Full Package

1 pint chocolate ice cream

Ideally some variety that is incredibly decadent and delicious, and will make you feel like you’re falling . . . even though you’re totally not, and you can’t, and you won’t.

1/4 cup milk

Milk is good for you! Milk makes for healthy bones! This recipe is clearly a health food.

Some ice

To numb your heart.



* * *



Dump all ingredients in a blender and blend on high until it’s all one big milkshake of feelings, and emotions, and sex, and heartache, and friendship, and possibilities. Then, down the hatch.

Now, the next part of the recipe is the most essential. Once you’ve consumed the milkshake of your mixed-up, stirred-up, fused-and-confused feelings, brush your hands together, slap on a smile, and don’t ever blend them again. Eat the ice cream separately, just like you’re going to have that man.

That’s all you can do to protect your heart. That’s the only way to have him. Anything more and you might lose the best friend you’ve ever had.





24





A few days later, after I treat a runner who collapsed from dehydration during his morning run in Central Park, the charge nurse marches over to me, a clipboard in hand.

“Dr. Summers, you’re wanted,” Sandy barks, her drill sergeant voice making me stand at attention.

I’m her soldier. “What have we got?”

I expect her to rattle off a litany of incoming trauma. Instead, she points her thumb in the direction of the lobby. “Pretty brunette in the waiting room asking for you.”

My ears perk. My dick springs to attention. My heart leaps. Josie has stopped by. Maybe she brought me lunch. My stomach growls. Pavlovian organ. Come to think of it, my cock is, too, judging from the speed of its response to the words “pretty brunette.”

Full-on salute in my scrubs. Nice work, dick.

It’s no surprise, though, since the last few nights with Josie have been mind-blowing, and it’s not only my mind that’s been blown. But I haven’t just been on the receiving end of the pleasure. Like Josie, I’m a taker and I’m also a giver. I’ve doled out multiple orgasms, and exponents of orgasms, too, administered in all sorts of ways.

She’s voracious, and I’ve satisfied her appetite each and every time. Including with my tongue. When I first went down on her, once wasn’t enough for either of us. I gave her a double like that, and she came even harder the second time.

The next morning, I found a bakery bag on the living room table with two chocolate chip cookies in it and a note that said: Good things come in pairs.

A day later, after a marathon session testing the sturdiness of our furniture, she left me a brownie, and the card attached read: I think you burned this off last night. By the way, I’m super impressed with how sturdy our table is. Not to mention the wall.

I can’t wait to see why she’s here at noon.

I thank Sandy then take off, striding through the corridor and past the nurse’s desk. I push on the big, swinging doors that lead to the waiting room. A twenty-something dude in a hoodie hunches over in a chair, hacking. A muscular mom in yoga pants clutches a toddler in her arms. The kid’s face is flushed, and he’s shivering. Fever, I suspect. A handful of others wait, too, staring at phones or the TV hanging on the wall. We pride ourselves at Mercy on some of the shortest waits in the ER world, and judging from the markedly un-crowded lobby, we’re doing okay in that pursuit.

But that also means it’s easy to see Josie’s not here. I deflate. Yes, all the parts that were inflated.

“Hey, Dr. Summers.”

I turn in the direction of a most decidedly masculine voice. The angular face is familiar. Sharp nose. Kind eyes. Blond hair. The light switches on. I smile and point at the guy. “Aquaman.”

The man whose forehead doubled as a parking lot for a sex souvenir walks to me and extends a hand. He wears a sharp white dress shirt and expensive slacks. Funny, I didn’t peg him for a wealthy businessman when he was in his Aquaman threads, but his duds today, from the cufflinks to the silk of his shirt, make it clear this man is rolling in it. You never know who likes to swing from the chandeliers.

I shake his hand, then turn to the aforementioned pretty brunette by his side.

“And the mermaid,” I add, and she smiles and shakes my hand. A diamond ring sparkles on her finger. She’s decked out in sharp clothes, too, with a full-on executive businesswoman look.

“I’m Cassidy,” she says.

“Good to meet you. And good to see you again,” I say to my former patient. “How’s the chandelier abstinence program going?”

He smiles. His girlfriend does, too, her cheeks turning red. “We took your advice,” he tells me. “The kitchen table is indeed a fine alternative.”

“Excellent. And this,” I say, pointing to his forehead. The tiniest of tiny scars is barely visible. “This looks good.”