Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (16 page)

I rolled my eyes and released a long sigh. “I don’t. I didn’t. I was trying to be helpful.”

“See. She was trying to be helpful
,” Ashley said sweetly.

“I was, Ashley.” I issue
d her a stealthy death stare while I maintained a smile on my face. “As I was just explaining, Nico and I were acquainted in high school. One of his closest friends was my boyfriend. At the reunion there were some intoxicated women who were harassing him so I tried to diffuse the situation by yelling something to shock the ladies out of their inappropriate behavior.”

Dr. Ken Miles
pulled up a chair next to me while I was speaking, his expression was still guarded. “Why didn’t you yell
fire
?”

Oh, for the love of—!

“I actually explained that too.” My smile was waning, and I worried that it looked more like a growl than a grin. I wondered how many times I was going to have to explain the legality of screaming
fire
in an occupied room. “It is actually against the law to yell fire in a crowd of people. You know, what with all the panic and trampling to death and whatnot.”

“Hmm
.” Dr. Ken Miles leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes continued to move over me speculatively. “So you two hooking up now or something?”

“That’s a pretty personal question, Dr. Ken
,” Ashley’s Tennessee twang reminded him that she was still there. “Unless you have a stake in the dairy farm, the milking pen is none of your beeswax.”

Dr. Ken Miles
frowned at Ashley’s untoward metaphor, his eyes moving over her in plain contemplation. He responded with a vehemence I wasn’t expecting. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work,
Nurse
?”

Ashley and I shared a look and silent communication passed between us.

Me:
That was weird.

Her:
What is all that about?

Me:
I don’t know. Kinda douchey though.

Her:
Yes. My sentiments exactly.

“Well
.” Ashley stood from her chair slowly, keeping her eyes on me. “I suppose that is my cue to leave.”

I glanced at
Dr. Ken Miles, glowering at his rudeness, then back to Ashley. “No, no—you don’t need to go.”

“No, no.
Dr. Ken is actually right, I need to get back. You two have a nice
chat
.” She stressed the end of the word chat and issued me a wonky stare as she left.

I frowned at her back then shifted my attention to
him, waited for him to speak.

“That was really rude,
Dr. Ken Miles.”

“Yeah, well. She did need to get back
.” He sighed, continued to grind the gum between his molars. “I’ll apologize to her later, okay? I just wanted to talk to you alone.”

I studied his pretty face. Decided to let it go, for now, but I tucked it away as another reason why I disliked him.

He issued me a flat smile. “So, then you had a nice time at your reunion?”

I nodded. “It was different than I expected but not unpleasant.”

He opened the lid to his plastic cup and spit the gum into it. Gross. “I heard about your latest prank.”

“Really? From who?”

“Dr. Botstein.”

“Huh.” I shrugged. I was just happy he’d dropped the Nico
-babygate scandal so fast. “Really? Was he still mad?”

“He asked me if I thought you should be disciplined.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“Because I’m the chief resident.”
Dr. Ken Miles looked a little affronted that I would even ask the question.

This annoyed me. I decided to cover my annoyance by flirting. Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone: disguise my irritation that Dr. Botstein had consulted dull-
Dr. Ken Miles on my antics and push my getting laid agenda.

Thoughts of getting laid made me think of Nico
.

My stomach flip-flopped.
For a single second I entertained the possibility that my strange, chaotic, messy, tangled feelings for Nico were just a byproduct of engorged hormones. Maybe all I needed was a nicely built partner.

But I wasn’t that stupid.

I couldn’t convince myself that Dr. Ken Miles was a suitable substitution for Nico any more than a Pinto was an adequate stand-in for a Ferrari. I wanted to be touched, kissed, held, caressed. And I wanted Nico, but I couldn’t use him in that way. I liked him too much.

So I flirted with Dr. Ken Miles.

“I guess it’s a good thing then that you and I are such good friends. Besides, the prank was meant for you and it
was
April Fool’s Day.” I leaned forward and batted my eyelashes in his general direction. Rebalancing my hormones was a top priority; I might have slathered on the flirt a little too thick.

Dr. Ken Miles
cleared his throat and shifted his attention to the plastic milkshake cup in his hand. “I didn’t know the prank was meant for me.”

“How am I expected to contain myself around you on April Fool’s Day?” I ran my index finger down the length of his
arm. I was bracing myself for one of his poor flirting attempts, but it didn’t really matter. I didn’t care if he was good at flirting.

“I thought you’d like to know that I stood up for you to Dr. Botstein.”

My eyes widened with genuine surprise. “You did?” Maybe Dr. Ken Miles was likeable after all.

He nodded proudly. “I did.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that there was no way to definitively prove that it was you who planted the box of gloves.”

I shook my head, felt badly for Dr. Ken Miles. He wasn’t a bad guy. He was just boring.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Ken Miles. I admitted it to Dr. Botstein when he confronted me. But, thanks for trying to cover.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed then suddenly aggravated. “Elizabeth, I think we need to talk.”

I sat up a little straighter. Watched his growing somberness through narrowed eyes. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yeah. There is, actually.” He glanced around the lounge then set his cup on the table; he leaned closer to me. “If it had been anyone else, anyone but you, I would have told Dr. Botstein that I didn’t think a hospital was an appropriate place to play pranks.” His jaw ticked before he continued. “As this is your third time acting so unprofessionally, I would have told him I thought you needed to be held accountable.”

“Ok
ay.” I withdrew my hand from his arm, placed it back on my knee. “I guess, thank you for not saying that to Dr. Botstein.” 

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you. In fact, I’d like very much for us to be more than friends, if you want to know the truth. But you keep behaving in immature and reckless ways—”

“Immature and reckless?” I could take a reprimand from Dr. Botstein, who I respected and admired, but I had difficulty accepting a lecture about maturity from Dull Dr. Ken Miles. “Now, wait a minute. I was playing a harmless prank on April Fool’s Day. It’s not like I was—”

“Switching a training video with a porn tape?”

I didn’t respond. My aggravation was alert level red. Dr. Ken Miles had laughed when I pulled the porno tape prank, and now he was using it as ammunition.

He breathed through his nose, his mouth clamped shut, his nostrils flaring. My eyes shifted to his flaring nostrils.

His flaring nostrils were just. . . aggravating. 

In fact, everything about Dr. Ken Miles in that moment aggravated me. The leftover milkshake with a glob of gum floating on top, his prettiness, his lack of humor, his hall monitor goody goody attitude.

I shifted my weight to stand, and his hand reached out to still my movements. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving. I have work to do.”

“I just told you that I want to be more than friends, Elizabeth. I think I deserve a response.”

I scoff-snorted. “You also just told me
that you think I’m immature and reckless. I think you’ll excuse me if I need some time to process this new information first.”

Dr. Ken Miles
leaned forward, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “This is why I haven’t acted on my feelings, Elizabeth. I can’t be with someone who is incapable of behaving like an adult.”

“Says the guy who is always attempting a clandestine nose excavation.” I responded before I could stop myself. I knew it was childish to reference Dr. Ken Miles’s constant nose picking
, but I was angry and reacting as such.

He blinked, flinched. “What?”

I rolled my eyes. “Nothing. Thanks for your honesty.” I forced a smile and nodded vigorously. “Mind if I go now?”

His eyes, cornflower blue
, were wide with disbelief. He released my arm abruptly, sniffed, and glanced at his shoes. “Fine. Go.”

I immediately stood and walked out of the lounge, past the still dozing doctors on the couch, and blindly into the corridor.

Plan Hide the Salami with Dr. Ken Miles was officially on indefinite hold.

~*~

I was in a terrible mood, and Janie was still in Boston with Quinn.

Stupid Quinn.

Quinn the friend usurper.

Actually, I
liked Quinn. He reminded me of me. And I knew he’d be great to my best friend. But that didn’t make the time she was gone any less difficult.

Usually, when
either of us were feeling the funk, Janie and I would drink mojitos and watch movies based on comic books—her choice—or 1980s Jon Hughes’s movies—my choice.

Instead I went to bed early Sunday night, tossed and turned
, and had two dichotomous types of dreams: disturbing dreams about Nico being in danger or frustratingly fantastic dreams about Nico
en coitus
.

The worst of the nightmares
, although I couldn’t explain why, involved me running through a crowd trying to find him. Every time I thought I found Nico it turned out to be Dr. Ken Miles. I would turn away from him and continue my search just to find Dr. Ken Miles again. I experienced a high degree of inter-dream anger and despair.

I needed to contact Nico
about his security firm. He needed to hire better guards. His lack of appropriate security was interrupting my sleep. Thoughts of him naked were also interrupting my sleep, but there was nothing that could be done about that.

I woke up for my early morning shift feeling hung over. The worst kind of injustice is doing nothing to deserve a hangover and waking up feeling like you have a hangover.

Still yawning by the time I walked into the hospital, I noted that the ibuprofen I took for my headache seemed to be working. I allowed myself a moment of optimistic contemplation—Monday could only be an improvement over Sunday.

I was
so distracted by my bad dreams and trying to figure out a way to get Nico’s security team replaced, as well as the unfairness of my undeserved hangover, that I didn’t notice the buzzing of my pager. It vibrated off the shelf of my locker while I was pulling on a freshly laundered lab coat over faded teal scrubs.

As I retrieved it from the floor
I felt a twinge of disappointment; the day was already starting with a hectic bang, and my shift hadn’t technically started yet. I’d arrived to work early. I wanted to spend a few minutes drinking coffee and eating a doughnut. Instead, now abandoning my plan for ten minutes of peace, I gathered a deep breath and glanced at the message.

CRU rm
410 asap; VIP peds ready cg1605 cf iv

I stared at the message.

Oh shit.

Roughly translated, the message
meant:
please come to the Clinical Research Unit, room number 410 as soon as possible. The VIP pediatric patient is ready to enroll on clinical trial, protocol number 1605, cystic fibrosis infusion study.

I stared
unseeingly at the empty contents of my locker. My mind was in a blank panic. A moment later the original message was followed by a second message consisting of just six exclamation points, as follows:
!!!!!!

I was being paged to the Clinical Research Unit.

Nico had returned with his niece.

They’d decided to enroll on
the study.

The weight of dread heavy on my shoulders,
I moved in slow motion to the clinic room. The thought of seeing Nico, knowing that all admiration in his beautiful green eyes would undoubtedly be replaced with disgust or pity or some combination of the two, filled me with despair.

Granted, I acknowledged that my
reaction made no sense. I’d basked in Nico’s admiration for an extremely short period of time, less than twenty-four hours, a total of three encounters. But I couldn’t help misery any more than I could stop fantasizing about him.

Even if I’d been
the type of person who believed falling in love more than once in a lifetime wasn’t a crazy stupid thing to do, Nico wasn’t interested anymore. He also wasn’t my type.

H
e was hot like lava and sexy like cake.
Wait . . .Like lava cake. Yum.

H
e was annoyingly witty and intelligent.

H
e was thoughtful and kind to his family.

He was too likeable, too charismatic
.

.
 . . okay, he was my type. Damn it.

But
, I reminded myself, he was also the Nico Manganiello who made my childhood hell and—

I paused, actually stopped walking, and was struck by the complete lack of anger I felt tow
ard him now. Yes, the memories still chaffed; yes, his actions years ago were still hurtful to think about.

However, Nico’s apology, my own mistakes and regrets, and relief from finally knowing the reason why I was harassed, all mixed together to produce a mysterious mystical forgiveness, as follows:

[Nico’s Heartfelt Apology x (My Mistakes + My Regrets)] + Reason Why = Magical Forgiveness

I leaned against the
wall and searched my mental grudge inventory. His name was missing. I was no longer angry at Nico.

“
Huh,” I said to the empty hall
. . . weird
.

H
altingly, I continued down the corridor to the CRU, trying to find some reason to dislike him. It took me seven steps to remember that he was a comedian who made his living trying to get celebrities naked on television. I used this as fuel and allowed myself to get worked up.

H
e was frequently naked on his show; there were mostly nude women parading around and giggling for god’s sake—
giggling, half-naked women.
How could I ever respect someone who thought that was okay? How could I respect myself if I condoned it?

It doesn’
t matter anyway. He’s never going to be interested in you now so stop confusing yourself, weirdo.

When I rounded the corner to the Clinical Research Unit nurses’ station
, I was so lost in my internal nonsensical struggle that I didn’t immediately see Dr. Botstein and Nico huddled together by the door to room 410 or Meg hovering in front of the nurses’ counter.

I was nearly upon them when Dr. Botstein
’s voice pulled me from my musings, causing me to stumble over my own feet. “Ah. Here she is.”

I
looked from Nico to Dr. Botstein—who was smiling. It was freakish, bizarre to see Dr. Botstein smile. It made me immensely uncomfortable so I opted to look at Nico instead.

“I—”

I was unprepared, and I met his stare directly. Where I had predicted a pang of sad embarrassment, I was met with a shock of hot awareness. Nico wasn’t looking at me with pity or disgust. His gaze held mine hostage, and he was eye-twinkling like a champ.

I
’d been gaze-hijacked.

“
I—” I attempted to speak again.

Then he smirked, his lids lowering to half-mast. Twinkling, hot
-lava, sexy cake, sex-on-a-stick, obscene levels of charisma.

Freaking Nico.

I sighed. It was a weak-woman sigh. It was the sigh of a female helpless and ensnared by the hypnotic gaze of the guy she fantasizes about.

I’d never been so happy to hear the sound of Dr. Botstein’s voice
; it was a hard sharp slap to my cranium. “Dr. Finney, I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Moretti?”

“Hello Elizabeth.” Nico nodded his head once in my direction.

“Ni—I mean, Mr. Moretti. Good to see you.”

Nico smiled at me, caught his bottom li
p between his teeth. My breath hitched, stomach flipped at the simple action. His effortless and playful sexiness was mind muddlingly maddening.

“I think it’s ok
ay for you to call me Nico. Dr. Botstein is aware of our relationship.”

“Our—?”

“Yes, well, Mr. Moretti already explained the nature of everything.” Dr. Botstein returned his attention to Nico. At this point Meg crossed to stand next to me and nudged me with her elbow. I ignored her as Dr. Botstein continued. “We’re just pleased that you’ve decided to enroll your niece in our clinical trial.”

“You have?” I was surprised
.

M
ost of Nico’s nimble playfulness waned with a shift in the conversation to serious matters; his expression turned sober. “Yes. My mother and I called Dr. Botstein last week and talked through our questions.”

“You did?” I asked.

Meg nudged me again with her elbow. Again I ignored her.

“Yes, Dr. Finney
.” Dr. Botstein said, exhaling his impatience. “I saw no reason to discuss the matter with you as I wasn’t aware that you knew the family. And, besides, your research rotation
was
set to end tomorrow. Obviously, it will be extended.”

“It will?”
A troubling thought immediately arrested my attention; I was worried that the decision to enroll Angelica in the clinical trial had something to do with me. Or rather, more precisely, had something to do with Nico and me.

“Yes. Obviously
,” Dr. Botstein said.

Meg elbowed me again, this time with a great deal of force. I turned slightly to give her the stink eye but
, before I could, I found her glaring at me with unfettered displeasure.
She
was giving
me
the stink eye.

Hag.

Dr. Botstein continued. “And, obviously, everything will be done under my strict supervision. I have complete faith in Dr. Finney, of course, but as I explained last week, the infusion schedule is rigorous. Since you’ve opted out of an admission to the CRU, bringing little Angelica back to the hospital every eight hours for the next twenty-eight days requires a great deal of dedication.”

Nico nodded. “We understand.”

“Wait.” I pulled my attention from Meg’s continuing death stare. “I don’t understand, why is my research rotation being extended?”

“Because, Mr. Moretti and his mother requested that
you
treat the patient during the study period,” Meg finally spoke, her voice false and chipper, and she continued to glare at me. “But don’t worry. My research rotation will start as normal and the research nurses will conduct the other patient visits as usual. I just won’t be taking care of Angelica—seeing as you are such good friends with the family.”

I stared at her, my eyebrows meeting my hairline. “I’m going to do what?”

Dr. Botstein shifted, pulled his pager from where it had been clipped on his scrubs. “Excuse me.” He glanced at the screen and
tsked
. “It looks like I’ll need to get this. Thanks so much for coming in today. Dr. Finney will get Angelica started on the paperwork and screening tests, all very run of the mill. Please call me—day or night—with any questions. I’m here to help.”

“Thank you. We appreciate everything
,” Nico said as the two men shook hands.

With a curt head bob in my direction
that seemed to convey both annoyance and respect, Dr. Botstein turned and stalked away from us. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and barked orders to some faceless person on the other end.

My eyes locked again with Nico’s
, and I noticed that I was holding my breath, waiting for something. Silence stretched. Nothing happened. Well, nothing happened not counting the unwavering intensity of his gaze, my resulting increase in heart rate, and our lengthy staring contest. 

Someone cleared their throat
very loudly, and I turned toward the sound. The clinical research nurses were sitting behind the nurses’ station, pretending to do work but obviously eavesdropping on the entire conversation. They both peered at me with Cheshire grins. I glanced at my feet, attempted to gather my wits.

I sensed that Meg was about to nudge me again
with her sharp elbow so I sidestepped the movement and advanced on Nico. I felt an acute need to speak with him alone. Despite his and Dr. Botstein’s assurances, I wanted to make sure Rose and Nico had made a fully informed decision about Angelica’s treatment.

And, if I were being completely honest,
I also just wanted to be alone with him—preferably in some enclosed space where I could smell him.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” My eyes shifted
to the clinic room, where Rose and Angelica were visible through the open door; I gave the pair a small smile of greeting then returned my attention to Nico and added, “Privately?”

“
Sure.” He didn’t frown, but he didn’t smile either. However, his eyes dropped to my mouth and lingered there.

“Ok
ay—here.” I grabbed his hand. “Come with me.” I pulled Nico, not stopping to consider why I decided to hold his hand when a simple gesture to follow would have sufficed. It wasn’t because I desired contact with him, loved the shock of awareness that spread through me where we connected, craved it like a drug addict in need of a dopamine fix. . . nope. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I
led him to a vacant infusion room down the hall. I pushed him inside. I ignored the curious glances from Meg and the nurses as I shut the door.

Gathering a steadying breath
I turned to face him, prepared to interrogate Nico about his reasons for moving forward with the research study. Instead I found him just behind me, less than three feet away, and his proximity rendered me stupid.

I could smell him. He smelled quite good.
Therefore, when I met his gaze I could only manage to breathe out the word, “Hi.”

“Hi
,” He said. He was leaning against the wall with one shoulder, outwardly relaxed and wholly at ease.

Curses!

And he was looking at me funny.

Not angry or disappointed. Not worshipful either.

He looked interested. Like I was something new and curious. Like he was readying himself for something amusing as well as potentially important.

As usual, the
intensity of his focused attention made me feel unbearably self-conscious; my lashes fluttered under the weight of it. “What? What is it?”

Nico shrugged. The shrug did little to decrease the concentrated sharpness of his funny look;
“You tell me. You’re the one who wanted to talk privately.”

It might have been my imagination
, but the room felt abruptly smaller after the word
privately
passed his perfectly formed mouth.

“Oh. Yes. Well
.” I cleared my throat and tried to mirror his relaxed posture, resting my shoulder against the wall and crossing my arms. “There are actually a few things I’m hoping we can discuss, starting with your decision to enroll Angelica into the study.”

Mild
amusement abruptly transformed into somber concern; he frowned, tensed, his posture less relaxed. “Is there something we should know about the study? Is it dangerous? Do you think we made the wrong decision?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just want to make sure you’re making the decision for the right reasons. You shouldn’t feel pressured or swayed by any factor other than what you think is right for Angelica.”

He nodded solemnly; “Dr. Botstein didn’t try to sway us one way or the other. He just laid out the facts. We all talked about it this last weekend.”

“Who is
we all
?”

“Everyone. Well, everyone you saw on Saturday.
It was a family decision. We just want Angelica to get better. You saw how she was as the restaurant, sitting on Christine’s lap watching all the other cousins play. She’s not—” He glanced at the ceiling. “I just want things to be better for her.”

I studied him and my
chest hurt a little. He appeared every inch like a tortured parent, and his vulnerability was heart breaking. A need to protect him welled up within me. I didn’t like seeing him so upset, feeling helpless.

“Why are you here?”
I posed the question; it seemed unfair that he should be shouldering this burden for his family.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here instead of your sister Christine or your oldest brother Robert? How can you take so much time off from your show? From your life in New York?”