Sweet Nothing Page 4

  “W-what? I … um.” I swallowed. “I guess this is my fault?” I asked, still trying to sound tough while completely captivated. Dr. Rosenberg had an effect on me, but he’d never looked at me the way Josh was at that moment. It was a combination of awe, anticipation, and regret. Being that close to him, it became very clear why all the nurses melted in his presence.

  He took a step back. “The coffee.” He held up the cup. “I saw you when I came in earlier, so I thought I’d bring you some. I wasn’t sure how long your shift was, so …”

  One side of my mouth turned up. “That was very un-McPanties of you, Josh.”

  His nose wrinkled, and his head turned to the side a bit like a confused puppy. “Huh?”

  “Um … thoughtful. I meant it was very thoughtful.” I took the almost empty cup from his hand. The cooled drops of coffee on the outside of the Styrofoam dampened my palm, matching the rest of me. “I’m off work, actually.”

  “Here!” Deb said, pressing a cold towel on my neck. “I brought wet and dry towels from housekeeping and Dermoplast spray. Did he burn you?”

  I shook my head, still smiling at Josh. “Not yet.”

  He teetered after letting me shoulder past him. I glanced back to see him smirking at the floor. This was a fun game I was sure he had played many times, but not with me.

  I pulled Deb along, and although she was confused, she followed.

  She looked back to Josh, and then at me. She frowned, repulsed. “Ew, Avery, really? You were just all nervous and goo-goo-eyed at Doc Rose.”

  “I’m more single than Rosey,” Josh called. “And I’m probably more in other areas, too.”

  I cackled, far too loudly. It wasn’t that funny. He had the humor of a twelve-year-old, but I was in full flirt mode. I’d seen Josh Avery around the ER before, but back then he was just McPanties. Now, he was The Guy Who Pulled Me from the Wreckage. That had meaning. We now had a unique connection. I wanted him to save me again. I just wasn’t sure from what. My thirteen-month dry spell, maybe?

  “I am!” he yelled. “And I’m still holding you to an evening of whiskey and lists of things we hate!”

  I turned, pushing my ass against the exit. “No coffee?”

  Josh held out his hands. “I can bring coffee, sunshine. I’ll bring whatever you want.”

  “Give up, Josh,” I said. “I’m not your type.”

  “Exactly,” he said, standing tall, wholly satisfied with himself. Quite the turnaround from the upset, fidgeting doof from a few minutes before. His sudden resurfaced confidence had caused mine to waver.

  I paused and then pushed my way out into the humid summer night air. My scrubs were soaked, and even though it was at least ninety-five degrees outside, goose bumps formed on my skin. I pulled my hair into a messy bun and waited while Deb searched her huge purse for her keys.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” I said, waiting next to the passenger door of her red Kia Rio. It was only a year old but had already suffered a love pat from the back. The rear fender was hanging down a bit on one side, and the corner was still bruised where it had traded paint with the white Buick that hadn’t stopped in time.

  “Are you ever going to get that fixed?” I asked.

  Deb looked up at me, her almond eyes lifting with her eyebrows. “Do you want to talk about what your Prius looks like right now?”

  “Touché. Carry on,” I said, glancing around the parking lot.” I heard a jingle, and then the doors unlocked in unison.

  We sat together in the tiny confines of her compact car. Deb shoved the key into the ignition, but paused before turning on the engine.

  “I haven’t told you, but I’m glad you’re okay. You scared me to death.”

  I smiled, touched by her uncharacteristically tender moment.

  “I mean, who would cover my shifts?” she asked. My smile vanished. “Who would fetch me ice cream when I’m sick? Who would make fun of Michaels with me?”

  “You’re a bag full of dicks,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I’m going to buy you a six-pack of beer to celebrate your return from the dead and your new found infatuation with McPanties.”

  “Please stop calling him that,” I said.

  “Where does this leave the doc?”

  “What is with everyone? I realize my crush on him wasn’t as secret as I thought, but …” I sighed. “Yes, I like him. But I don’t want him.” My eyes bulged at the word want. It was embarrassing to think anyone would believe I would act on my silly infatuation. “It’s just a safe, harmless crush. Exactly the kind I’m comfortable with.”

  “Until McPanties came along and cradled you in his arms, fighting Death himself until the cavalry arrived with full lights and sirens.”

  “You’ve got to stop calling him that.”

  Her theatrics faded as she backed out of her parking spot and headed toward the road. “Yeah … but I won’t.”

  The night shift during a full moon had irritated my achy muscles more than I’d admit, but instead of going home to rest, I found myself walking into St. Ann’s ER. Even if every step was agony, it was worth the pain to see Avery. She didn’t seem to be suffering at all. In fact, our collision was a turning point neither of us had seen coming.

  Once the ambulance bay doors swept open, I saw Avery right away. She was scribbling quickly with her left hand in a chart. She glanced at the cheap watch on her small wrist and then jotted down a few more lines. Her hair was pulled back into a single braid cascading down the back of her turquoise scrubs, moving to the side when she turned to see who was approaching.

  “I thought that was you,” she said, shoving the chart into a cubbyhole.

  “It was the boots, right?” I asked.

  She looked down, chuckling.

  I scanned her face, noting the braid had fallen over her right shoulder, and the way her mascara lightly clumped around her lashes. It was morning, her makeup was still fresh, and her scrubs hadn’t met with anyone’s bodily fluids, yet. Either way, she was stunning.

  The accident had given us something that only we held in common, but appreciating that felt wrong. Avery had almost been killed.

  “Avery,” I said.

  She looked up, and I saw something in her smile I hadn’t seen before. She wasn’t only happy to see me—she’d been looking forward to it.

  “Have lunch with me,” I blurted out.

  After a half-second of surprise, Avery scanned my face, looking for something. She didn’t trust me, and who could blame her?

  She twisted her wrist to look at her watch, and then pushed away from the counter in front of her. “Nope.”

  “Nope?”

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the waiting room and then leaned in, looking straight at me—no running her fingers nervously through her hair, no shifting her weigh from one leg to the other, no looking up at me from under her lashes. She wasn’t intimidated by anything, and I had to know why.

  “It’s Jacobs.”

  I grinned. “So, does that mean you’re going to call me Avery? Because that’s just weird.”

  She blinked and then stumbled over her next words. “Fine. First names. But I’m still not going out with you. At least, not for lunch.”

  “Not for lunch … then dinner?”

  Someone called her last name, and then Avery went into action. “If you’ll excuse me …” Avery slid by, leaving me standing alone at the nurses’ station.

  “Ouch,” Ashton said, resting her full cheek on the heel of her hand.

  Carissa Ashton was a charge nurse in the ER, and one of my easier conquests when I had first moved to Philadelphia. Ashton couldn’t let our one evening together go, and she seemed to be fully enjoying the sight of me getting shot down by Jacobs.

  My nostrils flared, and I gritted my teeth to keep my mouth shut.

  “Doesn’t look like you’re taking that one home tonight. Did you say you were heading to lunch? What about brunch? I get off in fifteen minutes.”

  “I
can’t, Ashton. Go f—have a pleasant rest of the day.”

  She frowned but said nothing else as I made my way back out to the parking lot.

  I drove home half confused, half pissed. I’d never had to work this hard for any girl, and it was even more maddening because I could tell Avery wasn’t totally opposed. She was waiting for something. A gesture, maybe? Or was she still wrapped up in Doc Rose? Avery wasn’t the type to care about the white coat or the title. Maybe the stability, the assumed dependability. He at least appeared to have his shit together. He’d settled down, and Quinn had mentioned the doc had a house in Alapocas. I could never give Avery that, but I was one ring-less finger better than Doc Rose.

  I jogged up the stairs of my building and turned the key. Stale beer and bad breath infiltrated my senses, and I frowned at the sight of Quinn, who was still sleeping off his hangover on my couch. I knew he was partially to blame. The little stunt he’d pulled at the bar had less than impressed Avery, and it was hard to look like I was winning at life while hanging out with sloppy people.

  Quinn was a douche, sure, but he was a loyal douche. I hadn’t met any friends like him since I’d moved to Philadelphia. He knew my shit and wanted to be my friend anyway.

  Grabbing his ankle, I pulled him until his body rolled to the floor with a thud.

  “Fuck! What was that for?” he asked with his right eye barely opened to stare up at me.

  “Get up. Party’s over.”

  With a groan, he pushed to his hands and knees before standing on unsteady feet. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a car.”

  “That’s funny. You know who has been hit by a car?” Shoving my finger into my own chest, I winced at how even such a small movement caused such unbelievable pain. I wasn’t a small guy, spending most of my spare time in the gym. I’d learned in seventh grade after an after-school brawl that weight training was a healthier way to vent my frustration than picking fights and ending up in juvie. “This guy. I still managed not to drink myself into a stupor, humiliate myself, and sleep away an entire day.”

  “Maybe you’re just not applying yourself.” After shooting me a crooked grin, Quinn padded his way to my kitchen and opened the fridge. “You really need to get groceries, man. This is no way to treat company.”

  “You’re not company, and if I lived in my mom’s basement, I would have my shelves stocked, too.”

  “I live in her apartment building, not her basement. Totally different.”

  “Does she wash your underwear?”

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Let’s go down to Tootie’s and grab some eggs after I change my clothes.”

  “You buying?”

  My teeth clenched, and I threw my coffee-stained shirt in the dirty laundry hamper. “Just get up.”

  “All right, all right. Jesus, you’re cranky today,” Quinn said, pulling on his jeans.

  “Just—” I sighed “—try not to say anything stupid to anyone with tits today.”

  “Oh. You’re still pissed about Jacobs.”

  I ripped my belt from the loops and folded it in half, glaring at him.

  He held up his hands. “Okay. You’re right. I fucked up. It’s been a while and I was nervous, so I might have tried for liquid courage.”

  “I’m pretty sure you drank liquid jackass instead.”

  “I wasn’t that bad.”

  “You introduced Jacobs as slavery, and then you puked sushi and raisins all over the ground.”

  Quinn looked around, trying to remember. “Damn.”

  “Yeah,” I said, remembering the look on her face when she walked away from me at the hospital. She had the upper hand, and she knew it. “Get dressed.”

  I’d consumed enough food to feed a small village, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Instead of going back to my apartment, Quinn used his mom’s apple pie as a peace offering. We walked back to his place and then helped his mother move a bedroom set she’d found from a secondhand store to the third floor of her apartment building.

  “You sure you’re all right, man?” Quinn was leaning back against his mother’s counter, polishing off a thick piece of pie.

  “I’ll live.”

  He shook his head but didn’t press me any further. I didn’t need anyone looking over my shoulder, and Quinn understood that. Despite his frequent fuckups, he was a good guy.

  “You boys have plans this evening?” his mother asked as she handed Quinn a napkin and a glass of milk. I shook my head, struggling not to laugh at how helpless he became in the presence of his mommy, a spitfire Italian.

  “I got something I gotta do.” I walked toward the door with a wave. “Thanks for the pie, Mrs. Cipriani.”

  Quinn lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

  I was practically running on fumes by the time I slipped out of the old brick housing unit and made my way down to Tit for Tat, a small tattoo joint I saw on my way to work every day. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be seeing the inside of one of these places for a long time, but it had become a superstitious ritual now. A bell chimed overhead when I pulled open the door. A man with a Mohawk and more ink than a paperback glanced up at me through dark-rimmed hipster glasses.

  “Just finishing up here, man. Check out the flash on the walls. It will just be a second.” He wiped a towel over the arm of the woman he was tattooing, smearing a small stain of ink across her milk-colored flesh.

  I nodded, glancing over the drawings hanging on the walls. There were a lot of traditional pieces and some new age tattoos that looked like they could be in a gallery somewhere. But I wasn’t up for something fancy. My tattoo was more of a scoreboard—a death cheat sheet.

  Shoving my hands deep into my jean pockets, I roamed around the lobby area, averting my eyes from the woman’s breast now in clear view as she showed one of the employees her nipple ring she was worried was becoming infected.

  The cash register slammed closed, and the tattoo artist called to me. “Sorry about the wait.” I turned around, approaching the front desk. It was made of glass with various body jewelry and morbid décor inside. “Can you give me an idea of what you’re looking for?”

  “No problem.” I reached behind my head, grabbing the back of my basic cotton T-shirt and pulling it off. The ball chain necklace holding a single penny fell against my chest. I ran my fingers over my left ribs, tracing the nine tiger stripes that cut across my skin. “I earned another stripe.”

  The man stepped from around his counter and bent down to get a closer look at the work before standing back up to his full height. He was much thinner than I was but several inches taller than my six-foot frame.

  “I hope this isn’t a body count. Most guys just opt for a tear drop or a few dots.”

  I laughed as he tilted his head toward his station. “No, just a few times death got too close.”

  “I thought cats only had nine lives. You’re pushing your luck. Have a seat and tell me about it.”

  I sank down on the black cushioned seat that reminded me of a dentist chair and described the moments before impact. It paled in comparison to some of my other close encounters, but this time we’d all walked away relatively unscathed, leaving me waiting for the other shoe to drop. I shuddered at the thought of Avery almost losing her life right before my eyes. As if having those memories of my sister on loop weren’t hellish enough, now I had Avery’s close call to torment me. Since I had been young, it had seemed like I was a magnet for bad things. Guilt flooded my gut as I thought of how selfish it was for me to continue to pursue Avery knowing that fact.

  I’d earned my first stripe at just seven, although it wouldn’t be branded on my body until years later. For the first time, my curse had made itself known, taking from my life one of the most important people to me, shaping me into the aimless mess I was now.

  “Can I take Kayla fishing?” I asked Mom as she finished mixing the batter for my sister’s birthday cake. She was turning three years old, an
d half our family from across Liberty County was coming over to celebrate.

  “Kayla?” Mom yelled as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a powder-white residue.

  My baby sister came clunking down the stairs from her bedroom, her yellow teddy bear, Oliver, clenched in her little fist.

  “Cake?”

  “Not yet, sweetie. Go out back and play with your brother. I’ll let you know when it’s ready. Josh, you make sure you watch her.” My mother’s firm stare met mine and I nodded, grabbing Kayla’s free hand and tugging her toward the back door. I didn’t need to be reminded to watch my little sister.

  We slipped into the yard and both broke out into a full sprint as we made our way to the small boat dock at the edge of our rural Georgia property.

  Kayla stopped with the toes of her tennis shoes on the first slat of wood.

  “Come on, Kayla. You’re a big girl now. I have to teach you to fish. Dad is too busy, so it’s my job.” I grabbed the two sticks I’d spent the day working on. Tied to the ends were some old fishing line and plastic bait. I held one out for my sister, who beamed from ear to ear.

  “Come on.” I turned and walked to the end of the dock with the pitter-patter of her small feet not far behind me.

  We sat on the edge, our feet dangling over the water as we soaked up the hot southern sun. We didn’t catch anything because I knew mom would freak out if I took any of Dad’s hooks for my new poles, but Kayla didn’t mind. She had fun just the same.

  “I’m hungry.” Kayla pouted as a warm breeze pushed her dark, shoulder-length curls across her face.

  I looked back at the house just beyond the trees. It wasn’t that far. She could sit on the dock alone for the couple of minutes it would take me to run to the pantry and back. “I’ll grab us some crackers if you watch my line.”

  Kayla nodded in agreement, and I handed her my stick. I stood, brushing the dirt from my bottom. “Be still, Kayla. No dancing or nothin’ until I get back. Just hold the poles.”

  She nodded, peering up at me with her big, sparkly eyes, looking happy and tiny and a little pink already from the sun.