She resumes her skipping and giggling once the nuns pass.
I glance behind us, making sure no one is around. “You Catholic?”
She shakes her head then grimaces. “Well, I was raised Catholic.”
“Don’t tell me you went to a parochial school.”
“Complete with the plaid skirts and rulers smacked against my knuckles if I laughed too loudly.”
Jesus, now I’m picturing her, as an adult, in a little plaid skirt. But in my fantasy, she’s the one with the ruler, and I’ve been a very bad boy. I’m not one for role playing. But I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about it. With her.
She stops skipping. “You okay? You look a little…I don’t know what.”
I yank on her hand all the more, hurrying down the hall to see if I can get the image of her in a little skirt out of my head. “Just hungry.”
“You’re eating with me? Not just here to force me to eat?”
I stop and glance at her. She’s teasing me. And I’m loving it. I love this whole thing. I don’t think I’ve been this happy ever before. God, I’m a sap.
And I’ve got no chance to win this girl, the beautiful woman in front of me, because she’s not only out of my league, she’s…she’s…well, there’s no way for this idiotic crush to go anywhere. I need to remind myself of that.
But I really fucking like her, something inside of me whines. And I want to see if I can get her to keep teasing me.
“I won’t force you to eat. Much.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “What if I forced you to eat?”
I look her up and down. “You and what army?”
She guffaws. It’s loud and real and makes my heart hammer hard. “What a comeback! I haven’t heard that since I was in the second grade.”
I shrug. “What can I say? You bring out the second-grader in me.”
“Aw, shucks.” Her smile instantly disappears as she places both her hands on my shoulders. “Oh my goodness, I never thought I’d live to see the day…”
“What? What day?”
“When you gave me a full-fledged smile. You have amazingly nice teeth. They’re really white and straight.”
I roll my eyes and pull her yet again down the hallway. “I think you would say, ‘Aw, shucks,’ to that.”
We veer into the cafeteria where workers are stacking pancakes into giant silver trays, kept constantly warmed in the buffet tables, and the smell of sausage is strong. No one else is around. Not a lot of people who would notice if I tackle Asha to a table and decide if I want to hug her or lick every inch of her.
I’ve never had so much fun picking out food. But she makes everything fun, like when she asks if I want cheese on my scrambled eggs and tries to splash hot sauce all over my plate when I’m not looking. Asha is kind to everyone, even the grumpy cafeteria cashier. And I adore how she’s bouncing back from being panicked and sad, to this woman who actually makes me smile when I thought nothing, other than Neil, ever would. I’m helping her come back from the mood Dr. Murphy dumped on her. And, fuck, if I don’t want to stand at least ten feet taller. Even if I never can feel her lips against my own, knowing I’m helping her makes me feel…so good.
We decide to eat in the cafeteria, plopping our trays on opposite sides of a long table. Somehow she’s feeding me her poached eggs and bacon. I’m not sure how that came to be, but I open for her when she tells me to try something. I want to feed her. Like they do for dates, but I worry I’m reading her wrong. She’s not attracted to me. I’m a nurse. I’m a fuck up compared to her.
I have a crush on her.
Not the other way around.
But I give in and decide that even if nothing ever happens, I’ll regret not feeding her. I’ll regret not seeing her lips part for me, even if it doesn’t mean a goddamned thing for her.
“Want some of my scalloped potatoes?” I ask, noting how my voice sounds dry and nervous.
She looks up from her inspection of her catsup-covered hash browns and nods. “Yeah, they look good.”
I scoop up a heaping forkful and slowly reach across the table. Her eyes focus on me for a second, but then she looks at the bite and opens her perfect pink, full lips. I’m careful not to let my instant arousal interfere too much, but, seeing her lips around my fork…fuck. I’m a goner. I want her so bad I can’t think straight for a few seconds. Seriously. I might have blacked out. I don’t know. But I’m suddenly back in my body and placing the fork on my side of the table, trying to cover the fact that my hand’s shaking.
“Mmm,” she says. “Those are good.”
That noise she made, the tiny little moan of happiness, goes straight to my cock. I’m getting hard and thanking god I can hide it under the table. Not the best day to wear boxers. On a day like today, where I’m competing with hormonally charged teenagers, I need my boxer briefs. But I can calm down.
Instead, I ask, “Want more?” I will feed you until I can’t stand it any longer and I will have to leap over the table and rip off your clothes. Just say the word, Asha, and I will feed you forever more.
She smiles. “I do, but…” she frowns, “…I’m already full.”
I nod, looking down at my nearly empty plate. It’s not like I have a lot to give her, but I really liked feeding her. I want to do it again, even if she is full. But I try to be a gentleman and keep staring at my plate, wishing she’d change her mind.
I’ve never fed anyone. Oh, sure, I’ve taken a turn at feeding Neil when he was little. And now we have gummy worm wars, throwing them at each other’s open mouths and laughing until someone chokes. That sounds a lot more dangerous than I thought it would.
Anyway, I’ve never been the kind of guy who would feed someone. I’ve never slowed down enough to be that interested in a woman. I’ve gone on a few traditional dates, but most of the women in my life were just random hookups. I’ve never done this. Never felt this. And the thing that sucks is that I know this is only one-sided. But I can’t seem to stop myself from…from feeling this way, from pushing boundaries.
Maybe Asha could become my friend. Yeah. That’d be nice. It could be a torturous way to simultaneously feel like I’m possibly the happiest I’ve ever been, the most turned on, and hyper-aware of another person as well as feeling like shit because these feelings aren’t going to go anywhere.
Somehow we’re done eating and taking our trays back to the dishwashing area, piling them up neatly, and I don’t want to leave the cafeteria. I have less than an hour left of my shift. And I’ve never been so depressed about that. I want to stay with her. Stay right here where she looks up at me with her giant brown eyes and makes my heart crush itself, makes my guts knot, and makes my dick want to dance a jig. It’s crazy to feel this much for someone, right? Someone I hardly know. But, shit, do I like her.
We’re slowly leaving the cafeteria and once we cross the line from the big room and into the maze of hallways, I feel like someone’s taking my heart and squeezing it all the more. I’m in a little pain that I will never admit to. This crush on Asha is a lot stronger than I thought, and I’m thinking of calling my sister and asking for advice on what to do for an unrequited crush when I glance at my pretty little doc.
The glowing, golden warmth she exuded in the cafeteria is gone. Her face is slack, so much so her lips are drooping. Her eyes aren’t sparkling.
“Hey.” I reach down and grab her hand. Something I shouldn’t do but can’t help myself. “What’s wrong?” I pull her to a stop when there aren’t any people roaming in our vicinity.
She looks up at the ceiling, clenching my hand in a firm grip. I like it when she holds me back.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” I’m a little embarrassed I say as much, worried I’m transparent, but what the hell.
“I’m sure you get hit on all the time, but do you ever get hit on and made to feel like…like shit in the process?”
I shake my head. “I don’t get hit on all the time.”
/>
She rolls her eyes, a slight glimmer of her usual self coming back. “Come on. I saw a patient try to grope you when giving you her number.”
I wince. “I—ah—that was—”
“That wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a woman basically throw herself at you. But—”
Heat climbs up my chest, because I’m uncomfortable talking about women being attracted to me. Not that long ago, I loved the way women looked at me, flirted, and several did throw themselves. Yeah, I was a little unbearable. My sister had a talk with me about how much of a dick I was being; although, she didn’t say it like that. But I saw her point. I was using women, bouncing through a slew of them, having my way and moving on quickly. Well, I would try to give my sexual conquest a great night in the process, and even more unbearably thought I could make any woman come at my command. Yeah, I was an ass.
And, to be honest, I think I am good in bed. But what does it matter when I’m holding hands with a woman who probably sees me as her buddy?
You know what? It doesn’t fucking matter. None of it does because Asha doesn’t want me. And that’s okay. I don’t blame her. I’m not good enough for her anyway.
So I get to the real point of her question. “You felt like shit when someone hit on you?” I know she’s talking about Dr. Murphy, the nut sack who I’d like to squeeze his neck until his eyes popped out.
She bites her lip and looks down, right at our joined hands. Before she can separate from me, I hold her tighter, pulling her closer.
“He’s a dirtbag,” I say, trying to clean up my language a little for her. “If someone made you feel like shit—”
“I think it’s a choice if I feel like shit or not.”
“Yeah, it is.” I nod. “But that doesn’t dismiss the fact that someone was trying to make you feel inferior.”
“Do you ever get treated like that?” She makes a scoffing noise. “You don’t. I can tell you don’t.”
I sigh. When I was young, I was treated like shit. A lot. Try being dirt poor. There’s a reason why it’s called dirt poor. It’s because much of where I lived was literal dirt. Dirt in the cellar, dirt for my playground, dry dead dirt as my companion. There’s not a lot of sympathy for people of my caliber. Even if I was a kid, I felt the sneers. I knew the look of contempt very early in life.
But I don’t want to tell her about my childhood. I’ve got a small ounce of pride, and I don’t want to tell her how poor I was, how some days we’d hardly eat, and if Zoe or I complained about being hungry, we’d get a beating then belittled that we were children born from sin who shouldn’t whine.
Besides, this is about Asha and the harassment that women receive from men who feel attracted to females yet can’t stand the fact that they are intellectual equals. Or in Asha’s case, smarter than Dr. Murphy could ever hope to be.
“Men are pigs,” I say, trying like hell to sound like her friend.
She laughs and pulls on my hand. “Not all of them.”
Oh, Asha, yes, we fucking are, because if you knew the things I think about you, how I’ve fantasized about being inside you and what you would look like naked, then I’d only confirm my position.
She sighs, her lips drooping again. “Honestly, I don’t know why I brought that up. I mean, that’s life—guys, some guys, being assholes. I—I guess—”
“Tell me.”
Her long, long black lashes flutter while her eyes fill with moisture. She swallows as she tries to fight her tears.
Oh, fuck. I can’t see her cry. I’ll do anything to make her feel better. I’ll fight epic battles. I’ll humiliate myself. I don’t fucking care just as long as she doesn’t cry, making me feel like an impotent asshole.
But wait. If I’m her friend, then I should listen to her, like I do for my sister. I could give her advice. Or try to.
“I—I—” she stammers, swallowing again.
“What is it, baby?” And I’ve just made it awkward. I’ve never called anyone baby. I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t know there was a part of me that called anyone baby. And I hold my breath, hoping she didn’t notice the term of endearment.
“Mr. Goodall…I couldn’t save him.”
That’s fucking it. I snake an arm around her, looking for a place where we can have more privacy. The janitor’s closet. Perfect. Rushing her in, I close the door behind me, kind of amazed it was unlocked and that the closet is actually a room with a lot of cleaning supplies in open cabinets and, thank fuck, no one is inside.
This is something I can actually help with. Hopefully.
“You know you can’t save them all.”
Her eyes water all the more. I’m not helping with statements she’s probably heard thousands of times.
“I know.” Her voice is small, and she places a hand on my chest, which I suddenly focus on.
Her tiny hand has used a sternum retractor to open a breastbone today. She’s so small but so strong, and I admire the fuck out of her. So when her warm hand is on me like this, in this intimate way, probably only because I’ve cornered her against a wall of sanitizer, I can only think of her touching me, of seeing if she’ll touch me more. If she’ll glide her hand lower.
Snap out of it, asshole, some rational part of me internally yells. I need to be her friend. Not think about her hand on me.
“I know I can’t save them all.” She swallows. She’s fighting her tears so much that it almost brings me to my knees. I will do anything for her. Anything. As she continues, I have to battle the small rational part of me from the ass who wonders if stripping her naked would comfort her more than talking. “I just…I don’t know…Mr. Goodall’s wife was so sweet. But she…it all got to me. And Dr. Murphy after…he gives me this lecture, makes sure I feel like I’m an inferior doctor, then has the fucking nerve to tell me how good I look in my scrubs. Can you believe that?”
I wonder if this is the real her—the swearing, vulnerable woman in front of me. I wonder if she’s showing me something she doesn’t expose to other people. And I can’t help but feel honored down to my toes, my heart slamming against my ribs all the more.
“He’s a dick,” I manage to say. “I can make sure he slips in one of the hallways, if you want. I could make it look like an accident.”
She laughs. Her hand on my chest stretches, presses into me slightly. “No…well, maybe. No.” Her smile slips from her gorgeous face yet again. “I just…Mr. Goodall was married to his wife for more than forty years. I could tell they were close. And now—” she sniffs, “—Mrs. Goodall has to face life alone.”
This is the difference between Army life and being a civilian. Now, I have to deal with next of kin. Or point in fact, Asha does. I’ve had a hard time dealing with this part of the job myself. I mean, sure, when I was in the military, I could send a letter, maybe even visit a buddy’s family when I was back stateside. But actually being the one to hold someone’s hand and tell them their loved one is dead…is tougher than anything I’ve ever done before.
I don’t know what to do, what kind of advice to give her. So out of my blabbering mouth comes some kind of shit I hadn’t planned for. “Hit me.”
“What?” Her delicate dark brows knit together, and her hand on me grips into a fist.
“In the Army, after a bad case or we lost one of our own, we’d…you know, fight. Smack each other around a little.” Jesus, do I sound like an idiotic man or what?
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Or we’d target practice.”
“With guns?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t have a gun.”
“You can borrow mine.”
“You have a gun?”
I shrug. “I’ve thought about hunting but never got around to it so far.”
She slowly nods, the fist on my chest isn’t loosening. I’m not helping. Shit.
I inhale, thinking of a slightly different tactic. “What you do, how you care for your patients and their loved ones, isn’t easy o
n you. You give everything you can. And sometimes to compensate you need to do something physical. Maybe not target practice or fighting. But we could—I don’t know—we could do a Pilates class or something.”
She snort laughs and smacks me a little with her tiny fist. “I don’t do Pilates.”
“Yeah, I don’t know where the Pilates came from. I’m a shit.”
She smiles widely, shaking her head. “You’re not a shit.”
“Kickboxing class?”
“What about—” her smile slides off as her gaze lowers. To my lips. “What about kissing?”
Everything in my body lights up. It’s as if every damned atom is responding to what she just said, as if I’ve never been fully alive until this very second. I’m also very hot suddenly. Too damned hot. I’m molten and scared I’ll burn her hand that’s on me.
I want to ask if she means kissing me, but I won’t. I want her to be talking about kissing me. Only me. I want it so bad I stop rationalizing, stop thinking. I stop everything and just react.
Placing a hand on the stored sanitizers behind her and one on her hip, I cage her in, not about to let her rethink what she’s just asked.
She can push me away, and I’ll stop and probably be embarrassed as hell, but I’m going in.
I’m going to kiss sweet little Dr. Asha Whitetail.
Chapter Five - Asha
I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe Ryder, the Ryder, has his hand on my hip. He’s so big that I feel the warmth from his palm take up a huge amount of space on my body, like he’s covering half of my hip. And I can’t believe I’ve been bold enough to have my hand on his chest this whole time.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never asked a man to kiss me. Sure, I’ve kissed before. However, usually it’s done a little reluctantly on my half, and after so many minutes I always feel like someone has wrapped barbed wire around my lungs and is pulling harder and harder until I won’t be able to breathe at all.
But I don’t feel like I’m going to suffocate with Ryder. God, I want him to kiss me, and I keep replaying that one word he whispered to me, baby. Baby. Baby. Can you believe he said baby?
Bad Medicine (Wolf Love Book 4) Page 4