by J. P. Oliver
I could still remember the press of his hard body against mine and the longing that had nearly consumed me. Nearly made me do something I would have regretted for the rest of my life.
You want my big cock inside of you?
Fuck yes, I wanted it. More than anything in the world, I wanted Mark Johnson to be the first—the only—man to claim my body in that way. But not like that. Not like I was just a convenient place to bury his dick on New Year’s Eve.
Stop thinking about it.
But it was just so disappointing. Mark was just another one of those bi-curious guys who go gay when they drink. I’d met my fair share of those. Get a few beers in them, and they’re ready to fuck the nearest warm body. Then you run into them in the light of day, and suddenly they’re Mr. Straight, hanging out with all of their homophobic friends and being extra careful not to glance in your direction. Well, screw that. I wasn’t about to be Mark Johnson’s dirty little secret, especially when we had to work together.
Stop thinking about it, Jason. Just stop it.
I groaned again as I bent to snag a bottle of water from the fridge and then took my food and drink to one of the tables. Microwave food. It sucked, but at least it wasn’t ramen. I’d eaten so many packets of noodles in college I was pretty sure I’d developed an allergy to them, or a phobia at the very least.
Just as I was angrily spearing the last piece of broccoli with my fork, the break room door swung open, and Dr. Rosenfeld blew in like a gray-haired tornado. His white coat was askew, his stethoscope barely hanging on around his neck. His gray eyes looked puffy and tired and just a bit crazy.
“Wild morning, huh Jason?”
“Yes, sir.” I chewed the last of my food and set the fork down on the table. “Not as bad as last year, though.”
He nodded and flopped into the chair opposite me. “I think you’ve been spared the worst of it so far. Mark, on the other hand, has been put through the wringer.”
“Mark is here?” The words felt like ash in my throat.
“Well, of course he is. He’s your lead. You haven’t seen him running around like a bat out of hell this morning?”
“No.” The truth was, I had thought maybe Mark had called out. He’d been pretty drunk the night before, and I hadn’t caught a glimpse of him all morning. That was rare. He usually sought me out at least once during a shift, even if our paths didn’t cross while working a tough patient.
I’d been tense all morning wondering when I would run into him. It was not a moment I was looking forward to. Not after last night.
“Well, he’s definitely here,” Rosenfeld said. “I left him not fifteen minutes ago with an auto accident victim in room ten. Nothing too serious, but the man was drunk and making a big fuss. The police are on standby to take him down to the drunk tank. A real piece of work, that one. I thought a couple of times he was going to take a swing at one of us. In the end, all he did was puke on Mark’s shoes. Still, that was better than the code we worked earlier. A woman in her thirties took out a guardrail on 440. She didn’t make it.”
“Really? Why didn’t I get called in on it?”
Rosenfeld waved a hand in the air, and his eyes looked so damn tired. “It was pretty clear from the start. We could have called the entire hospital staff down, and she still would have died. She was pretty much gone the minute she hit that guardrail.”
“Damn,” I said. “I feel almost guilty now. My patients have been pretty calm this morning. None of the usual New Years’ bullshit, unless you count the guy who had a roman candle blow up in his face. He’s definitely going to have scars.”
“Oh, yes, I remember signing off on that one. When will people figure out that a few pretty lights in the sky aren’t worth the risks? The night shift treated a frat boy who had decided it would be a good idea to shoot a bottle rocket out of his ass. He was still here when I arrived this morning. He’s upstairs now.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “I doubt it was his idea, though. You remember what fraternities are like. They torture pledges like it’s an Olympic sport. All of that hazing and dick swinging.”
“Well, the kid’s lucky he still has a dick to swing, I’ll tell you that.”
I cringed at the thought and changed the subject. “So, do you think this is going to be a long shift?”
“Probably. I don’t think the rush is over, and we’re going to need all hands on deck.” He winked. “Maybe you’ll get in on the action instead of puttering around with asthma patients and people who ate too many black-eyed peas and think they’re having a heart attack.”
“Hey, I’ve been running my ass off on these minor things so that you guys can take care of the important stuff.” I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth I shouldn’t have said it. I was trying to work myself into a job at Vanderbilt after my residency, and making it sound like I was just some second-string bench warmer wasn’t going to accomplish that. It was already hard enough competing with Dr. Perfect.
As if sensing my line of thinking, Rosenfeld leaned across the table and patted my forearm. “You’re a good doctor, Jason. I see the way you care for patients. The way you put your heart into every single case. You don’t have to run a code to prove yourself to me.” He chuckled and pulled his hand back. “Not yet, anyway.”
A little of the tension eased inside me, but it was short-lived. The door swung open again, and Mark Johnson stepped inside. He looked like shit. Well, as much like shit as Vanderbilt’s golden boy could look. His eyes were sunken, and there were dark circles under them. His hair had shaken loose from its usual perfection and hung across his forehead in a jumble of dark waves. Even in his disheveled and agitated state, he was arresting.
His dark eyes settled on me for a couple of tense seconds, and something sparked in their depths. Then it was gone, and he shifted his gaze to Dr. Rosenfeld, who had twisted around in his chair to see who had come in.
“Mark,” Rosenfeld said. “So glad you could join us.”
Mark smirked. “Had to clean my shoes.”
I looked down and noticed for the first time that Mark’s socks were missing, and his Crocs were still damp.
He shrugged. “Guess I need to start bringing an extra pair of socks.”
Rosenfeld chuckled. “You can’t always plan for everything. There will always be surprises.”
Mark crossed to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. He twisted off the cap like it had done something to personally offend him, tossed it into the trash, and guzzled half the contents of the bottle. His Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow, and I wished I could look away. Wished I wasn’t mesmerized by everything he did.
“I look like an asshole,” he said. “Walking around here with no fucking socks. It’s so unprofessional.”
“I’ll call upstairs,” Rosenfeld said. “Maybe they can locate some for you.”
Mark smirked. “Not used, I hope.”
Rosenfeld laughed. “Not used. If necessary, I’ll go to the gift shop and buy a pair for you myself.”
“That’s nice of you, Doc. But if it comes to that, I can buy my own socks. I just—I can’t think straight right now. I’ve been running since I hit the front door, and right now I’d just like to sit my no-sock-wearing ass down in one of these chairs and relax.”
“Understood,” Rosenfeld said. “Jason and I were just discussing the boy with the bottle rocket. That was something, wasn’t it?”
Mark scoffed. “Dumbass frats. They’ve been watching too many YouTube videos. How they thought that could possibly turn out well is beyond me.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in my chair. “Alcohol makes people do stupid things.”
Mark glared at me, and I realized what I’d said. He must have thought I was making a wisecrack about the night before. About what he and I had done under the influence of alcohol.
I rushed to clarify. “I mean, you remember what it was like when we were young and dumb.”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “When I was pled
ging my fraternity, they blindfolded a bunch of and took us out to a bluff. We had to dance around blindly and pray we didn’t fall to our deaths.” At Rosenfeld’s shocked expression, he said,” We weren’t really on a bluff. They just told us that to scare us.”
Rosenfeld’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. I’d hate to think that a stupid fraternity prank might have robbed me of my best resident. And my future replacement as ED Director,” he added with a wink.
I schooled my expression, trying not to give away my irritation. Of course, Mark would be hired on after his residency; everyone knew that. He was stuck so far up Rosenfeld’s ass it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. But me? Well, the way Rosenfeld kept gushing over Mark while barely acknowledging me didn’t bode well.
Rosenfeld stood and contorted his thin body into a bone-cracking stretch. “I’m going to get back to it, fellas. I’ll see you back out there in a few.” He patted Mark on the shoulder and left.
The sudden silence in the room was deafening. Mark stood awkwardly against the counter and avoided making eye contact with me, while I busied myself with peeling the label from my empty water bottle.
Finally, Mark spoke up, his voice tense. “Look, I don’t know what happened last night, but I don’t like this silence between us. If I misread your signals, I apologize. I just thought you were down for a little fun.”
“A little fun?” I asked. “A little fun? You just thought because I’m gay I’d be all about spreading my legs. Is that it?”
“Jesus, Jason. I’m gay, too.” He glanced nervously at the door as if he thought someone might be listening to his confession.
“Could have fooled me,” I said bitterly. “I’ve worked closely with you for over a year, and you’ve never given so much as a hint that you were gay.”
“Just because I don’t advertise—”
“Advertise? Is that what you think I do? Like I’ve got a billboard downtown advertising my services?”
“No, that’s not what I meant, and you know it. It’s just complicated for me. My father—”
“What does your father have to do with anything? The fact is you’re a closeted gay man, apparently, and you thought you could dip your wick into the out-and-proud queer. Because everyone knows we’re a bunch of unrepentant sluts.”
“I don’t understand where this is coming from, Jason. If you’re not interested in me, fine, but you shouldn’t have led me on. I mean, you were kissing me back, acting like you were hot for it, and then—”
“Oh, so now I’m a slut and a tease? I had no idea you had such a high opinion of me.”
Mark’s expression turned thunderous. “Would you stop fucking interrupting me? You think you’ve got everything all figured out, and nothing I say is important? Well, I’ve got news for you. This story has two sides, and you’re damn well going to listen to mine.”
He paused as if waiting for me to interrupt again, but when I made no attempt to do so, he continued.
“Yes, I’m gay, and no, I’m not out. I’ve bitched about my parents enough that you ought to know how it is with them. I’m pretty sure they know I’m gay, but they refuse to acknowledge it. If and when I do come out, my dad will probably disown me, so excuse me if I’m not shouting it from the rooftops. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have needs.”
“Needs,” I scoffed. “That’s just the problem. You think it’s okay to treat me like some back-alley hookup just so you can get off. We have to work together, Mark, and I don’t think I could have faced you every day knowing I’d let you use me that way. I have needs, too, and they don’t include giving up my ass just so you can get your kicks and then pretend it never happened.”
“God, Jason.” Mark shook his head, and there was pain in his eyes. “I’m not just some—” He shook his head again. “I wanted you. You obviously wanted me, too, if the bulge in your pants was any indication. What’s wrong with two consenting adults enjoying each other’s bodies?”
“And what would happen then? You’d get your nut, and then what?”
Mark smirked. “Well, I’d hope you’d get yours, too.”
I pushed back from the table and stood, my body trembling with frustration. “But after that. What would happen after that?”
Mark was silent, and his gaze slid away from mine. He studied the tiles on the floor.
“That’s what I thought. And that’s exactly why you and I will never do that again. As much as I—” Nope. There was no way I was going to spill my feelings to him. Tell him how much I wanted him. How much I’d always wanted him. He didn’t deserve that ego boost.
“As much as you what?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m just not going to be your plaything. If you need to get off, go find a woman. Or better yet, be a man and come out of your parents’ closet.”
“So, you’re saying you won’t sleep with me because I don’t run around the hospital waving a rainbow flag like you and Diego?”
I laughed, but there was no real amusement in it. “You just don’t get it. Guys like you just want what you want, and the rest of us can go fly a kite. I’ve seen it play out. You’re going to end up married to some woman, and you’ll have a piece on the side—some clueless twink who thinks you’re going to leave your wife. And when he gets too clingy or too insistent, you’ll kick him to the curb and find a new one. Because everyone in your life is expendable, right?”
Mark’s mouth fell open. “For your information, I plan to come out and get married to a man someday. Just—” He slammed his lips together and studied the floor tiles again.
“Just what? Just not now?” The earth seemed to fall away beneath me as realization dawned. “Or just not to someone like me?”
“Jason—” Mark started, but he didn’t finish his sentence. I guess he figured there was nothing more he could say. He’d already shown his hand, and I just wasn’t in the cards.
Suddenly feeling sick to my stomach, I grabbed my trash and slammed it into the bin as I headed out the door. Fuck Mark Johnson and his perfect life. His charmed existence that would never include the likes of me.
6
Mark
Damn Jason Whitham and his black-and-white view of the world. And damn his blue eyes that made me feel things.
I pushed out of the break room and headed back to the computers. I needed to throw myself back into work because it was the only thing that made sense in my life. It was the only thing that mattered. The only thing I had any control over.
If Jason wanted to play it that way, fine. He could die from blue balls for all I cared. There were plenty of guys in who would give me what I needed. And then, in time, maybe I would marry Alex Trevayne, and we’d live happily ever after in the Governor’s Club. Because of all the gay men I knew, Alex had the best chance of gaining my parents’ favor as my lover. They were the best of friends with Alex’s parents, and they respected Alex. Maybe with him on my arm, coming out wouldn’t be so bad.
I wasn’t in love with him, but love wasn’t a prerequisite for marriage. I knew plenty of couples who were perfectly comfortable together even when everyone around them knew theirs was just a marriage of convenience. How many people married for love, anyway? It was an overrated emotion, and sometimes I wondered if it even existed.
I groaned aloud, drawing the attention of the other two doctors working at the bank of computers. “Sorry,” I said. “Bad day.”
They went back to their work, and I moved the mouse in front of me to wake my computer. There were several patients in the queue. One was a regular I recognized. A hypochondriac who showed up in the ED every couple of weeks like clockwork with a different illness. I didn’t want to take her because I’d spent more than my fair share of time trying to convince her that there was nothing wrong with her. The next was a man who had presented with severe abdominal pain and nausea. That sounded better, but the thought of a patient with nausea reminded me of my ruined socks. The next one was a possible stroke. Definitely up my alley. But I needed to take
a piss, I realized, so I left the computer and hurried to the john.
When I emerged back into the hall, Dr. Rosenfeld was passing by, and he grabbed my arm. “Would you please go to bay six and do something for that man in there? He’s yelling so loudly the entire ED is getting agitated.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“Abdominal pain and nausea. Get him some pain meds, and some Phenergan before he covers the entire room in vomit.”
“Or my shoes,” I said, glancing down at my still-bare feet shoved into my Crocs.
Rosenfeld chuckled. “I forgot to get your socks.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I called back as I headed to bay six. By the time I got there, Jason was already examining the patient, and the smell of puke nearly knocked me down.
“I’ve got this,” Jason said over his shoulder, his tone uncharacteristically chilly.
“Rosenfeld sent me,” I said, sticking my stethoscope into my ears and pressing the bell to the patient’s abdomen.
“It’s distended,” Jason said. “Based on his symptoms, I’m thinking kidney stones.”
“I’ve had kidney stones before,” the patient said. “Feels the same, but worse today. Much worse.” He let out a bellow that probably could have been heard in the ICU.
Two nurses were in the room—Jolene Starr and Roberta Collins, an older African-American woman who collected animal-themed scrubs. She’d been on staff for years before I started my residency. She didn’t say much, but she was an excellent RN who had even schooled me on a few things.
Jolene stood off to one side, looking out of sorts with a sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cool temperature in the ED. She seemed like she might be ready to hurl, and I thought maybe a New Year’s hangover was to blame. I’d noticed bags under my own eyes when I’d gotten ready in front of the mirror before work, and I’d had to swallow a handful of ibuprofen and chug a liter of ice water just to make it through my first couple of hours.
Roberta looked as solid as always, though. I hadn’t seen her at the party the night before, and I’d heard her telling Jolene she’d had a nice dinner with her husband. Mr. Collins was a tall brick wall of a man who had put a ring on Roberta’s finger about thirty years earlier. The two of them seemed to have a great relationship, with Mr. Collins having flowers or candy delivered to her at the hospital at least once a month. I envied their fairytale relationship more than a little bit.