pretends to just notice me. “Oh hi
Mallory, how are you?”
I turn and look at him, making eye contact
for the first time in weeks. “Good. Thank you, and you?” I can do
this, just be fake polite until the drink arrives. Deep down
though, I want to know everything: how he his, who he’s seeing,
what he had for breakfast, the color of his underwear. Fuck, I miss
him. I miss the way I feel when I’m with him; safe and protected. I
also miss having him between my legs, rocking my body like no other
man had before.
“I’m okay. Busy with work. You look good,” he
pauses and looks at my lips. “I miss you.”
Greg is straight to the punch, as ever. Maybe
this was why our relationship didn’t work out - we’re too similar.
“I’m glad you came tonight.” I look down and away from his gaze, as
I’m sure my mask of stoniness is gone, and my guilt has returned.
Why did I break up with him again? I know Greg still wants me back.
Tara and Adam remind me of this any chance they get but I don’t see
any future with him.
My drink arrives and I take small sips,
knowing that my reserves will return soon. Turning to Heather, I
interject myself into the conversation with the rest of the table,
ignoring the warmth of his body next to mine.
I spend the rest of the evening talking too
much and teetering on the edge of ‘I’m too fucked up to walk’, and
‘stone-cold sober.’ In this state of mind, I don’t really care that
my friends are such assholes to put me in this situation.
Regardless, they are fun, even more fun when I’ve put back a few
too many. After drink number three I’m too numb, physically and
emotionally, to give a fuck. I’m oblivious to any further attempts
Greg makes to establish a connection with me again. We all laugh
like we used to and I end up having a great time.
By the time we leave the restaurant, the
pendulum has swung a little too far on the wrong side. I trip as I
walk out the door and can tell that I’m slurring my speech a
little. I decide to shut up before I make more of an ass out of
myself and let Tara drive us home. And that’s the last thing I
remember about Friday.
