by Meghan Quinn
“Flipped over? Are you okay?”
She nods, still not looking at me. “Pretty sure I broke my toenail. It’s throbbing. I’m sure it will be a pretty shade of gross tomorrow morning.”
“Here, let me help you.” I put the bat to the side and reach for her when she spins away on her butt.
“I can handle this. Just go back to bed.”
“Emma, you’re hurt. I’m going to help you. Now, come here.” I bend down and scoop her up into my arms and take her to the bathroom where I set her down on the counter. I bring her foot up to my eye for a better look. “Can you bend your toes?”
When she doesn’t answer me, I look past her foot to see what’s going on. And . . . that’s when I catch her staring at my package. Right there, eyes trained on my dick and balls, no hiding it whatsoever. Christ.
“Emma,” I say a little louder. “Can you wiggle your toes?”
“Huh?” Lazily she scans my body all the way to my eyes where she finally meets me.
I hold back the laughter bubbling inside me. “Toes, can you wiggle them?”
She almost seems drunk when she answers, “I have toes.”
Your future nurse, ladies and gentleman.
Be terrified.
“Good, babe, but can you wiggle them?”
“Hmm? Oh yeah.” She wiggles but cringes at the same time. “I think they’re going to be okay, just sore.”
I nod. “Well, you have a little cut on your big toe, so let me clean it up and put a Band-Aid on it.” When I reach for my first aid kit under the sink, she clears her throat, almost like she’s trying to gain the courage to ask me a question.
“Tucker?”
I stand and hold the first aid box in front of her. “Got it.” When I see the bewildered expression on her face, I ask, “What’s up?”
“You’re, uh, you’re wearing tighty-whities.”
I take in my apparel. “No, I’m not. I’m wearing briefs and they’re black. Tighty-whities are for grandpas with saggy asses and liver spots.”
She scans me again, a pull in her brow, “But, they’re bikini cut.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re not fucking bikini cut, whatever the fuck that is. They’re regular briefs.” I slip my fingers in the waistline and snap the elastic.
“I thought you wore boxer briefs.” She’s now nibbling on her finger, still scanning my body.
“I do. I wear both. Underwear models wear these all the time. Hell, David Beckham wears these.” No idea what her issue is. They keep everything snug; sometimes it’s nice to not have your cock turning into a propeller in your pants.
From the way her eyes are eating me whole, for the first time, I feel exposed around her. And if she keeps it up with those sultry eyes, she’s going to be feeling just as exposed as I am. That would be when I rip off her clothing.
“Oh. They’re um, they’re nice.” She turns away and stares at her feet.
Not going to work, sweet Emma. I lift her chin so she’s forced to make eye contact. “Nice? That’s all? They’re just nice? I’m standing here, in front of you, being a sexy male nurse for your toe in a pair of very snug briefs and all you have to say is they’re nice?”
“Wh-what do you want me to say?” She shivers. “That I like your man thigh? That your abs are unfair to look at because they’re so well defined? That those things,” she gestures to the V in my waist, “are like valleys headed straight to your penis? That I can clearly see the definition of your dick, including your meatus, and it’s . . . it’s . . .” She stumbles. “It’s thick.” She presses her hand against her forehead as her cheeks redden. “Oh God, you have thick dick.” Is that a compliment? It almost sounds like a disease, like Elephantitus.
“Uh, thank you?”
“Thick dick. You have a thick dick. Of course, you’re Mr. Thick Dick, what else would you be? Skinny Minnie Ween-Ween? No, you’re thick dick.” Her hands are now in her hair, pulling on the strands, acting on the border of insanity and losing her ever-loving mind. Still muttering, she shakes her head and says, “Thick dick in the tight black bikini bottoms.”
“They’re not . . .” I huff out my frustration. “They’re not fucking bikini bottoms. They’re normal briefs.”
She shakes her head. “Not for thick dick and milky man thighs.” Milky? More like manly man thighs. I do squats. She hops off the counter in her fit of insanity and then starts hopping on one leg. “Shit, my toe.” Still hopping, she pushes off my chest with her hand and propels herself out of the bathroom.
“Where are you going? Let me fix your foot.”
“Nope, nope, nope. I’m good. Just . . . go upstairs and put pants on. No one wants you walking around with your scrotum dangling between your legs.” It does that every fucking day. What’s the difference?
“Well, it’s not going to dangle from my ears like earrings, babe. The scrotum is kind of a set thing.”
She makes it to her bedroom and slams her door shut. Well . . . fuck. She was the one who woke me up, the one who disturbed my slumber. She’s not just going to hobble away like that. No way.
Not caring what she’s doing on the other side of the door, I fling it open and see her sitting on her bed, rocking back and forth on her hands. “Emma—”
“Tucker, I’m going to stop you right there. It’s been a pretty humiliating night for me, with the fall and the staring and the thick-dick mumbling. I would like to just move on from this moment and forget it all happened. I don’t want to hash it out with you.” She glances up at me and says, “Rule number eight, no mentioning thick dick . . . ever.”
“But—”
“Hey, rule number six.” She lifts an eyebrow at me to acknowledge what she agreed to when it came to the rule I set.
I grit my teeth and move my jaw back and forth. “Fine. Do you need help with your foot?”
“No.” She keeps her eyes trained on the floor, dismissing me.
Fuck me. I want to talk about this little encounter, about the oddity of it all, and about those damn wandering eyes of hers that have this thick dick getting thicker by the second. But I’m going to respect her wish and push her in other ways.
She might have dismissed me tonight, but this is far from over.
She’s attracted to me. She was speechless as she gazed at my body. She rambled about my fucking dick. I think she wanted me to kiss her.
And fuck, did I want to kiss her.
Hold her.
Touch her.
Lick her.
Devour her.
Fuck her.
But what’s surprising and a huge mind fuck?
It seems like my friend Emma wants to fuck me just as badly as I want to fuck her.
Chapter Thirteen
EMMA
“Everything feels great here. Emma, come over and feel around for any lumps.”
The woman with the bushiest nipples I’ve ever seen lies on the exam table, in all her glory, tits out, ready to be felt up.
It’s woman’s health week and we’re shadowing OBGYNs to determine if it’s a field we’re interested in. Let’s just say, I have no desire to be scooting around vaginas day in and day out. Nope, no interest at all.
“Oh, that’s okay.” I wave my hand as a dismissal. “I felt the last lady’s breasts. You feel one, you feel them all, you know.”
“Not even in the slightest,” Dr. Tinkle scoffs. Yes, Dr. Mary Ann Tinkle. Might as well call her Dr. Pee Pee and get it over with. Dr. Pee Pee to exam room four, there is an immature urethra waiting for you . . .
“Come over here.” Dr. Tinkle turns to Debra and says, “Students can be a little gun-shy when it comes to sexual organs.”
Thank you, Dr. Tinkle, for making this that much more uncomfortable.
Holding back my groan, I mechanically stick out my arm from my side and press around Debra’s breasts like Dr. Tinkle taught me earlier . . . on her own breasts. And when the nurse walked in her office to let us know her nine o’clock arrived, that didn’t make things
weird at all, you know, with my hands on Dr. Tinkle’s naked breasts and all.
“These seem very soft, no lumps detected.” Stepping back, I clap my hands together. “Good job, Debra, on not growing the lumps. Well done, breasts.” I give her an awkward thumbs up and keep my distance.
Please, God. Please remove me from my misery.
“Thank you, Emmit,” Debra says condescendingly. Total bitch, right?
She’s been nasty to me ever since I asked if it was normal for patients to leave their socks on during examinations. It just seemed odd. They’re naked beside a thin garment that’s open in the front but wearing socks? I mean, at this point, with your cooter winking at everyone, you might as well remove the socks and be done with it.
Dr. Tinkle starts moving things around on her little metal table and scans Debra’s chart. Thankfully, the old PAP smear has already been done, so I think we should be finishing up.
“Do the cysts on your uterus still hurt? Has the birth control helped?”
“It seems to be. I haven’t been having the side pain like usual.”
“That’s good, I still want to check things out.” Turning to me, Dr. Tinkle says, “Grab a pair of gloves.” I quickly snag a pair from the box and try to hand them to her but she shakes her head. “No, those are for you. Put them on.” From the table beside her, she grips the lube and pulls the top off. “Hold out your finger.”
What the?
In a haze, I do as she says, my finger pointing awkwardly in the air as if I have vagina lube on it. Oh wait, I do. I have freaking vagina lube on my finger. I thought I skipped the whole tunnel digging, but I guess I was wrong.
“Okay, we’re going to do a quick rectal insertion and feel around for cysts. Debra, are you ready?”
Debra nods as I attempt to interpret the word rectal.
“Emma, go ahead and stick your finger in her anus and then press down on her uterus. We are feeling for any large lumps.”
Errr . . . anus? Finger in the anus? What?
Before I can process what’s happening, Dr. Tinkle is guiding me, finger forward, lube ready, straight toward the spread of Debra’s legs. I don’t want to be doing this; I don’t want my finger up someone’s ass, especially Debra’s, who seems like she’s ready to eat my finger through her rectum. Knowing I shouldn’t have a grossed-out look on my face—doesn’t seem like the right thing—I impersonate a psychotic clown instead: mentally scary smiling eyes fixed on Debra’s asshole plunging forward.
The insertion is just as I expected, dreadful beyond belief.
Dr. Tinkle guides my other hand where I press down on Debra’s uterus.
“Do you feel anything?” Dr. Tinkle asks.
Besides Debra clenching so damn hard on my finger that I’m starting to lose feeling in it? Not so much.
“Uh, seems okay to me.”
She really needs to unclench because the sensation of her butt trying to slice off my finger is completely freaking me out right now. “Debra, I think it might help if you relax a little,” I suggest, praying for the throbbing in my finger to stop from lack of circulation.
“How can I relax when you have your finger up my butt and a demonic smile on your face?”
Dr. Tinkle quickly looks at me to see the smile being wiped away from my face.
“Why were you smiling at her?” Dr. Tinkle asks, a little upset.
Finger still in Debra’s ass, I look back and forth between the two women, not quite sure how to answer this question. “Uh, I didn’t want things to be weird, so I smiled to help Debra feel at ease. You know, good bedside manner and all.”
Good save. Buyable for sure.
Dr. Tinkle grips my shoulder and lectures me. “Emma, when we have to do evasive exams on patients, we try to keep a controlled neutral face, especially when the patient is nervous. You never want to make them more uncomfortable.” Controlled neutral face. Right.
I nod. “Okay, but don’t you think we should be having this conversation when my finger isn’t up the patient’s rectum?”
Debra sits up on her elbows and looks at both Dr. Tinkle and me, her boobs flopping around past the “garment” she’s wearing. “Dr. Tinkle, I don’t care for this nursing student very much, but she has a point. Maybe she can remove her finger and you guys can have this conversation without me in the room.”
Without Dr. Tinkle’s permission, I remove my finger—from the horrible shackles it was bound to—and hold it by my side, finger still pointed. Turning to Dr. Tinkle, I bow—no idea why, it just happened—and I say, “Thank you for this experience, but I think it’s safe to say I won’t be investing any more time into the OBGYN field.” Turning to Debra, I curtsey—because why the hell not—only seems fitting with what we just went through together, and I leave the room.
I’m going to have to do some serious extra credit to make up for today. Not to mention, some brain and finger bleaching. I’m tainted for life.
No pun intended.
***
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It was disgusting.”
I hold up my hand, willing Adalyn to stop. “I love you, Adalyn, I really do, but if you continue to talk about your patient’s neck goiter, I might seriously throw up on you.”
I sit back on my bed and take a deep breath. What a rough fucking day. After I ran like hell out of the OBGYN wing of the hospital, I spent the rest of my afternoon in the cafeteria studying with Logan who would not stop laughing over my finger in the butt misery.
And then there was last night, when I couldn’t stop calling Tucker “thick dick.” Ughhhh, why did he have to come downstairs in his tight black briefs that showcased everything he has to offer? I’ve never been one for briefs on a man, but HOLY HELL Tucker is an exception. It was almost like he was naked standing in front of me, that expansive, muscular chest rippling with every movement he made, those abs contracting when he bent down to look at my foot, and that deep V in his waistline. I was a goner. There was no stopping myself from staring. And there sure as hell was no stopping myself from dreaming about him last night. Oh, the things that passed through my mind. I woke up horny, embarrassed, and on edge. But most importantly, I woke up guilty. Guilty for checking out the one man I should stay away from, the one man who is completely off-limits.
Now Adalyn won’t stop talking about the goiter guy, which is frankly disturbing. It’s a goiter; it’s disgusting, let’s not talk about the ins and outs of it. (Pukes in mouth.)
Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I was getting into when it came to earning a nursing degree but there are some days I wish I was doing something else, something less disgusting where bodily fluids and human deformities aren’t surrounding me. Perhaps something like accounting instead. Accounting sounds really nice right about now. Safe, easy, a job full of numbers instead of protective gloves and lube.
“Are you still upset about the butt thing?” Adalyn asks.
I wipe both my hands down my face. “I just need a break from anything that has to do with nursing. It’s been a rough day.”
Adalyn tosses me another fudge-stripe cookie—thank you, Keebler, for these delightful treats—and pops another in her mouth. She likes to take the whole cookie down at once where as I like to wear them daintily on my finger like a ring and slowly nibble.
“Sticking a finger up an unwilling asshole does seem like a rough one. So I’m guessing we won’t be doing any studying.”
I shake my head. “Not so much. My mind is fried.” I take a little bite off my cookie and ask, “Anything new with you? Did you ever go on that date with beard-man Bradley? Is that what he called himself on his profile?”
Adalyn giggles and nods. “Oh beard-man. He’s quite the charmer online, but in person, kind of a dud. But I will say, his beard was something to marvel at. He must condition it at least twice a day. It looked so soft, like the hair of a pussy . . . cat.”
“Why did you have to say it like that?” I shake my head at my friend.
“It’s more fun tha
t way. I like to throw you off your game.”
“I’m already thrown off.” I take another bite and chew while looking up at my ceiling, trying to will the image of Tucker in briefs out of my head. But hell, he is so FUCKING hot. I’ve always thought Tucker was good-looking, but grown-up Tucker, Tucker with a house, and abs, and pecs, and thick dick—oh my God—that Tucker is a force to be reckoned with.
Adalyn props herself up on my bed and says, “What’s throwing you off? Please tell me it’s the sexy roommate you have living upstairs. Please tell me you’re doing him and he’s knocked your head so hard against the headboard that your brain is a scramble. Please, oh please, tell me that he’s had his evil way with you.”
I shake my head but keep my eyes trained on the ceiling. “No, nothing has happened between us.” Unless you want to count the amount of times I’ve sat on his lap, or when he’s run his nose along my neck and jaw, or how about the amount of times I’ve stared at his body like a horny teenager licking her New Direction poster—Niall only. It’s the accent, ladies, am I right?
“Are you sure? Because when I mentioned Tucker, your face got red.”
“It’s just hot in here.” I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to cool myself down. It really does feel hot in here. Maybe because I’m living in Dante’s inferno, lusting after my best friend’s ex-boyfriend. Not even her ex-boyfriend, her long-time love for goodness’ sake, the person she thought she was going to marry one day. Oh hell . . .
“So you’re telling me nothing—”
Knock knock knock.
“Hey.” Tucker peeks his head in the door and smiles brightly when he sees Adalyn and me. “What’s up, Adalyn?”
Oh look, it’s thick dick . . .
Like the flouncy woman she is, Adalyn twiddles her fingers at Tucker as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “Hi, Tucker.”
He doesn’t even have a beard, Adalyn.
“Just wanted to let you know I’m home, babe. I’m going to take a shower and make some spaghetti. Want some?”