“Road head?”
My face screwed into disgust, and I peeked over at Michaels. She was pretending not to eavesdrop, but everyone knew she had been one of the first nurses in the department to welcome Josh to Philadelphia … with her vagina. “Deb. Jesus.”
She rolled her eyes. “How did I befriend such a prude? At least a good-night kiss?”
“No.”
“No?” Her voice went up an octave. “Give me something. You’re boring me to death. I can’t even have a decent sex life vicariously through you.”
“What about you and Quinn? Did he call?” I asked, hoping she’d change the subject.
“Maybe,” she said. It was a pitiful segue into a detailed reproduction of their phone call, complete with inappropriate jokes and innuendo. The longer she talked, the more I knew they were made for each other.
In truth, I was glad I didn’t have to recount the last moments of my night with Josh. Deb wouldn’t have understood, anyway. It had been wonderful, and quiet, and exciting, and from the moment we left until he walked with me to the stoop of my apartment building, a million butterflies had burst from their cocoons and fluttered around in my entire body, hairline to toe polish. In one night, Josh Avery had transformed from the hospital hustler into what I had been waiting for. We hadn’t had time to kiss because we’d hugged, his cheek had touched mine, and words had tumbled out of his mouth like he couldn’t keep them in any longer. Seven words that would change everything.
I need to see you again. Tomorrow.
I’d said yes, and then he’d turned around, got in his car, and pulled away. He had seemed just as surprised by his request as I had been. When I’d finally processed what had happened, his brake lights had already turned the corner.
Josh hadn’t said he wanted to see me. Anyone could say that, and it would be sweet. No, he needed to see me, just like he’d needed to say it before it burst out of him like water from a broken levy.
“So,” Deb said, “I told him he was a narcissist. I could shart on stage at the Merriam Theater in front of the entire hospital board and it would somehow be about him. But I dunno, I kind of like it,” Deb said, resting her chin on her hand.
“Romantic,” I said.
“Speaking of romantic, did you fuck him?”
“Deb!”
“Spill it!”
“No,” I said through my teeth. Thankfully, Michaels was only on her fifteen-minute break and on her way out.
“How many times did you have to slap his hand away?”
“None.”
“None?”
“No, Deb. He was a perfect gentleman.”
“Man. That sucks, Avery. I’m sorry.”
I sighed, already regretting my next question. We were alone, so it was a good time to pick her perverted, twisted mind. “Why would you be sorry?”
“Well,” she hesitated. “I know you’re sort of into him, and …”
“And what?”
“He doesn’t … You know I tell you straight, Avery.”
“Just say it!”
“He doesn’t seem to be that into you,” she blurted out.
I sat up. “What makes you say that? Did Quinn say something to you?”
“No, but he didn’t even attempt to sleep with you, and he’s slept with Carissa Ashton. I mean, dear God. That’s like dipping your stick into a rancid whale. It’s not even that she’s fat, because—” she ran her hands over her own enormous breasts “—you know I feel sorry for you skinny bitches with no curves. But Ashton’s a heinous bitch and fat. Do you know why McHale was fired? Ashton told McHale she’d take her shift and then didn’t show and claimed not to know what McHale was talking about. McHale just smiled at Josh. Just smiled. Ashton got her fired for that. She’s a jealous, weeping, rotten cun—”
“Deb! Stop!” I snapped.
She was taken aback. “I call people names, Avery. You know it’s my thing. I enjoy it. I—”
“No. Stop talking about Josh and the other nurses.”