by Sarina Bowen
“Yup, it’s Jess Canning.” I sweep my thumb over her jaw. “And who’s Jess Canning?”
A groove appears in Mirror-Jess’s forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Who is she, baby?”
“I…” She sounds even more confused.
“You need a hint? Okey-dokey. Repeat after me, okay? I’m Jess Canning.”
“No,” she grumbles.
Mirror-Blake arches his brow.
“Oh, fine. I’m Jess Canning.” But she’s rolling her eyes as she says it.
“I’m going to be the best goddamn nurse on the goddamn planet.”
She hesitates, so I pinch her chin.
“I’m going to be the best goddamn nurse on the goddamn planet.”
“I am strong and confident. Nothing keeps me down. I can achieve whatever I set my mind to. I’m the brightest crayon in the box. The sharpest skate on the ice. I eat weaklings for breakfast and spit ’em out. I am woman, hear me roar—”
Jess doubles over in laughter. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. “I’m not saying all that,” she says between giggles.
I fix her with a serious look. “Fine. Just the first part then.”
The amusement in her big brown eyes falters, but then it’s replaced with a gleam of determination. Pride wells up in my chest as Jess crosses her arms and glares at her own reflection.
“I am strong and confident. Nothing keeps me down. I can achieve whatever I set my mind to.”
“That’s my girl.” I smack her perfect ass. “Now get dressed before I bend you over this counter and fuck your brains out. We’ve both got somewhere to be.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, twinkling playfully. “Bend me over and I promise I’ll go boom in two minutes, tops.”
A groan rises in my throat. My cock rises just as fast.
Then it’s on like beer pong, and another surface of the apartment is properly christened.
We’re in the elevator by nine thirty, which gives me plenty of time to speed over to the rink. Best thing about ten o’clock practices is that I get to bypass morning rush hour. Jess is checking her phone as I punch the lobby button, but when I put my arm around her shoulder, she leans in and brushes an absentminded kiss on the bottom of my chin. I love how touchy-feely she’s becoming. It’s such a turn-on.
Smiling, I run my fingers over the side of her throat, but the skin there is so soft that I can’t not kiss it. So I start kissing it. Jess moans and lets her phone drop into her purse.
“You’re such a horndog,” she accuses.
Like that’s a bad thing. “Mmm-hmmm.” I lick a path up her neck to her jaw, then kiss my way to her lips. When our mouths meet, she makes an anguished sound and then practically attacks me with her tongue.
Cheezus. I cannot get enough of this girl. I want to do this forever. Kiss her. Fuck her. Love her—
Love her?
The thought barely takes root before the elevator doors ding open, and suddenly an astonished voice fills the small car.
“What the…? Jess?”
We break apart so fast that the back of my skull bounces off the wall. Oh shitballs. Wes is standing open-mouthed in front of the doors. He’s got a hockey bag slung over one shoulder, a travel mug in his hand and a horrified expression on his face.
Behind him, Jamie stands looking every bit as surprised.
“Oh my fucking God,” Wes bursts out, his gaze pinging between me and Jess. “I did not just see you two lip-locked. That is so not cool.”
Jess recovers a lot quicker than I do. “Good morning to you, too, Wes. Can I have a sip of your coffee?”
His jaw stays unhinged. He stares at her, then at me again, then at the doors that are slowly sliding back together. In a flash, he thrusts out a hand to stop the doors from closing, then lunges into the elevator.
Still looking stunned, Jamie hops in after him.
The doors shut and then we’re all just trapped there together with Wes’s reddening face. He growls like a pissed off she-wolf, jams his finger in my chest and actually threatens me. “Paws off my sister. I mean it.”
“Oh. My. God,” Jess squeaks. “I’m a grown-up! And older than you! I was having dirty, filthy sex when you were still trading hockey cards.”
“Ahhh!” Wes tries to cover his ears, even while holding a mug in one hand, but I hear Jamie snort.
Honest to God, I’m offended right now. “What’s the big deal, anyway? You like me.” Shit. I thought they did.
“Your track record,” Wes says, dropping his hands. “It’s not good.”
“It is now. Cheezus. This isn’t just a hook-up, Wesley. We care about each other. A lot. Tell him, Jess.”
I look over my shoulder and see my girlfriend’s eyes pop wide. And my heart plummets.
29 That Kind of Smith
Jess
My mouth is suddenly dry as I look back at three sets of eyes boring into me. My brother just looks confused. Wes looks like he’s ready to rip Blake to tiny shreds with his bare hands. But now Blake suddenly looks unhappy, his handsome face falling.
And, shit. I don’t want Blake to ever look the way he’s looking now, like I’m about to reject him. This man has a heart the size of Ontario. He was far kinder to his crazy ex than I could ever be. And he’s spent the last week showering me with affection. Maybe I feel a little overwhelmed by life right now, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him think that I haven’t noticed just how special he is.
It’s more than a gut feeling I have about him. So I say what needs saying.
“Wes,” I say softly. “You’d better just get used to it. Blake and I are together for real.”
Blake’s expression fills with surprise. Then he gives me a wide Riley smile. “Aw, Jessie. You make me so happy.” He pushes me against the elevator wall and kisses me.
Wes makes a strangled sound, but luckily the elevator doors ding open. As Blake steps back, I see my brother steer Wes toward one of the stone columns dotting the fancy lobby and say a few quiet words to him.
Holding Blake’s hand, I stop outside the elevator. “Sorry about that. I don’t know why Wes is being such an ass.”
“Eh, he’ll come around.” He squeezes my hand. “Are you okay? Wish I could drive you to school.”
“I’ll be fine.” It’s true, too. Even if I am about to learn I got a shitty grade on my exam, I know I can tell Blake later. He’ll listen, and then he’ll say something sweet. Then he’ll strip off my clothes and make me forget.
We’re good for each other. I’ve finally figured that out.
Across the lobby, Wes takes a deep breath and lets it out. His shoulders relax. Then he dips his chin and walks back over to us, his gaze on Blake. “You’ll treat her right,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question.
My eyes are rolling so hard right now I could power that revolving restaurant at the top of the CN Tower. But I manage not to say anything snarky while Wes and Blake have their moment.
“Of course,” Blake assures him. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Wes strokes his chin and nods. “Okay. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” Blake’s smile is blinding.
“So, uh.” Wes clears his throat. “We’re a little late for practice. I was gonna drive Jamie to work, but…”
“You need a ride in the Hummer.” Blake laughs. “That’s rich.”
Wes puts on his best humble face. But he’s not very humble, so it’s a stretch for him. “Please? I’ll stop being an ass.”
“Is that even possible?” Blake tosses his keys in the air and catches them. “Fine, bud. Let’s go. Just stay out of the backseat, because that spot is special to me and Jess now.”
Both Wes and Jamie look horrified, but Blake just laughs. He gives me a kiss on the forehead and a promise to call me later. Then he and Wes depart.
“So.” Jamie shoves his hands in his pockets. “You want a lift? I’ve got the car now.”
“Sure.”
I fo
llow my brother to the building’s parking garage downstairs, but he’s awfully silent. We get into Wes’s SUV before he says, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why lie and say it was a joke?”
“It was a joke. But now it’s not.”
He sneaks a look at me. “Does that make sense?”
“Blake doesn’t always make sense,” I point out. “But he’s pretty great anyway.”
Jamie snorts. “You and Blake. That’s some trouble right there.”
“Why?” I’m ready to be offended. My family always assumes the worst of me.
“Well, he’ll want glitter and zoo animals at your wedding,” Jamie replies with a snicker.
“What wedding? I said I was dating Blake, not marrying him.”
My brother is quiet for a moment. “I know you’re a commitmentphobe. But now that the shock is wearing off, I can sort of see you two together. And Blake is the kind of guy that when he falls, he falls hard. Before today I never heard him speak about any other girl the way he talks about you.”
Oh boy. There’s a lump in my throat when I think about how well he treated his horrible ex even after she crushed his spirit. God, I hope I don’t fuck this up. I can’t even argue with my brother calling me a commitmentphobe. My longest relationship lasted nine weeks, and there was a two-week spring break in the middle of it.
“I’ll be good to him,” I say quietly.
Jamie gives me a smile, and there’s no judgment in it. If I’m lucky it will stay that way.
My brother drops me off at the dorm, where I make a hasty clothing change. Violet is in our room, sitting on her bed.
“Hey! How was your week off?” I ask, stripping out of yesterday’s clothes. I reach for a button-down shirt and pull it on before I even notice how silent she’s been. “Violet?” I prompt, turning for a better look. “You okay?”
Her eyes are red. “I had my meeting.”
“Already?” I shove my feet into a clean pair of pants. “Didn’t it go well?” I can’t imagine that Violet failed her exam. Ms. Know-it-All was well prepared.
“I got a B-minus on the pharmacology exam,” she says with a sniff.
“God, I want a B-minus,” I say, hunting around for some socks.
“My mother is going to kill me.”
This gets my attention. “Why? That’s ridiculous.”
Violet sighs. “I’ll get a lecture about setting an example. The Smith family has been demonstrating excellence in medicine for a hundred years, blah blah blah.”
“Wait, what? How is that your problem?”
“It’s this school. This place. My parents have an inflated idea of our importance.”
I think this through while putting on my socks. The Smith School of Medicine and Nursing has never been more to me than a name etched on a limestone facade.
But…my roommate’s name is Violet Smith.
“Oh shit. You’re that kind of Smith?”
She nods miserably.
“And a B-minus is the end of the world because your name is over the door?” I’m trying to listen, I really am, but in ten minutes I have my own meeting.
“There goes my spring-break trip to the Bahamas,” Violet mumbles. “I was really looking forward to it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say kindly. I’ve felt family pressure, that’s for sure. And I’m pretty sure mine was even deserved. “But you have to be proud of yourself for you. They won’t be able to lord vacations over you forever. You have your own life.”
She gives me some teary thanks, which I barely have time to accept. I grab my coat and my backpack and slip on some shoes, and then I’m out of there.
Halfway to the director’s office, it hits me. If Violet got a B-minus, then how tough was the grading on this exam? Just like that, the confidence I’d felt earlier this morning drains right out of me, and when I open the director’s door, my knees are shaking.
“Jessica, come in!” she says, waving me toward one of the heavy wooden chairs in front of her desk. Carol Taylor is in her sixties, with bright blue eyes and a quick smile.
Her friendly face does nothing for my nerves, though. It’s her job to maintain the excellence of the program. And if I’m not excellent, I’m sure they’ll show me the door.
“Let’s get right to it,” she says as my stomach rolls. She opens a file folder and pulls out my anatomy exam. I can see the skeleton outline on the first page. “An A-minus on your Anatomy and Physiology exam. Keep up the good work.”
“Thank you.”
“Nurse Hailey liked your observational work.” She’s skimming some notes on a page. “And then there’s your pharmacology score…” She flips the page.
I brace myself.
“Hmmm.” She leans closer to the exam booklet.
I’m dying.
“The professor has awarded you a B-minus,” she finally reveals.
I let out a gasp of excitement.
“Oh, don’t be sad,” she says, misunderstanding my reaction. “The notes are good. Your essay was brief but succinct. Good grasp of the basics.”
“I’m not sad,” I say quickly. “That test was hard, and I was worried about my grade point average. I have the Harper scholarship to reapply for in the spring.”
Carol looks up. “Oh, honey. Don’t worry so much about that. We make everyone reapply because it gives us an out if someone isn’t putting in the effort. But it’s clear to me that you’re going to become a fine nurse.”
“It is?”
She smiles. “Of course. Nurse Hailey is very pleased with your work in the retirement home. She says you take a lot of care to put your patients at ease. You sing to them?”
Thank you, Dyson. “Sometimes.”
“She also said—” Carol flips back a page in my file. “—that a pediatric cancer patient raved about your visit. Read this when you get a chance.” She hands over the whole folder. “That patient is having surgery soon, and Nurse Hailey thought the young woman would enjoy a visit from you.”
“Oh, wow.” I take the file back, but I’m still hearing the echo of “B-minus” in my head. It’s better than I expected. I can hardly believe it.
“You’ve done well, Jessica. In fact, I expect the second trimester to feel easier for you.”
“Really?”
“Our returning students always have an adjustment period. They’re usually intimidated to be back in the classroom setting. But with comments like these, your prognosis is excellent.” She smiles. “Thank you for stopping by.”
I shake her hand eagerly and then scamper out of there like an eager puppy.
30 Real Men Can Wear Pom-Poms
Three weeks later
Blake
Right after Jess and I got together, I was a little worried that I wouldn’t remember how to be somebody’s boyfriend. I mean, it’s been five years since I held that title, and there’s really no proof that I was any good at this shit before. When your girlfriend lies to your face about your fake baby, a guy has to take a step back and ask himself where he went so wrong.
Yet I had nothing to fear. Turns out I’m a fabulous boyfriend. Every time I pass a flower shop, I buy my Jessie a bouquet. I’ve taken her out to dinner at all the hot spots, including the ones where I have to drop my own name to get in.
Since it’s sort of embarrassing to drop your own name, I have a system. I call up pretending to be my own assistant. I don’t have an assistant, but these maître d’s don’t know that.
“Hi,” I say, kind of breathlessly, as if I’m about to kick my own ass if the reservation doesn’t come through. “So sorry to call at the last minute, but Blake Riley is in town tonight, and he wants to take his girlfriend out to dinner somewhere awesome. He says you have the best sushi around.”
Most of the time they just tell me to name the hour and they’ll be ready. Once in a while I’ll get someone on the line who doesn’t know who Blake Riley is. I mean, who I am. It’s fucking confusing to impersonate yourself. Anyway, last week I had to make someone look me u
p on Wikipedia. There’s no way that chick was Canadian. I mean, please. But she got with the program, and Jess and I had a fabulous meal. What’s the use of being a little bit famous if you can’t drop three hundred bucks on a sushi dinner for your best girl?
The funny thing is, I told Jess how I work my magic and she didn’t even believe me.
“Seriously?” She’d slid me a sideways glance across the sofa. “They give you a table whenever they want? They have the hockey roster memorized?”
Oh, Jessie. She keeps my ego in check. Occasionally when we’re out together, people stop me for my autograph, and she always looks a little puzzled. That’s my girl.
At any rate, I’ve got this boyfriend thing down. Turns out it’s like riding a bike. But the bike is a hot blonde with big brown eyes and perfect tits. And I’m a really good rider. Not only have we broken-in every room of my apartment, we’ve hit most of the available surfaces, too. Except for the vibrating chair, ’cause I’m saving that one up for a special occasion.
But now the regular-season schedule is kicking into high gear, and I’m really going to miss my girl when I’m on the road. Today we get a few hours together, though. They can’t all be fancy sushi days—Jess has asked me for a ride to the bank where they process her student loans, because it’s located at an inconvenient corner of Toronto. We’re also stopping by the hospital where she’s visiting that young patient who made her so sad a few weeks ago—Leila.
Jess flat out told me that I’m really there for moral support. The ride is just extra. Even though she’s feeling much more confident about nursing school, I can tell she’s still wigged out about dealing with the scary cases. I don’t blame her. Some things just require a little extra whiz fizz. So I tell her that.
“A little…what did you say?” Jess asks on our way to the bank.
“Whiz fizz. Energy. Mojo. Call it what you want, but everyone can turn it on when they need to. Dig deep, Jessie. This girl likes you, right? You’re her happy thought.”
She looks unconvinced, so I tell her that I brought along two jerseys to sign. One is for the sick girl, and one is for her little brother.