Can't Always Get What You Want (22 page)

“Okay then, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say hurriedly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Keith calls out after me.

Gathering saline and bandages from the supply room, I steel myself and head back to bed four, where Billy is examining the gash in his left arm.

“Ain’t that a beauty?” he marvels.

“Yeah. Super.”

Keith stands menacingly at Billy’s bedside, looking down at me through a greasy curtain of black hair.

He won’t move.

I clear my throat, hoping he’ll get the hint and get out of my way. His lips curl into a sneering smile. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Summoning my most confident posture and voice, I ask him to move out of the way.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, sugar.” He slithers away to the chair beside the bed, and winks at me.

Ugh. What a creep.

I manage to dress all of Billy’s wounds without further incident, and I finish charting with lightning speed.

“Do you mind if I leave a bit early?” I ask the charge nurse. “The guys over by bed four are starting to freak me out.”

She nods. “Sure thing, honey. I think that one,” she says, pointing at Billy’s chart, “will be here for a while. You wouldn’t believe the things the lab found in his blood.”

“Oh trust me, I’d believe it,” I mutter.

I grab my work bag and hightail it out of there.

As I walk away from the ER, I feel someone watching me. My feet can’t carry me away fast enough.

I take the west exit and sprint through the well-lit parking lot toward Starbucks. It’s one of the few that are open late, and is very popular with the night staff.

Since Brett agreed that I could repay his chauffeuring services with anything I wanted, I figured I’d buy him a coffee. He still hasn’t tried a drink from there, and I’d like to surprise him.

“Two grande decafs, please,” I order.

Thoroughly pleased with myself, I walk back toward the hospital, steaming-hot cups of coffee in hand. I stand under a well-lit area just beyond the main doors, and I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Frig, where is he?

Since I don’t want to go back inside and risk seeing anyone (especially Keith), I leave the pool of light and lean against the cool brick wall running along the front of the building.

A sense of unease is gradually growing inside of me, but I can’t quite figure out why. From the shadows to my left, a sinister, velvety voice speaks.

“Aww, what a sweetheart. You brought me a coffee.”

The cherry glow of a cigarette shines in the darkness. He takes a few steps toward me, and my nose is filled with an overpowering smell of pot.

Definitely not a cigarette, then.

My pulse quickens, and not in a good way. What are my options? Can I make a mad dash toward the doors? Nope. He’s standing between me and the main entrance.

Come on, Brett, come on. Where are you!?

Be calm. Be smart.

I strive to mask the fear in my voice.

“It’s not for you, it’s for my boyfriend. He’s picking me up any minute now.”

He takes another step toward me.

“Boyfriend? Yeah, right. Stop trying to make me jealous. I know the game you’re playing at.”

“I’m not playing at any games.”

“Oh, but you are. We’ve been playing cat and mouse all evening. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want it. Bad. And I’m going to give it to you.”

He takes another step toward me.

My blood turns to ice.

“STOP! Stay right where you are. We have security guards. I bet they’ll be here any minute.”

Yeah—speaking of which, where the hell are they?

“I don’t care. We can be quiet.”

I need to be out in the open. I start to run, but he’s too fast, and presses his body against me. My heart is pumping hard and fast, and I really,
really
regret not taking those self-defense classes last year.

What can I do to get out of this? I remember that I’m holding scalding-hot coffees in my hand.
Please let this work.

I splash the contents of each cup onto his face. Burning liquid streams down my arms and splashes onto my uniform. I feel him back away, but only a few millimeters.

“You little bitch!” he erupts. Grabbing my upper arms, he slams me against the wall. I can feel each of his fingers digging into my flesh.

As I start to scream, a hand covers my mouth. I try to knee him in the balls, but he blocks me. Has he done this before? He seems to anticipate what I’m going to do.

Oh Lord, please, please help me.

“Hey! What’s going on over there?” a familiar deep voice calls out through the still night.

It’s now my favorite voice in the whole world.

“Mind your own business!” Keith hisses.

I let out a muffled scream through Keith’s fingers.

“Soph?”

My throat makes a broken, pleading sob.

The next thing I know, Keith’s body has been wrenched from mine.

“Get your hands off me!” he yells at Brett.

Brett drags him away a small distance, and Keith manages to right himself on his two feet. He squares up, ready to punch Brett.

“You’d better make it count,” Brett warns.

Keith swings at him. Brett ducks and punches him in the face. A sickening crunch echoes across the empty parking lot. Blood starts pouring.

Keith doubles over, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You broke my fucking nose!” he screeches.

Just then, a security guard walks by.

“Where the hell have you been?” Brett explodes. “This asshole just attacked my girlfriend!”

Pushing the bottom half of his T-shirt into his nose, Keith sprints into the parking lot shadows, the security guard in hot pursuit.

My wet, coffee-stained uniform is clinging to my skin. I squeak out a tiny cry of relief.

Brett turns his head at the sound, and rushes toward me. He holds me tight and I dissolve into a puddle of tears.

“Shh…shh…it’s okay now,” he repeats over and over.

When I’m eventually calm, he asks me, “Why were you outside?”

“I was in the ER tonight, and that guy was there. He was really freaking me out, and I just wanted to get away from him. So, I left early and bought coffee.”

I nod at the empty cups near my feet.

“I wondered where those came from,” he whispers.

“It felt like I was waiting for a long time, so I decided to lean against this wall. And that’s when he came along, and…”

I can’t finish.

“It’s okay,” Brett soothes, stroking my hair. He tightens his arms around me. “You’re safe now.”

“Where were you?” I ask.

“I went up to your unit and waited for you. Someone eventually noticed me, and said they’d sent you somewhere else. So I decided to wait in my truck.”

He sucks a deep breath inward, through gritted teeth.

“I was on my way back to the truck when…”

I nod, willing my tears backward. They aren’t cooperating. The security guard returns, stumbling and gasping for breath.

“He’s a fast bugger. I called for backup, but we lost him.”

Still in Brett’s embrace, I can feel his muscles tense up.

“You.
Lost
. Him?”

“Sir, I’m so sorry. We tried our best.”

“I don’t care how sorry you are!” he spits out. “Have the police been notified?”

“Yes. If you’ll come this way, we’ll need to take a statement from both of you.”

I groan. “I just want to go home.”

Brett nods in understanding, and leads me back toward the main entrance.

—

An hour later, we’ve given our statements, and we’re allowed to go. Brett ushers me into his truck, gently lifting me into the cab.

“I won’t break,” I halfheartedly tease.

He draws his mouth into a thin line and starts the truck up. I sag into the seat, relieved that that’s all over with.

“I feel so stupid,” I choke out.

“What for?”

“For being in the wrong place at the wrong time. For not calling you or texting you first. I could have done things so differently.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Brett grips the steering wheel so tightly that I can see his knuckles turn white.

“I should’ve beat the piss out of him.”

We sit in silence for a moment, our memories raw and open.

“Listen, can we not talk about it anymore? At least not tonight? I just need to get my mind off of it,” I plead.

“Of course.”

We continue the drive home snuggled up against each other.

And he passes my house.

“Where are you going?”

“My place.”

“B-but,” I sputter, “I don’t have anything there.”

“What do you need?”

“Well, pajamas, for a start. I can’t sleep in my scrubs.”

He chuckles. “Who said anything about pajamas?”

Cathartic laughter bubbles out of my throat.

“Don’t worry, I can lend you a shirt,” he says. “Anything else?”

“Where’ll I sleep? Since we’re going with your no-sex rule.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he replies dryly. “I’ll be thinking about you all night anyway. I need to know that you’re safe. And the safest place for you right now is with me.”

I can’t disagree with him there.

“Okay.”

I can hear a smile in my voice. Our very first sleepover! This should be interesting.

“Are you going to at least have underwear on?”

I can feel his face, pressed against my hair, erupt into a massive grin.

“I’m not making any promises.”

Chapter 18

Let’s Spend the Night Together

Where am I?

I’m lying in a strange bed, in a strange room. The mattress shifts underneath me; faint snoring echoes around the room.

It’s Brett.

What a relief! I mean,
of course
it’s Brett. It’s not like I’ve ever made of habit of waking up in strange people’s bedrooms. The curtains above his bed are partially drawn, and a sliver of light streams onto his face.

His sleeping face is adorable. Long lashes fan across his closed eyelids, and his lips are slightly parted. Stubble lines his jaw and cheekbones. He breathes out, and smiles in his sleep. I can’t help but smile back. How did I ever find such a lovely man?

And, perhaps more important, how did I end up in his bed? Did we sleep together last night? How does that work, given our “not-doing-it” arrangement?

But perhaps the worst question of all is: what if we slept together, and I can’t even remember it?

There are only three possible scenarios:

1)  I got rip-roaring drunk and my memories are fuzzy.

2)  The sex was so mediocre that it wasn’t even worth remembering.

3)  The sex was so bad that my mind catalogued it as a traumatic event, and locked it away as a repressed memory.

None of those options are good.

I cautiously shift to the edge of the bed, careful not to wake Brett, and slip outside the bedroom.

What am I wearing?

I’m in nothing but an oversized white T-shirt and a pair of pink boy short briefs.

No!

The shirt isn’t so bad, but why, WHY did I have to have on this exact pair of underwear today? Well, technically, yesterday, as I presumably didn’t go home last night.

They were lovely underwear when I bought them. Now I call them my uglies.

The fabric is pilling, there are a few holes around the seams, and the bright pink color has faded to a blah shade of gray. I should toss them in the garbage, but they’re so comfortable that I can’t throw them away.

And he saw me in them.

EWWW!

What do I do?

Okay, Sophie, calm down. He obviously saw you in your uglies and didn’t run for the hills. I’m sure it’s not a deal breaker.

No! But the first time your boyfriend sees you in your skivvies, you should at least be wearing something cute, sexy, and colorful. Not something that looks like you’ve worn it every other day for the last two years.

Hey, trust me. Every girl has a favorite pair of ugly underwear. Go on. Ask, if you don’t believe me.

Well, I suppose I just have to wear them. It’s not like I have many options. Going commando is tempting, but probably not a good idea, given our celibacy agreement. That, and my pubes still look a bit wonky from the waxing mishap a month ago.

Admitting defeat, I pad silently down the spiral staircase and head toward the kitchen. I’m in desperate need of coffee. Searching through his kitchen, I quickly locate the coffeemaker, but…where are the coffee grounds?

I go through the cupboards next, and find everything but coffee. Glancing around the kitchen, searching for clues as to where to look next, I spot an empty wine bottle in the sink. My head is starting to pound.

Well, that must explain the fuzzy memories.

I remember driving here last night, and having a couple glasses of wine. Which, by the looks of it, turned into four or five.

I do remember kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.

And seeing what Brett looked like in just his underwear.

Hello, Mr. Muscles.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he caved last night. I was topless under my T-shirt. And, he’s been celibate for two years. I bet he’s horny as hell.

Entering the pantry, I stand on tiptoe, pushing objects aside.

The pantry door creaks behind me. I’m still a bit freaked out from what happened last night at work, and don’t like the idea of being snuck up on. I spin around in a clumsy pirouette.

Brett is leaning against the pantry door frame, arms crossed over his naked chest. His hair is a disheveled mess, and his boxers sit low on his hips.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, smirking. “I was rather enjoying the show.”

I’m suddenly reminded of my gross underwear, and blush furiously.

“Good morning,” I say.

“What were you looking for?”

“Coffee.”

“Ah. Come this way.” He leads me by the hand out of the pantry, and stops in front of the fridge.

“Shame we had to waste that moment,” he says wistfully.

“What moment?”

“In the pantry. You’re looking delicious this morning, Ms. Richards.”