“Oh, good. That should make Gabby happy.”
Lucy’s gaze is sharp. “You heard about that, huh?”
I nod. “Everyone has. He’s on his honeymoon, and Gabby is his side thing here.”
“I’m going to talk to her,” Lucy assures me. “She knows that dating a member of the staff is against the rules.”
“Someone should talk to him,” I mutter. “Fucking around on your new wife is against the rules, too.”
“He’s a slime,” Lucy agrees. “But you can’t fix that. Once a cheater, always a cheater. God help his wife.”
I shake my head, and I’ve got only four charts to go. I finish them up in ten minutes.
Fields still hasn’t arrived.
“He’s five minutes late,” I tell Lucy. “Can you call him?”
She nods and picks up the phone.
I check on the patient in exam room one. An infant with suspected rotavirus. We’re waiting on the labs to confirm it, and in the meantime, she’s got an IV drip with fluids. She presented with dehydration and a fever.
“She’s doing better,” I assure the young mom. The mother looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. She clearly hasn’t been sleeping, but what young mother does?
“Do you promise?” Worry is evident in her voice, and I pat her back.
“Absolutely. Fluids work wonders. If the results come back as I suspect, rotavirus positive, we’ll admit her overnight to observe and get her hydrated. At this age, dehydration can rapidly accelerate. We’ve got to be careful. But rest assured, we’re on top of it.”
She nods and exhales, and I slip back out, sliding my stethoscope off, preparing to leave.
Lucy stares at me, though, her face grim.
“What?” I’m afraid to ask. Around here, it could very well mean that someone has died.
“He lost his passport. He’s stuck in Barbados.”
I stare at her mutely. “Fields?”
Lucy nods.
“He’s not coming in?” I ask dumbly.
“No. He’s waiting on the embassy to issue him a new passport so he can reenter the country.”
“God, what an idiot. That’s literally something my dingbat sister would do.”
Lucy agrees. “I tried to call Schmidt and Lane, but can’t get ahold of them. I’ll keep trying. Until then...”
“Until then I’m the only one here.”
“Yep.” Lucy is apologetic, but it’s not her fault.
“Fuck.”
“Should I call Jude for you before I go?”
“No. I’ll talk to him. Just have whoever is coming in for you find a replacement for me.”
She nods and heads for the nurses’ station, and I head for the doctors’ lounge. I drop into a seat and text my husband.
Slight delay. I’m still trying to get out of here.
I mutter a prayer that God will still get me out on time. I mean, it’s six thirty-five. I could still make it.
K. I can’t wait to see you.
Jude answers immediately. I smile at his words and close my eyes just for a second. It feels like I haven’t slept in a thousand years.
13
Ten days, four hours until Halloween
Jude
You still alive?
I text Corinne at eight. I’ve been waiting at a table for an hour, sipping on water, reading the news.
Vilma stops by my elbow. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cabot. I know you’ve had to wait. Both of my evening-shift girls called in sick, so we’ve been trying to cover. My morning girl just arrived, and so things will pick up soon.”
Fuck. Her morning girl.
But I smile at her. “It’s fine, Vilma. No worries.” She pats my arm and takes her leave, and I text Corinne again.
Do you have an ETA? Should I order for you?
I put my phone on the table, and as I do, Zoe sees me from across the room. Her eyes light up, and she literally stops what she’s doing. She makes a beeline straight for me, and it’s like I’m the only one on the planet who is important. A thrill shoots up around my heart, causing it to pound.
“Hey, sailor,” she murmurs when she reaches my elbow. She smells like drugstore perfume, but it works for her, a tangy loud scent of flowers and fruit. She’s got on too much, but that’s her personality. She’s blatant, she’s obvious.
“I thought we established that I’m not a sailor.” I arch my eyebrow, and I can’t help but smile. She’s flirting with me. Who wouldn’t enjoy that?
My self-rationalization knows no bounds.
She shrugs. “I like sailors, though.”
She pauses, her pen above her pad. She takes the tip of it in her mouth and nibbles on it, then her pink tongue darts out to swirl around it, round and round.
“What would you like?” she almost whispers, and her breathy tone reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. Happy biiirrrthday, Mr. President... I bet JFK didn’t give one fuck about fantasizing.
I clear my throat. “I’m waiting on my wife. But I’ll have a salad to start, I think.”
She smirks a bit. “Why have salad when you can have steak?”
I feel my heart pounding against my ribs, threatening to break them.
“Are you the steak?” I ask bluntly, and the blood rushes through my temples in a roar. There’s no sense in pussyfooting around this.
Her lips part. “Maybe. Although I do know a guy with a great sausage.”
I startle at her bluntness because she’s referring to my dick pic, and I thought we were done with that. She throws her head back and laughs, sliding her hand down my arm as she slips into the seat next to me.
Her fingers are warm, and the heat bleeds through my shirt into my skin, making an imprint. I feel it throb, a foreign object in a place it shouldn’t be. I’m like a deer in the headlights, and I’m frozen.
“I’m sorry.” She giggles. “But the look on your face is priceless. I didn’t mean to have fun at your expense. I won’t mention it again. Probably.”
She giggles again, and I can’t help but chuckle, too.
“I deserved that,” I admit. “I really did. I’ll be more careful who I send pictures to from now on.”
“Not too careful, I hope,” she answers, and her carefully sculpted eyebrows are raised, her eyes staring boldly into mine without flinching.
Now I’m really stunned, and I can’t help but engage. I can’t help it. Her bluntness draws me in. It’s refreshing and we’re just talking.
“I thought dick pics don’t do it for you.”
She smiles, a grin that stretches from one side of her mouth to the other.
“Maybe I liked yours,” she tells me. “It’s everything I like...long, strong and hard.”
Jesus.
She doesn’t miss a beat, as though she doesn’t know my heart is pounding a million miles per hour.
“I’ll go get your order in.”
When she stands up, she slides her full tits along my shoulder, and there’s suddenly a lump in my throat as I watch her walk away, her young ass perfectly formed, like an upside-down heart.
This is wrong. I’m a dumbass. I should run.
But wait, the devil on my shoulder whispers. You’re not doing anything but talking. What’s the harm? Your wife will be here any minute. You’re good. You’re just here to eat with your wife.
I shove my misgivings away, and I lock them closed with a key, mentally handing it to my internal devil.
Fuck it.
As Zoe takes care of her other patrons across the room, I feel her watching me. It’s like a heated cord, running between the two of us, tying us together. I watch her smile at a middle-aged man, and as she flirts with him in front of his wife, she watches me from her periphery. I wonder if she’s trying to make me jealous, or if she’s vying for a bigger tip. Either way, she’s pissing off the wife.
Zoe sways when she returns to me with a glass of water. As she sets it down, I look at her. “You know, you don’t have to flirt for tips. Good service works just as well.”
She’s surprised by that but masks it quickly. “Oh, I perform very good service.”
Jesus, she never turns it off.
“But thanks for looking out for me. I’ll be right back with your food,” she purrs. “It just came up.”
A minute later, she’s setting a juicy steak down in front of me.
“Life is too short for salads.” She smirks, and I know she’s not talking about my meal. “I mean, if you really wanted the salad you ordered, I’ll go get you one. But I think you really want the steak.”