Love By Number

by DJ Jamison

  Want more from DJ Jamison?

  Read the preview of Heart Trouble, Book 1 of Hearts and Health

  Ben hustled into the emergency room, his cheeks rosy and his brown hair tossed about by the wind.

  It was a touch too long, and the brisk spring breeze had wreaked havoc on it as he drove into work with the window down, mainly because the window was no longer there. But at least the weather was mild. Thinking of what might have happened if vandals had broken out his window just a month ago was almost enough to make him shiver.

  He was late to work, not only because he’d had to clean up glass from the street — there were kids in the neighborhood, for goodness’ sake — but because a stray cat had decided to take up residence in his front seat sometime after the vandals struck.

  Ben was a sucker for cute and furry — man or animal — so he’d rescued the poor tattered thing, though he was pretty sure the feline considered it abduction, as he did not go along willingly. The chunk missing from the tomcat’s ear and the scabby lump Ben felt under one leg indicated he was a bruiser of a fur ball. Also, there were the scratches he’d drawn all along Ben’s tender forearm.

  Those still smarted. Good thing Bruiser was adorable despite his lumps and bumps, with a black-and-white coloring that made his face look lopsided like he was some kind of feline court jester.

  Jester. Hmm, that would make a good name. Ben rubbed at a scratch already scabbing on his flesh. No, Bruiser was more fitting.

  “Ben, there you are!” the charge nurse said.

  She didn’t sound too irritated he was late, but there was something about her tone that caught his attention.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” he said, reaching out to grab the charts Alex had ready for him. “I’ll shorten my break.”

  “No problem, hon.”

  Ben tugged at the charts, faltering when Alex held tight. He raised his eyebrows.

  She leaned forward over the desk conspiratorially. He glanced around, noticing Dawn watching their exchange with amusement. Leaning in, he whispered theatrically: “What? Do I have spinach in my teeth again?”

  Alex smirked. “No, but I thought you should know we have your boyfriend in Exam 3. I saved him for you, but you’re late and he’s in pain, so—”

  The rest of what she said was lost under Ben’s groan of frustration. “Seriously? When are you going to forget that story?”

  She laughed lightly. “Never.”

  Ben tugged the charts, and she let them go. He took a step in the direction of Exam 3, before whirling back.

  “It’s not … him, is it?”

  He didn’t need to say a name. Alex knew who he meant. Her eyes softened with sympathy. “No, hon. Just another—”

  “Reckless biker,” Ben interrupted. “Okay, I got it.”

  He turned on his heel and fast-walked toward the exam room, his cheeks still burning. Why did he always have to ask? Of course, Alex wouldn’t have teased him like that if Tripp were in the ER.

  He thought back to the day Tripp dropped him cold. They’d met up for a late lunch and a few beers, and he’d figured they’d go back to his place afterward as usual. Tripp wasn’t the cuddly type, and while Ben was wishing for more — freaking beating his head against the wall trying to figure out how to push for more — Tripp met someone else. Someone who was somehow worthy.

  Must have been some guy.

  Ben had tried to hide his hurt, but Tripp saw it.

  He’d told Ben he’d probably meet a doctor to sweep him off his feet. When Ben scoffed, saying doctors were assholes and he’d take a biker any day, Tripp had joked that Ben would meet the love of his life, injured in the ER.

  Now, every time they had a biker in the ER, Alex made sure Ben got the chart and a few teasing remarks to go with it.

  The love of his life a biker? Not damn likely.

  He’d been an idiot about Tripp, but he’d learned his lesson. He wasn’t cut out for winning the heart of a man who craved excitement.

  He was a nurse. He spent his days changing catheters (he still wasn’t used to that scent), jabbing needles into people (very well, thank you very much), and administering enemas (the shit had literally hit the fan on his first attempt; it was a wonder he’d ever wanted anal sex again).

  He ended his shifts, more often than he’d like to admit, covered in vomit, blood or other substances that should remain unnamed.

  Nothing about that was sexy.

  But the man in Exam 3 … he was sexy.

  Ben drew the curtain aside in a rattle of sliding hooks, only to stop short. His breath caught in his chest.

  The man before him was long and lean, so tall his feet hung off the end of the bed. His light blond hair was a tousled mess against the pillow.

  He was scruffy, pale fuzz barely darkening his jaw but roughing up what might otherwise be a baby face. Just now that jaw was clenched in pain.

  The man turned his head at the sound of the curtain being drawn open, and Ben hurried to school his expression to the sympathetic friendliness he showed all his patients.

  “Hey there,” Ben said, stepping inside and tugging the curtain closed behind him. Casting a quick glance at his chart, he sought out his name. “Gage. How you feeling?”

  He glanced up to see light blue eyes fixed on him.

  “Been better,” Gage said, his voice coming out hoarse. He gestured to his sheet-covered leg. “Got a little torn up.”

  Ben scanned the chart, gleaning the few details he could. It was a case of second-degree road rash caused by a motorcycle accident, along with a couple of gashes that would need sutures.

  Geez, I hope Alex didn’t have him waiting long on my account.

  He was a little surprised to see the patient wearing a leather jacket over his hospital gown. The left sleeve was torn to shit, indicating he’d nearly scraped up his arm, as well.

  “Interesting attire,” Ben teased, as hooked the chart on the foot of the bed and made his way closer to take in the damage.

  Lifting the sheet, he saw that Alex hadn’t really left Gage to suffer untended while Ben rescued a stray cat. His leg had been cleaned and bandaged. Judging by the number of bandages, covering a large stretch of calf and outer thigh, the man was probably hurting.

  “Sorry,” Gage said gruffly. “It was a little cold in here, and I hate hospital gowns.”

  “It is a bit like a refrigerator, isn’t it?” Ben said with a smile. “I’m Ben, by the way. I’ll be your nurse tonight. I’m going to just take a peek under these bandages and go browbeat a doctor into getting in here to take care of you. You haven’t received anything for the pain, is that right? I’ll try to get a rush put on that.”

  “That’s okay. I told the other nurse I wouldn’t need anything.”

  Ben lifted an eyebrow. That usually meant one of two things.

  “So, are you an idiot with too much pride or a recovering addict?”

  Gage stiffened, and his smile looked forced. “You don’t hold your punches, do you?”

  Ben patted his arm. “I’m a nurse, sweetie. We never do.”

  Gage’s eyes widened at Ben’s term of endearment. It didn’t mean anything — except maybe that he was showing his gay — because Ben talked that way to all his patients. But Gage wouldn’t know that.

  Without waiting for the silence to become awkward, he stepped away to wash his hands in the small sink against the wall, then returned to the bedside.

  “Just taking a quick look,” he murmured, waiting for Gage’s nod of approval before unfastening one corner of his bandage enough to get a look at the damaged flesh beneath.

  He grimaced at what he saw.

  The man had done a real number on himself. Angry scrapes covered his leg, and he was going to need sutures in two places. But everything looked clean and disinfected, so he reattached the bandage and slid the sheet up.

  A smile tugged at his lips when, in the process, he glimpsed tight orange briefs under Gage’s hospital gown. Interesting underwear choice. Thi
s guy has a bit of flair.

  Glancing up at that battered jacket, he frowned. “Is the leg your only damage?”

  Gage chuckled, and Ben’s eyes shot up to his face. His lips smirked as he replied. “That’s debatable. What kind of damage are we talking: mental, emotional or physical?”

  Ben laughed. “I only deal with the physical, honey.”

  Gage’s smile widened, and Ben realized how that sounded. He hurried to get the conversation back on track. Flirting with patients was not ordinarily something he did, and he especially didn’t need to flirt with a biker. Despite what he’d said to Tripp, he was in no hurry to be another guy’s fuck buddy until he got bored.

  “What I meant was, that jacket is looking abused. Do you have any other injuries?”

  Even as he asked, Ben grabbed the chart to skim over the details once more. Not that he didn’t trust the patient, but he wanted to be sure he knew what had been detailed thus far.

  “Jacket saved me,” Gage mumbled. “I might have a few bruises.”

  Ben tsked. In addition to sutures, Gage was going to need a round of examinations to ensure there were no breaks or internal injuries to his body.

  “Want me to take it off?”

  Ben startled, glancing up. “What?”

  “The jacket?” Gage said. “Do you need to see the rest of me?”

  Ben bit down on his lip hard as images spilled through his mind. Even in a hospital gown covered by a leather jacket, Gage was a good-looking man. His chest was firm and his shoulders broad. It was tempting to agree, just to look a little, after the dry spell Ben had experienced since Tripp dumped him.

  That would be playing with fire, and he knew it.

  Ben shook his head and replaced the chart.

  “The doctor will make a more complete examination,” he said. “Let me go hunt down Dr. Johnston. I’ll scold him until he makes you his top priority.”

  Ben smiled his polite nurse smile and turned for the door. He needed to get out of that room before he drooled all over his patient.

  ***

  Holy shit, he was a fucking idiot.

  For the thousandth time, Gage asked himself why the hell he’d thought it would be a good idea to go out with a group of bikers for a guest column he was writing as part of the alternative journalism class he taught at the junior college.

  He’d made a fool of himself in front of some Harley riders the Ashe Sentinel staff had convinced to help him. Apparently one of their former press guys had ridden with the group, and they were open to him experiencing a day in the life of a small-town biker. His column focused on jumping into new experiences in the community, and he’d sort of tuned out during the brief set of lessons they’d tried to give him.

  Riding a bike wasn’t difficult. Tons of men did it. Hell, teenagers did it. Yet, he’d somehow managed to get startled by a fucking squirrel of all things, swerve, lay the bike down and slide down the street.

  To top it off, the bikers had laughed their asses off and taken pictures with their phones, generously offering to tag him on Facebook so he could use them with his column. Assholes.

  Thankfully, one of them had called a friend to give him a ride to the hospital so he didn’t have to come in by ambulance. Talk about embarrassing. Although that would have made for an entirely different column: “My first ambulance ride, by Gage Evans.”

  All in all, a seriously shitty day.

  That combined with his aversion to any kind of drug use – prescribed or not – and he was in some pain. His leg throbbed rhythmically, and he was hyperaware of the blood traveling through his body, as it seemed his pulse wanted to beat right there under his injuries. Meanwhile, fire licked up and down the surface of his skin.

  It was driving him crazy.

  Then Nurse Hotness walked in.

  The first nurse had been a nice maternal type, but this one was just shy of six feet with wavy brown hair and eyes to match. His skin tone was warm, nearly tan, and Gage would lay money he looked that way year-round, rain or shine. Lucky bastard. He wouldn’t mind getting a look under those ridiculous scrubs, either. He hadn’t thought it could be done, but Nurse Hotness made the drab, shapeless outfit look good.

  He was warm and friendly, flirty even, and Gage had been pleasantly distracted until he left.

  So, he was relieved when Nurse Hotness returned with a fairly attractive, if older, doctor trailing him. He was less happy to see the way the doctor’s eyes fixed on Nurse Hotness’ ass.

  Looks like I can kiss my fantasies of a sponge bath good-bye.

  “Good news, Gage,” the nurse said, his lips lifting in a wide smile. “Dr. Johnston is here to properly treat you. So, I’ll just get these bandages off and let him get down to the business of stitching you up.”

  “Thanks,” Gage said, relieved despite the small spark of irritation that Dr. Johnston had more interest in watching Nurse Hotness than looking over his chart.

  The nurse pulled over a rolling table, and set out a few supplies. Scissors, a small basin of water and antibacterial soap. He snapped a pair of gloves over what looked to be strong, nimble hands and picked up the scissors.

  Gage looked away as soon as those hands reached his thigh. He didn’t want to watch. The idea of his torn flesh made his stomach turn. He didn’t much care to watch the doctor, either, who stood close behind the nurse. Too close.

  Instead, he fixed his gaze on Nurse Hotness’ face while the man’s attention was otherwise engaged. His lids were lowered as he looked down to focus on his work, and Gage’s eyes were drawn to his long lashes. They were dark like his hair, but there were a few lighter lashes mixed in, giving a few glimmers of gold.

  Gage’s gaze dropped to his mouth. The nurse’s lips pursed in concentration as he worked, but they looked full and firm. Juicy even.

  Jesus, stop objectifying the nurse. He’s trying to do his job.

  Just as he started to worry he might pop wood, a tug at his skin made him gasp and wince. All possibility of erection vanished.

  Nurse Hotness looked up, regret in his big brown eyes. “Sorry, sweetie. But you’re all ready for the doctor now.”

  He patted Gage’s ankle, safely removed from the damage zone, and stepped back. When he did, he bumped into Dr. Johnston behind him.

  “Oh, sorry,” the nurse said, edging away from the contact. Yeah, he didn’t like Dr. Johnston. Not like that.

  Gage smiled, feeling his spirits rise, as the nurse made his way toward the door without a second glance at the doctor.

  “Wait!” he called, and Nurse Hotness turned.

  “What is it, hon?”

  “Your name,” he said, his voice going gravelly again with nerves. “What was it?”

  The nurse smiled wide, warmth emanating from him in waves. “My name’s Ben. Good luck, Gage. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  “Okay, may— ow, motherfuck!”

  The doctor chose that moment to slide a needle into him, and the asshole was not gentle. When Gage caught his breath enough to look to the doorway, Ben was gone.

  Read the full copy of Heart Trouble on Amazon

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  About the author

  DJ Jamison grew up in the Midwest and worked in newsrooms for more than 10 years, which came in handy when she began writing stories centered on a se
ries of love connections between small-town Kansas newspaper staffers, their sources and their readers. It was the perfect entrance into the world of fiction, and she has since branched out into ERs, health clinics and other settings to tell the stories of characters who are flawed but loveable. She writes a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual, with a focus on telling love stories that are more about common ground than lust at first sight. DJ is married with two sons and two glow-in-the-dark fish that are miraculously still alive.

  Books by DJ Jamison

  Ashe Sentinel Connections

  Changing Focus

  Source of Protection

  Rewriting His Love Life

  Winter Blom

  Hard Press

  Chance for Christmas

  Hearts and Health

  Heart Trouble

  Bedside Manner

  Urgent Care

  My Anti-Series

  My Anti-Valentine

  My Anti-Boyfriend

  Real Estate Relations

  Full Disclosure

  The Espinoza Boys

  Earning Edie (m/f)

  Catching Jaime (m/m)