There were lots of things his fans didn’t know about him. But he decided to share this story. “I think I was around twelve or thirteen years old, and morbidly obese, when a few of my junior high school classmates stole a pair of my men’s double XL underwear from my gym locker and stapled them onto the bulletin board in the school lobby.” Which is why he understood fully how mean people could be.
Emma turned in his arms. “That’s horrible.”
He pushed a dangling curl away from her eye. “The worst part was my mom had written my name in black marker on the waistband, so my underwear didn’t get mixed up with my dad’s.”
Emma kissed his chest. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“I’m not,” he told her honestly. “It prompted me to make a change, the taunts and insults fueled my desire to get healthy, to recreate my body into something I could be proud of.” He kissed the top of her head. “To get strong so I could silence those bullies and keep them from harassing others.” To keep them from harassing Emma.
She gave him a hug. “You’re a good man, Brody Bullock. And I’m proud of you for turning that horrible experience into something positive, for you and for others.”
Brody appreciated Emma’s words. More than that, he liked making her proud.
“Me, on the other hand, I used the taunts and insults to develop a thick skin, not very noble of me.”
The more he got to know her, the more he thought her “thick skin” wasn’t as tough as she’d like people to believe.
“I did what worked for me.” He kissed the top of her head. “You did what worked for you. Now it’s your turn. Tell me something about you not even Sadie knows.”
She took so long to answer, Brody wondered if she would. “Sometimes, kids are admitted to the hospital so often I become friends with them and their families. When I feel a close connection with a terminal patient about to be discharged home to die, I offer to visit them and I volunteer my services to help their family care for them in their last days, around my schedule at work, of course.” She lifted their interlocked fingers to her mouth and kissed the back of his hand.
“After they die I attend their funerals.” She tilted her head up to look at him. “Hospital nurses aren’t supposed to continue the nurse-patient relationship outside the hospital. Yet I still keep in touch with some of those families years later.”
“You are a one-of-a-kind, special woman, Emma.” A woman Brody knew for certain he wanted in his life, as more than an acquaintance he saw a couple of times a year, much more, and long-term.
“Thank you,” she said. “For those kind words and for making my birthday one I’ll never forget.” She kissed his hand again, let out a deep breath and tried to roll away from him. Brody felt the goodbye in her actions. But he wasn’t ready to let her go. “What happens now?” He tightened his arms around her.
She smiled up at him. “I vote chocolate cake for breakfast.”
“After that.” He stared into the depths of her beautiful blue eyes. “After we leave this room, what happens then?”
She diverted her gaze and quietly asked, “What do you want to happen?”
He caressed her back. “I’d like to keep on seeing you.”
“Seeing me as in like a voyeur looking into my window would see me?” She tried to push away from him again, playfully this time. “I’ve gotta tell you, that’s kind of creepy.”
He reached between them to take her chin in his hand and tilt her head up so she had to look at him. “Seeing you as in us dating. You and me at my house eating meals together, showering together, and sleeping together, when I’m in town.”
“Only when you’re in town?”
“Well, it’d be hard for us to do it when I’m out of town, now wouldn’t it?”
“Only at your house?”
“Or your place. I’m fine with either one.” For Emma he would forgo all the luxury and comfort of his home.
Emma rolled onto her back, covering her beautiful body with the sheet. “What about dating as in taking me out dancing or to a party or a restaurant? Or me coming along with you on the road if I can get the time off?”
Brody pictured the mob scene from last night, the way people had been so rude. Emma didn’t deserve that, shouldn’t be subjected to that. He needed to protect her from it, for as long as he could, so he could prepare her and toughen her up for real.
He needed time to earn her trust, for more than handcuffing her to a bed. So when stories about him with other women came out in the media, and as soon as people learned he was in a relationship they would, Emma would recognize the false claims for the unsubstantiated lies they were, without feeling hurt or betrayed, without leaving him and not giving him a chance to explain.
Building that type of trust would take time. He needed time with her in private, outside the public eye, without reporters stalking their every move. So he pushed up onto his elbow, looked down at her and explained, “For now I’d prefer to keep us quiet. I want you all to myself.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I don’t want to share you with the world.”
Rather than the happy acceptance he’d hoped for, Emma turned her head away from him. Needing time to think? And wouldn’t you know it? He couldn’t get a good view of her expression in any of the room’s mirrors.
He’d put a lot of thought into their date, had been at his charming best, had worked hard to impress her and make it special. Maybe that wasn’t enough to win her over. “What do you think?” he asked, staring down at what he could see of her profile, not sure he wanted to hear her answer.
“Sounds great,” she said, still not looking at him, her voice sounding a little strange. But he was too happy to overanalyze and chalked it up to her being overcome by emotion, which was perfectly okay. This was a big step for both of them.
For her, dating a celebrity would not be easy. Maybe she was worried she couldn’t handle it? She could. He’d help her in every way possible.
For him, this would be his first real relationship, real as in based on more than sex. Real as in one with long-term potential with a woman he valued, a woman he could see raising his children and growing old with.
Brody wanted to drag her into his arms and hug her and kiss her and celebrate. But he also wanted to be a considerate boyfriend. Thinking maybe she needed a little time to compose herself he gave it to her. “I’m going to jump into the shower.” He should have left it at that but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You want to join me?”
“You go on ahead,” she said, reaching for a tissue. “I feel a sneezing fit coming on. I’ll meet you in there.”
The V-Spot had the most amazing showers. Plenty of room for two or more, a tiled bench and an adjustable height showerhead with a handheld option. Brody raised the nozzle to the highest setting so he could stand upright beneath the steaming hot water.
Closing his eyes he enjoyed the spray pummeling his back and neck. So relaxing. After a few minutes he decided to go ahead and wash up, wondering what the heck was taking Emma so long. In the process of squeezing some of his scented body wash into his hand, Brody got the first inkling something was wrong.
As he lathered up he recalled Emma’s voice when she’d said, Sounds great. Rather than happy she’d sounded...unhappy. In fact, if he remembered correctly, her voice had actually cracked. He ran his soapy hands over his face and head, rinsing quickly, wanting to get out of the shower to check on her.
He turned off the water, stepped out and grabbed a towel. Not taking the time to fully dry off he patted his face then threw open the door to find his room empty. Four long strides later he tried the door between his and Emma’s rooms. Locked. He knocked. “Emma. You okay?”
No answer.
He pounded. “Emma. What’s going on? Answer me.”
Nothing.
His unease rising
he turned to grab a pair of underwear and shorts from his suit sack and saw the white napkin with cursive handwriting written in blue ink in the center of the bright red satin sheet.
Brody picked it up and read:
Dear Brody,
I’m sure most women of your acquaintance would jump at the chance to be your booty-call girl when you pull into their town, but I refuse to be your shameful secret.
Thank you for a wonderful birthday. I’ll try not to let the last few degrading minutes ruin my memory of it.
See you around the hospital where I will, and I expect you to, act as if last night never happened.
Emma
Chapter Eight
One month later
Emma’s Saturday started out like any other workday—up at 5:15 a.m., shower, pull on a pair of navy scrub pants and a loose-fitting, colorful cartoon character top and out the door by 6:15. Drive to the hospital, arrive by 6:40 and be ready to take the night shift report by 6:50 a.m. Always the first one.
Except this morning, instead of working the snooze button on her alarm clock for half an hour, Emma had jumped right out of bed. Lying awake for a good two hours before the alarm had gone off helped. Thus she had the extra minutes needed to pay special attention to her makeup and wrangle her unruly hair into a neat ponytail rather than twisting it into submission and pinning it into her standard tight bun.
No, this particular Saturday was not a typical workday at all, as evidenced by Emma taking the time to check her face in the mirror hanging on the wall in the staff lounge and apply some lipstick before heading out onto the floor.
Of course Sadie would have to enter at that precise moment. “Looking especially pretty this morning,” she told Emma with an irritating, knowing grin.
Sadie made it a point to look pretty every day. Granted, with her perfect figure, beautiful olive complexion and striking green eyes she didn’t need to put much effort into it. “Don’t start,” Emma threatened, adding a glare for emphasis. “This is all your fault.” Actually it wasn’t. It was Emma’s fault for giving in to her desire when she knew a night of sex with Brody would not end well.
“If you’d have just stayed to confront him rather than scurrying away or if you’d answered any of his phone calls or responded to any of his messages we could have avoided any drama today.” Sadie walked to her locker, entered the combination and opened it. “Honestly, you’re the most straightforward person I know.” She hung her pocketbook on the hook inside, watching Emma as she did it. “I’ve never seen you act this way before.”
Because no man had ever affected her like Brody had. Four weeks later and she still felt the pinch of hurt and humiliation from that one unfortunate experience with the crowd at The V-Spot and he was too embarrassed to be seen with her out in public. “You promised you’d handle screening and supervising the wrestlers today.”
“And I will,” Sadie said, closing her locker. “Even though I don’t think avoiding him is the best way to handle this.”
Maybe not, but avoidance seemed the best option to ensure Emma maintained her usual exemplary professionalism while at work, as opposed to losing her cool if he tried to speak to her, or lashing out physically if he tried to touch her, or heaven forbid, crying at the sight of him. Because he’d hurt her. Yet despite that she missed him, missed the private fun they could have had together if she would have agreed to his terms.
But as a self-respecting woman she just couldn’t. Emma walked toward the door and pushed it open, holding it for Sadie who proceeded through.
“I know I’ve said it at least a dozen times,” Sadie said, stopping in the hallway. “But I’m sorry things turned out the way they did.”
“Me, too,” Emma agreed. But she refused to regret the time she’d spent with Brody. Well, except for their last few minutes together. Things would have ended on a much more positive note had she left before he relegated her to no better than secret fuck buddy status. “No sense beating it to death more than we already have. Let’s get to work.”
With that she and Sadie began their shift.
“The wrestlers are coming! The wrestlers are coming!”
Emma ignored the tight knot of apprehension in her gut and forced out a smile as she piggybacked her patient’s IV antibiotics into his main intravenous line. “I know.” Spirits on the floor always lifted when they had guests coming to entertain the kids, and especially for the wrestlers. “Who’s your favorite?”
“The Bull!” The eight-year-old, dark-haired boy held up a toy wrestler that did, in fact, look very much like Brody.
“I need to take a look at your dressing. Okay?”
Clutching the action figure to his chest, with a solemn expression, he nodded.
Emma pulled down the sheet and eased up the hospital gown to expose the site where the boy’s ruptured appendix had been removed two days earlier. “Why is he your favorite?” She made conversation to keep the child’s mind occupied with thoughts of his obvious hero rather than fear she might do something that would cause him pain.
“He’s big and strong and he doesn’t fight dirty like some of the guys. I met him once.”
“Really?” Finding the dressing clean, dry and intact, she replaced the gown and fixed the covers.
“He was real nice. He signed my T-shirt, the one with his picture on it. And he gave me coupons for free ice cream. Remember, Dad? No one else did that.”
Standing at the opposite side of the hospital bed, the boy’s father nodded in response to his son’s question. “Yes. I remember.”
Emma held up her thermometer probe. “Open up.”
When her patient did she slid it under his tongue.
The dad filled the quiet. “He didn’t just sign autographs. He spent time talking to each child and posed for pictures.” He looked at Emma. “We still have ours on the refrigerator. Some wrestlers charged extra for that, but not The Bull.”
Because Brody was a class act, at least when it came to his young fans.
Unfortunately when it came to her he was a coward, too worried about nasty comments and the possibility of negative publicity to give a public relationship between them a chance, too concerned being seen with her would ruin his precious ladies’-man image.
The thermometer beeped. Emma checked the reading. “His temperature is down but he’s still running a fever,” she told the dad. To her patient she said, “You can go out to meet the wrestlers but you have to go in a wheelchair covered with a blanket and you must wear a paper mask to protect you from germs.”
“No,” the boy complained.
Emma jotted down the boy’s vital signs in her notes. “It’s that or watch through the window of your room.”
The unit secretary’s voice came through the room intercom. “Emma, you in there?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“The wrestlers are here.”
Her patient’s face lit up into an enormous, excited smile.
The unit clerk went on, “Sadie’s stuck in isolation. Trouble accessing a Port-a-Cath. She can’t do the screening and said to tell you, ‘No. She did not do this on purpose.’”
Emma let out a breath. “Fine. I’ll be there in a minute.” She took a disposable blue mask from the box on her cart and handed it to her patient. Then she held up three large mustache stickers. “Pick one.”
He did. “What’s it for?”
“To decorate your mask. The mustaches make them look way cool. Lots of kids will be wearing them.” She turned to the dad. “Put the sticker on after applying the mask. You only need to adhere the top part for it to stick, and leaving it loose means less interference with airflow.”
“Thank you, Emma.”
“There are wheelchairs at the end of the hallway,” she said on her way out the door. “Don’t wait to grab one.”
He left the room the same time she did.
Emma walked toward the education/admission room feeling weighted down with dread, her pace much slower than usual. She looked down the hallway hoping for an emergency call light. There wasn’t one. She listened for her name, hopeful that someone needed her assistance. No one did.
Unable to put it off any longer, she took a deep, fortifying breath and pushed into the room to find Billy “Big Trouble” Tackas, Fierce Flynn, Reckless Rusty and Samson “The Slayer.”
No Brody.
Instead of relief, anger started to percolate. “What, no Bull?” she asked, making a massive effort to sound nonchalant as she inserted her thermometer probe into a plastic covering.
“Said he’s running late and to head over without him,” Rusty said, running his fingers through his thick red hair, spiking it up with some type of goo. “Not sure he’s going to make it.”
So much for Brody’s promise that no matter what happened between them he’d continue to come visit her patients.
“Something’s got his junk in a funk.” Fierce Flynn spoke while he washed his hands the exact way Emma had instructed him to on his first visit years ago. “I’ve never seen him so ornery.”
Samson chimed in, “I tried to set him up with Naughty Nicky but he told me he’s done with circuit girls.”
While Emma’s ears tuned in to the conversation she moved a chair over by the sink and tried to look disinterested.
Fierce Flynn yanked down a few paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. “Has been for a good long while now, says he wants more than what they can give him, thinks he’s found something better.” He shot her a look, his message clear. He knew.
Emma jerked her gaze away, feeling her face heat up.
The V-Spot Page 9