Sweet Nothing Page 3

  From day to day, I saw some horrible things: families ripped apart, lives cut short. If you didn’t learn how to cope with it, you wouldn’t last long in my line of work. My way of dealing with loss and suffering was to block it out and pretend it didn’t bother me. After a while, it didn’t. My heart had hardened enough that I could lie to myself and say I didn’t care—and it was almost believable. Almost.

  I unrolled the sack and pulled out the JayWok box, letting my vision go unfocused. The people on the television blended into colored blobs as their voices began to fade into the background.

  I swallowed a large bite of my food, thinking of Avery and her crooked smirk. She was the complete opposite of my type, meaning there wasn’t a hint of glitter on her face and her clothes wouldn’t need to be soaked in baby oil to be peeled off her body.

  Dax pawed at my arm as I shoveled in another bite.

  “You had yours,” I said, pushing from the couch and making my way to the kitchen.

  Hard as it was to admit, I couldn’t take bumps and bruises like I could as a kid when I rode dirt bikes. I felt every scrape and muscle strain from the fender bender. Pulling open the fridge, I grabbed the half jug of milk and twisted off the top to chug the contents.

  Mid-sip, I turned around to see the rest of my food being devoured by the dog.

  “Damn it, Dax,” I barked, twisting the cap back on the jug and putting it back into the fridge.

  The time on the stove clock made my jaw clench. “I don’t have time to pick anything else up, shithead.”

  He whimpered with guilt as I approached him, but I wasn’t the type to raise my hand to an animal. I ran my palm over his wiry hair before pulling my T-shirt over my head and dropping it on the floor.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute,” I called out over my shoulder. I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the cold water, hoping a shower would wake me up for another long shift.

  I kicked off my sneakers before sliding my basketball shorts and boxer briefs down my legs. I could hear my cell phone going off from the kitchen counter, the faint sound of Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers crooning a private concert.

  I slipped behind the glass door, cursing under my breath as the icy droplets of water hit my back. “Shit.” I spun the knob, groaning as warm wetness slid over my achy shoulders. I lathered up the weird poofy sponge thing Talia, a waitress from Buckin’ Bulls, had left for me.

  That gesture alone was enough to keep me from calling her back. Regardless of how flexible she was, clingy was not my thing.

  I dumped a blue glob of liquid soap onto the mesh mass and rubbed it over my tense stomach muscles while singing It’s Good to Be King. I hurried through my before-work routine and was out of my apartment only fifteen minutes later, hungry but reenergized.

  The sun was blinding on my walk to work now that the sky had cleared, and the warmth was almost sickening. Pulling my cell from my pocket, I clicked on the voicemail icon and listened as Sloppy Joe yelled loudly into the receiver.

  “You screenin’ your calls now, J? Look, man. I know you’re out there starting your new life in the big city and all, but you can’t just forget about everyone you left behind. Call me, man.” The line went dead and my finger hovered over the number nine before I clicked it, erasing the message.

  I hurried my pace as I shoved the phone back into my pocket, promising myself I’d call Joe later, even though I knew it was a lie.

  The past needed to stay just that: the past. I wasn’t ready to deal with home. Not yet, anyway.

  “Hey, man. You look like shit,” Quinn called out. He pulled open the ambulance door and tossed a small black bag inside.

  “Your mom didn’t think so,” I shot back, rolling my head from shoulder to shoulder to ease the tension in my neck.

  “That’s fucked up, man.”

  “What’s fucked up is that thing she did with a beer bottle.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I’m telling her not to cook for you anymore. You’re a twisted asshole.” He held out a can of soda for me and I took it with a grateful nod.

  “Twisted asshole. I think that’s what she called that other move.” He shot me a warning glare and I shrugged. “It’s part of my charm.”

  By the time my shift had ended, my eyes felt burned open. The night had been relatively calm compared to most, but that didn’t mean it was easy. I’d dealt with a choking victim and a lost child before things kicked up a notch and we helped a man who had suffered a tragic table-saw incident. Usually, flirting with the nurses in the ER made the night bearable, but I was far too exhausted to mutter any one-liners as we flew in and out of the hospital.

  I hurried home and took Dax out for a walk before crashing from exhaustion.

  My self-induced coma only lasted a few hours before my phone began to ring. I answered it while rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  “This better be important,” I groaned, rolling onto my back.

  “Twins.”

  I sat up, blinking open my eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about, Quinn?”

  “Fucking twins, Josh. Blondes with some tig ole bitties. Get down to Corner Hole, bro. They told me to call a friend.”

  I glanced at the bright red numbers on the alarm clock beside my bed before stifling a yawn.

  “You owe me a beer,” I grumbled.

  “You help me seal the deal with these chicks, I’ll give you my firstborn.”

  “I’ll just take the beer.” I clicked to end the call before tossing the phone next to me on the bed. “This better be worth the time,” I mumbled to myself. I slipped out of bed and padded my way down the narrow hall to the bathroom. Even splashing ice-cold water on my face did little to snap me from exhaustion.

  I dressed quickly, not bothering to double-check how I looked before heading out into the cool night air.

  Corner Hole bar was located almost exactly halfway between my building and St. Ann’s. Because of the location it was the bar of choice for hospital staff, making that horrible little dive perfect for fraternizing.

  Being a weeknight, the place was practically empty, but a few familiar faces popped into view, one of which made me smile. Avery looked shocked when her gaze settled on mine, but she quickly worked her way through the crowd toward me.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she said as my chest puffed out from the surprise greeting.

  “It’s good to see you too.”

  “I need you.” Her thin, long fingers circled around my wrist as she pulled me toward the bar. I zeroed in on the door to the backroom. It would be the perfect place for us to fool around.

  “Whoa, Avery. I’m into you too, but I didn’t think you were that kind of girl,” I joked.

  She didn’t find it funny, instead glancing back over her shoulder to glower at me. “No, pervert. There is this guy over here who won’t leave me alone. I figured you could help a girl out?” She cocked her eyebrow and waited for my response.

  “Lead the way. I’ll teach the asshole a lesson.”

  Avery pulled me toward the bar. Her friend was waving at her with a forced smile plastered on her face, and standing next to her was a very sloppy-drunk Quinn.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled, stopping in front of him. Two very pissed off women were waiting for me to do something.

  “I believe you know Quinn, the asshole.” Avery swooped her hand out in his direction dramatically, fighting against a smirk.

  Clearing my throat, I struggled to appear serious. “What’s going on, man?”

  “Fucking twins,” he said too loudly as he pointed to the women. I stifled a laugh as I noted the distinct differences between Avery and her friend. Quinn had to be wasted to think they were in any way related. The friend had dark hair that hung just past her shoulders and huge tits. Her curves were a contrast to her sharp features, and to Avery’s blonde hair and athletic build.

  I patted his shoulder. “I don’t think they’re twins, buddy.”

  “No, no, no.
Listen,” he slurred as he put his arm around the brunette’s shoulder and pointed his finger in her face. “This one is Bed. How great is that?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  She smacked him hard across the chest. “My name is Deb, you asshole.”

  Quinn nearly fell over before rubbing his chest as if he’d been violently attacked.

  “You think that’s bad? This is the nice one. That one—” he extended his arm toward Avery “—is into slavery.”

  “Avery,” I corrected. “Her name is Avery, and we know her from work, remember?” I couldn’t contain my laugh at his serious expression.

  “She doesn’t like me. Can you believe that?”

  “I can.” I grabbed Quinn’s arm and looped it over my shoulders, pulling him from Deb’s side. “Come on, buddy. I think it’s time we go home.”

  “But I want to hang out with the twins.”

  “I think they’ve had about enough of you.” I winked at Avery, and she smiled, appreciative.

  “But I owe you a beer,” Quinn whined.

  “Yeah, you do. But I think we should go back to my place. You can sleep on the floor where Dax pissed this afternoon.” I helped Quinn through the front door of the bar and let him lean against the brick veneer exterior as he drank in the fresh air.

  “It’s so hot out here.” He tugged at the collar of his blue polo shirt, stretching the fabric. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “You have it coming.” I turned around at the sound of the door creaking behind me.

  “Make sure you keep him hydrated and maybe feed him a banana or something,” Avery said.

  “Yeah, ahh … thanks for being so cool about him.” I shoved my hands deep into my jean pockets. “He’s not normally like this.” I glanced over my shoulder at Quinn, who was doubled over and dry heaving loudly, his shirt lying on the ground at his side.

  “I sure hope not. His mother would be very disappointed.”

  “He told you about his mother?”

  “He all but bribed us with her homemade pie to sleep with him.” She covered her mouth as she struggled to contain her laugh. “It was an interesting strategy.”

  “I’ll let him know you were impressed with his pickup lines tomorrow. Better yet, I’ll let his mom know.” I winked and she focused on the space between us.

  Conversation stalled as I tried to think of something to say to her over the sound of Quinn emptying his stomach. I wanted to ask her out, desperate to stick around and spend more time with her, but there wasn’t a line in the world that would work in this situation.

  “I should get him home.” Rubbing my hand over the back of my neck, I decided then that I was going to make tomorrow a living hell for Quinn.

  “Thanks again.” Avery pulled open the bar door and slipped inside to join her friend.

  “Come on.” I helped Quinn stand upright, tossing his shirt over my shoulder and guiding him down the darkened street to my apartment.

  It was going to be a long night.

  “So let me get this straight,” Deb said, standing by her locker in just a scrub top and striped, neon-colored socks. “He pulls you out of a burning car—”

  “It wasn’t burning,” I deadpanned.

  “—and calls his ambulance buddies to bring you to safety, probably cradling your head in his beautiful, buff arm while sniffing your granny panties.”

  I shook my head, revolted. “At what point in this story did my panties come off?”

  She stared at me with a blank expression. “This is Paramedic McPanties we’re talking about, right? He probably took them off to fashion a tourniquet like a sexy MacGyver.”

  I exhaled. “McPanties is an awful, horrible nickname.”

  “You laughed the first time I said it. Now you’re defensive. This is bad.” She dropped her shit-soaked sneaker into a plastic bag and tied the top, tossing it into her locker with a thud.

  “You’re going to just throw that away, right?” I asked, rubbing the beginning of a headache from my left temple.

  “Throw my shoes away?” she asked, appalled at my suggestion.

  She spun around, stepping into the tiny bathroom across from the lockers, and scrubbed her hands until they looked raw. After ripping a paper towel from the dispenser, Deb turned off the faucet and then took a few towels to dry her hands before throwing away the wet paper. She reached back to tie her dark hair into a tiny ponytail at the nape of her neck. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought.”

  I smiled, watching Deb step into a fresh pair of scrubs and then slide into her Crocs. “At least keep it in the bag until you know if your patient tests positive for—”

  “Bleach kills everything,” she said. “Anyway, if I get C. diff, I might lose that last fifty pounds I’ve been trying to get off since the eighties.”

  “You were born in the eighties.”

  “My mother had gestational diabetes. I was husky.” She closed her locker, snapping the combination lock and twisting the dial.

  “Better twist it again,” I said. “Don’t want anyone taking your shit shoe.”

  “I don’t want those skinny bitches from radiology stealing my pudding.”

  Andrea from X-ray glanced over her shoulder at us.

  “That’s right,” Deb said with wide eyes. She pointed at her. “I see you staring at my chocolate vanilla Super Snack Pack.”

  Andrea pushed through the door, suddenly in a hurry.

  “Jesus, Deb. You’re going to get written up again.”

  “My shit shoe could end up under your pillow tonight. I have a key to your apartment. Hey,” she said, pointing at my head. “You’ve been doing that a lot today. What’s up with that?”

  I dropped my fingers from my temple. “Just getting a headache. It’s nothing. I’ll take something when I get home. C’mon, we’re clocked out. I already feel bad that you came in on your night off. Let’s get the hell out of here before a code comes in.”

  She followed me out of the women’s locker room and into the hall. I waved to the night shift, pausing when Dr. Rosenberg gestured for me to wait.

  “A … he’s going to ask you to marry him,” Deb whispered as he approached.

  “Shut up,” I said through my teeth.

  “B … he’s going to say that he likes your tits in that scrub top all romantic-like and shit.”

  “I will punch you in the vagina,” I hissed just as the doctor came closer.

  “On your way out, ladies?” Dr. Rosenberg asked.

  “C …” Deb began.

  “See?” Dr. Rosenberg repeated, blinking his fantastically long eyelashes. His eyebrows pulled in, forming twin lines between them.

  “C. diff,” I blurted out. “She was wondering if that last patient has tested positive for C. diff.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t need the results to know it’s negative. It has that unique smell and—”

  “Weird pillow talk,” Deb muttered.

  “Pardon?” Dr. Rosenberg asked.

  I said the first thing I could think of. “She said we’re going to walk. To her car. She’s giving me a ride home. Did you need something before we leave, Doctor?”

  “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have a vehicle. I hope you have insurance.”

  Deb opened her mouth again, but I elbowed her hard in the ribs.

  She yelped and rubbed her side, frowning at me.

  Dr. Rosenberg watched our exchange with curiosity, but he continued, “My commute took twice as long because of the construction on I-95 North. If you’re going that way, you might want to find an alternate route.”

  Deb chuckled. “You live in Alapocas, right, Doc?”

  He smiled warmly. “I do, Hamata.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize that was common knowledge.”

  “Yeah … we’re RNs,” she said. “We drive up I-76 West to our shithole apartments, but the traffic is clear, so there’s that.”

  “Well,” Dr. Rosenberg said, amused. “Enjoy your night, then.
Good night, Avery.”

  I nodded. “Good night, Doctor.” I turned on my heels, stiffening when Deb hooked her arm around mine. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you …” I chanted all the way down the hall.

  “He is going to be thinking about you while bathing in his champagne-filled bathtub tonight, so you can’t be too mad at me,” she said, chuckling.

  “No, he’s not. He’s going to be thinking husband things because he’s married, and you’re an asshole for plotting things like that.”

  “I’m not plotting. I’m pulling the strings of your life like a puppeteer because it amuses me.”

  “Your honesty is my favorite thing about you, but it also makes me want to squeeze your throat between my hands until your eyes bulge. Just a little. Not a lot.”

  She tightened her grip on my arm. “Aw. I love our little talks.”

  A blue blur rushed around the corner, nearly knocking me to the floor. Hot liquid instantly soaked my scrubs and splashed up my neck and down my arms. I held my hands out to my side, in shock.

  “Oh, Christ,” Josh said, holding his nearly empty Styrofoam cup of coffee. “I’ll go find some cold water. Did it burn you?”

  “Yes, the boiling-hot coffee is burning my flesh, Captain Obvious,” I said, feeling the dark liquid drip from my jaw.

  Raising his chin, he sniffed the air before his face twisted in revulsion. “What’s that smell?”

  “Be right back,” Deb said, rushing down the hall and through an unmarked door. I shook my head, trying not to laugh at the thought of her shit shoe.

  Josh barely glanced down at the stain on his own shirt and cargo pants before looking around, desperate to find something to wipe his coffee off my scrubs. The heat was already subsiding—hospital coffee was rarely hot enough to scald. He resorted to using his hands, clumsily brushing his fingers over my stomach, arms, and breasts. It was more awkward than getting felt up by Bobby Lawson in the tenth grade.

  I tried to turn in an attempt to deflect the impromptu pat-down. “It’s okay, really, I—”

  “This coffee was meant for you … Not exactly like this, though,” Josh said, ignoring my efforts to stop him. He used his thumb to gently brush my wet chin as he looked down into my eyes. He sighed, frustrated.