Only Trick (5 page)

F
our hours of
sleep—
not
enough. However, as I drag my emotionally drained ass to work, lack of sleep is not my biggest concern. My clutch bag with my wallet and phone, aka my life, trumps everything else. I left it at Trick’s place.
Note to self: Never burn bridges if your purse is on the other side.

I still can’t make sense of what happened. Everything seemed fine until I asked for a drink—one drink. It was as if I asked him for a kidney transplant. I blinked and he went from agreeing to give me a ride home to accusing me of trying to what? Buy him? Control him? Own him? All over
one
drink?
He’s
the asshole that ripped my dress and tried to kill me with his reckless driving!
Welcome back, rational thinking.

“Good morning, sunshine. Long night?” Jade hands me a Green Lantern, my favorite raw green drink from Peel that I stockpile in the break room refrigerator. She’s the closest thing to a best friend that I have, and that’s pathetic considering we never see each other outside of work. But she knows I let my Green Lantern sit out thirty minutes so it’s not so cold when I drink it, and she’s kind enough to not act all exasperated about it like
some
people.

“Thanks. Mmm … perfect.” I lick my lips. “And yes, it was a long night. Steven got called into work and my evening went to hell in a handbag after that.”
And now I’m in hell because I in fact don’t have my handbag!
That reminds me,
Steven
! He’s probably blown up my phone with messages wondering where I was when he got home.

“What happened?”

“Cardiac arrest ten minutes out,” Ellen announces.

“Long story, I’ll tell you later. I need to make a quick call and get dressed.” I change into my scrubs and call Gemmie.

“Hel—lo?”

“Gemmie, it’s Darby. I’m sorry for waking you, but I need a favor.”

“Shit balls, Darby! It’s six-forty-five on a Sunday!”

“I know, hence the apology. I need you to get my purse from Trick. I need my phone back ASAP.”

“They’re not open on Sunday.” I can hear the growly yawn in her voice.

“It’s at his place. He lives—”

“I know where he lives. Wait … how do you?”

“Long story.” That seems to be the answer of the day. “Please … I
need
my phone. I’ll owe you big time.”

“The
long story
, that’s all I want. Soon!”

“Deal. Gotta go. Thank you. I love you. You’re the best!”

*

The next four
hours fill with a steady flow of weekend crazies. A looming cloud of exhaustion chases me so I just keep going.

“Room two, possible fracture.” Jade hands me the chart.

“X-ray?”

“Not yet.”

“Get one. What’s next?”

“Five-year-old stuck a bean up his nose, room four.”

I roll my eyes. “Lovely.”

“Darb.” Steven catches me on my way to bean nose.

“Oh, Steven, about last night—”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, babe. I was in surgery longer than I expected. I’m just now leaving.”

“Oh, well … I went…”
Yeah, he doesn’t need to know.
“…I mean, no problem. I’ll call you later.”

I glance up, searching for a nod of acknowledgement or something, but his gaze fixes over my shoulder. I turn to
Trick
planted behind me as if he just appeared rather than arrived. A glacier, he gives away nothing with his indifferent almost steely expression while holding my clutch in his hand. An icy chill sloths up my spine.

“Is that your purse?”

I look back at Steven. “Yes. Long story, I’ll call you later.” There it is again—my
long story
.

Snatching my clutch, I brush past ice man without a word.

“You’re welcome.”

I whip around with vinegar in my veins. “Tell Gemmie thank you.”

He holds up his hand. “While I’m here, how about you take these stitches out?”

I fish my phone out of my clutch and hand my purse to wide-eyed Jade behind the counter. “It’s been seven days, I said eight to ten.”

“Suit yourself, I’ll rip them out on my own.”

I look at Jade with a desperate plea in my eyes, a silent SOS.

“Room two went to X-ray.” She smiles, throwing me in the lion’s den and swallowing the key.

I squint my eyes in a piercing scowl. “Jade, after you get the X-ray in room two, Mr. Douglas, curtain six, soiled himself and needs your assistance.” My scowl morphs into vengeful smirk as I turn on my heel. “Follow me,
Patrick
.”

He hops up on the table while I wash my hands. I grab several paper towels, taking a long breath and releasing it slowly. I hate feeling angry. Some people would say I act like a doormat, but if I were to react like I did last night every time a man pissed me off, I’d already be dead of a heart attack or stroke. Certain personalities crave that reaction; they love crawling under other people’s skin like a chronic disease. If that’s Trick, then I gave him exactly what he was looking for last night.

My focus stays on his hand, yet just his proximity does unwelcome things to my body that hasn’t got the I-despise-this-jerk message. Thank God my hands are immune to the rest of my jittery emotions as I remove his sutures.

“I’m really not an asshole.”

I release a cynical laugh. “Um … yes, you really are.”

“I may have misjudged you.”

“
May
? That’s an understatement. But it doesn’t matter…” I remove the last stitch and glance at him “…after today you won’t have to see this
controlling rich-bitch whore
again.”

He grimaces like I ripped his wound back open. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was a knee-jerk reaction.”

I pull off my gloves and toss them in the garbage. “No, you shouldn’t have thought it in the first place.” I wash my hands. “Whatever, I don’t need another critic, and you made it perfectly clear that you don’t want or need anything from me so…” I hold open the door “…have a nice life.” Fake smiling. Teeth grinding. Breath holding.

He bites his lips together, dropping his chin into a thoughtful nod as he scoots off the table.

I stare at my feet like they’re the most deserving thing in the room of my attention as he walks toward me. There’s a tightness in my chest and a sinking feeling in my stomach from a toxic mix of anger, pain, and disappointment. Then there’s my irrational side that’s been gagged and thrown in the proverbial closet, all hot and bothered.

“What time are you done working?”

I raise my head, a what-did-you-say frown stealing my face. “Three. Why?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven. Dinner’s on me.” He gives me his signature smirk, that small lip twitch that deceives his best efforts to act unaffected around me.

“Why would I want to go to dinner with you?”

“Because even if you won’t admit it, something inside you needs to know that I’m not the
asshole
that drove you home last night.”

I’m not sure what irritates me more, that he acts like he knows me or that he’s right. I squint, but he’s unreadable. It’s insane that I’m even considering his offer, a likely round two of throwing my bruised ego into the ring.

I sigh. “I’ll be starving by five and you’re still an asshole.”

He purses his lips to the side. “Grab a snack, I’ll get you at six, and … you’re wrong.” He doesn’t give me a chance for rebuttal before he’s out the door.

I need a what-the-hell-just happened moment, but I don’t have that luxury because there’s a bean up some kid’s nose just calling my name.

*

I manage to
slip out of the hospital before Jade has a chance to play twenty questions. Part of me is dying to talk about this situation I’ve fallen into, but that would require an explanation of my fascination with a gay man whom I’ve just recently met. That’s an answer I don’t have yet.

Steven is another “answer” I don’t have. I’m sure “pleased” would not be the word to describe how he’d feel about me going to dinner with Trick, but can a straight guy really be jealous of a gay guy?

I finger through my long red waves that have been pulled back into a ponytail all day. Trick has seen my naked face so there’s no need to fuss over makeup. I’m sure I’d do it all wrong in his eyes anyway. Faded skinny jeans, black boots, and a white off-the-shoulder top say casual …
friendly.

“Seriously?” I mumble to myself, seeing him pull up on his motorcycle. This is Chicago; he has to have something other than a motorcycle.

As I open the door, he pulls off his helmet and gets off his motorcycle. I squeeze my legs together and second guess dinner being such a great idea. How stupid am I to torture myself like this?

Fuck. Me. Now!

There it is and … Oh. My. God! It’s even better than I imagined. I’m drowning in my own saliva as I attempt to keep myself from drooling—dark chaotic hair, intense eyes, the always present thick, dark stubble, and now a million—actually gazillion—dollar smile with teeth.
He has teeth! Pretty. White. Teeth.

“I’ll drive.” I motion back toward my door.

He shakes his head and crooks a finger at me. Trick is grand master of the sexy come-hither look. How do gay guys do it better than straight guys?

“Are you going to try to kill me again?”

“Again?” He cants his head to the side.

I slip my purse strap over my head as he shrugs off his black jacket and puts it on me. “Yes,
again
. And don’t be coy; you’re not that good at it.”

He repeats the hair twist from last night and slips his helmet on my head.

“If we took my car we’d both be safe.”

He hops on. “What fun would that be?”

The moment I get my leg over, he palms my ass,
again
, and scoots me forward. Trick is dangerous in every way imaginable. Yet, I ignore all reason and just hold on. As crazy as it may sound, I’d rather be holding Trick with layers of clothing between us knowing it will never be more, than naked in bed with Steven and a future of possibilities.

This is so messed up!

*

Trick takes the
helmet and jacket then leads me into the restaurant with long strides that leave me jogging to catch up.
What’s the big hurry?