by S. M. Shade
One broken arm, a fractured finger, and case of pneumonia later, it’s time for lunch. I usually join Linda or one of the other girls in the cafeteria, but I don’t feel real sociable today. Instead, I grab a salad and iced tea from the cafeteria and park my ass on a bench outside.
My phone rings and my mom’s face grins at me from the screen. “Hey, Mom.”
“Henley Dixon! You were supposed to call me when you got back! How was the wedding?”
Mom and I are pretty close, and we talk at least once a week since I moved away. “It was interesting,” I laugh. We spend the next few minutes chatting as I fill her in on the week—minus the fuckfest with Davis—and the calamity the ceremony turned into.
“You always have the most fun,” she laughs. “Now, do you want to tell me why I had a call from Davis Lane last night?”
Holy shit. He called my mom? “Uh, what did he want?”
“Your address.”
“You didn’t!”
“Of course not. He said he had your cell number, so I told him if you wanted him to know where you live, you’d tell him.”
“Thank you,” I breathe.
“You realize he can just use the Google, right? Do you know why he wanted your address?”
The Google. After multiple times of trying to tell her it’s just Google, I’ve given up. But she’s right. Why is he trying to find me? I told him I didn’t want anything more. “No idea. We met up at the wedding, but he lives in Nashville.”
“Hmm.” It’s the tone she uses when she doesn’t believe me.
“Look, I’m at work, so I’ll call you later okay?”
“Sure, love you.”
“Love you, too.”
As soon as I hang up, I text Davis.
ME: Why are you bothering my mother for my address?
His response is almost instant.
DAVIS: Would you have given it to me if I’d asked?
ME: No.
DAVIS: Well, there you go.
Shaking my head, I dig into my lunch to keep myself from responding. It was supposed to be one week of fun. What the hell is he up to?
It’s hard to stay in a bad mood on such a beautiful day. A light breeze blows through my hair, and the sun warms my skin. When I finish eating, I remove my tablet from my bag and get lost in the latest romance novel. Someone sits beside me, but I barely notice until he slides closer. I turn to tell the creep to back off and look into black-as-ink eyes. Fuck me.
An amused smile curls Davis’s lips while I gape at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I work here.” His smile widens and he reclines on the bench, extending his long legs and crossing his ankles like he’s just chilling out at home.
“The fuck you do!”
“The fuck I don’t,” he laughs. “I got the job offer a few days ago.”
“We cannot be that hard up for a physical therapist.” Come to think of it, Mrs. Lenky retired last month. They probably were looking to hire someone.
“It’s nice to see you, too. Dinner tonight?”
My stunned brain is still trying to process the fact that he now works at the same hospital. Just down the hall from me. It took everything in me to resist him the past week. Now I have to do it every day? And probably watch him parade every skank in the city around after he realizes we aren’t happening? I can’t deal with this right now.
“I have to get back to work,” I mumble, and walk away.
“So, no dinner?” he calls, laughing when I flip him off without turning around. “In due time, sweetheart!”
I’m relieved to see I don’t have another patient for an hour when I return to work, assuming no one comes into the E.R. needing a scan. My head is all over the place. Davis is here. Working here. Living here. The physical therapy suite is just down the hall and I’ll see him multiple times per day.
One thing about him hasn’t changed. He’s obviously as impulsive as ever. He left our hometown and never looked back and now he’s done it again. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered and so damn tempted to jump into a relationship with him, but that same impulsive streak will come back to bite me in the ass.
When the next x-ray tech shows up to relieve me, I creep out of the hospital like he’ll hear my footsteps and come running. It’s been a week since I’ve had any exercise, so I hit the gym for an hour before heading home. All I want to do is take a nice, hot bath and try not to think about Davis.
Which would probably be easier to do if he weren’t standing in my yard with—for fuck’s sake—he’s talking to Casey. Great, now I have two stalkers. As annoyed as I am that Davis has tracked me down instead of just calling like a normal person, I will use it to my advantage to get rid of Casey for good.
They both turn and look at me when I climb out of the car. “Making a new friend?” I ask Davis, who shoots me an angry look.
“Are you dating this loser?” Davis asks, and I shake my head. God, he looks good, standing there in dark jeans and a blue T-shirt that shows the outline of his amazing physique.
“Nope, I kicked him out before I left for Florida. Apparently, he’s too dense to understand.”
“Henley!” Casey glares at me, and I’m tempted to kick him in the balls. I know whatever comes out of his mouth is just going to piss me off. “Are you fucking him?”
“That would be none of your business, but since you asked, yes. Casey, meet Davis, the best lay I’ve ever had.”
A wide smile stretches across Davis’s face until Casey screeches, “You fucking whore! You were gone a week!”
Like a bolt of lightning, Davis is on him, punching him in the mouth and dragging him into the street. It’s far from a fair fight since Davis has more muscle and height than Casey could ever dream of possessing. Davis grabs his fist as he tries to hit him back. “No-no! Time to go home, little boy. Henley has decided to start dating men. Now, run along.”
There’s still a smile on his face as if he’s loving every minute of this. Casey is panting and blood runs down his lip while Davis appears completely relaxed, bored even. “She’s frigid anyway!” Casey yells.
“She’s plenty warm when my cock’s inside her. Now go before I really embarrass you.”
With a glare of blackest hate, Casey huffs off down the street, and Davis approaches me. “Seriously, Hen? Those are the kind of guys you date?”
Unlocking my door, I mumble, “It’s all temporary anyway.”
As soon as we make it through the door, he has me pinned to the wall. His lips kiss the soft spot below my ear that drives me nuts. “Not anymore. We’re not temporary.”
“We’re not anything, Davis. You can’t just barge in here and decide we’re dating like the last eight years never happened.”
His lips travel down my neck, leaving tiny kisses and I feel my resolve weakening. “I’ve missed you so much, Hen. Just give me a chance, spend time with me and I’ll show you that you can trust me again.”
Stepping back so I can think straight, I ask, “How did you manage to find a job here so quickly?”
“I applied at multiple hospitals and received a few offers before I went to Florida. After we reconnected, I realized this hospital was where you worked, and I emailed my acceptance a few days ago.”
“You came here for me?”
“There’s nothing left for me in Nashville. I only settled there for my mother. It’s time to start over, and I want to do it with you.”
I drop my head. “I need to think about it. I can’t just jump into a relationship with you. I don’t want to get hurt again.”
His rough palm slides under my chin, tilting my head until our gazes lock. “I’ll never hurt you, love, and we have all the time in the world.” His lips tilt in a small smile. “I’ll make you love me again.”
If he only knew how much I already do. “I suppose you can stay for dinner.”
His deep laugh follows me down the hallway.
***
So, dinner may have turned into
an all-nighter with a handful of orgasms between us. Instead of leaving after, he curled up beside me in my bed, pulled me into his arms, and held me all night. I could get used to this, which is exactly what scares me.
“Mmm,” he moans when I try to get out of bed, and I’m pulled back against his warm body. “I don’t want to get up. Let’s stay right here all day. We’ll try to break our Oh God record.”
“Oh God record?” I giggle.
“The number of times you call me God, or we can try to break the Please record, you know, when you beg me for it.”
“Ugh, remind me why I let you spend the night again.”
Rolling me underneath him, he runs his tongue up my neck. “I’m trying to.”
“I just got back from a week’s vacation and it’s your second day at a new job. Don’t think the hospital will be cool with letting us off,” I laugh, wiggling out from under him.
“Fine.” He slaps my ass. “Get dressed and I’ll take you out for breakfast.”
If I can walk. This man is going to be the death of me. I dress while he showers, and a few minutes later we’re on our way out the door. A large pot of flowers waits on the top step with a greeting card stuck on top. What the hell?
Davis snorts. “What did he do? Steal this from a graveyard?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I grumble, grabbing the card. Curiosity won’t let me just tear it up, so I sit on the top step to open it, and Davis takes a seat right beside me, making it clear he’s going to read it too.
My curiosity and his possessiveness backfire big time when I open the card and a puff of white powder floats into our faces. “What the fuck?” he exclaims, and a chill runs through me at the words on the blank card.
Have some anthracks, bitch.
It can’t be. Where the hell would that loser get anthrax? He doesn’t even have a car. Davis is taking no chances, though, and he knocks the envelope from my hand, brushing at me and then himself. “It can’t be anthrax,” I tell him. “Look, he isn’t even smart enough to spell it correctly.”
“We can’t chance it, Hen,” he says, calling 911.
Twenty minutes later we’re bundled into the back of an ambulance with two men who look like they escaped from the Outbreak movie, headed to the hospital.
We’re taken to the nearest hospital, which of course is where we work, so the humiliation is complete. We’re led down the back hallway to a decontamination room. I was wrong. The humiliation isn’t complete until we’re herded into the tiled room where two shower-heads jut from the far wall, and ordered to strip.
A man, who looks around sixty-five, is led in after us. “What’s going on?” Davis demands.
“The same white powder was sent to Mr. Hatten. We need to decontaminate the three of you, then you’ll be housed in the isolation unit until we can be sure what the powder contained,” a man in a hazmat suit explains.
Mr. Hatten is led to the far showerhead and ordered to strip off his clothes while another hazmat suited guy wields a hose with a sprayer, waiting to scrub him down. Only a four foot high partition separates the showers. “Can’t we use another room, or wait until you’ve finished with him?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“No, every second counts. We need to get the powder off of you now.”
Shit. Fine. I jerk my shirt over my head and strip off my pants and underwear, keeping my eyes on the ground. Davis does the same, shooting daggers at the two men ordered to decontaminate us. I step under the shower first and then lather up while Davis takes his turn under the spray.
The guy in the protective suit begins to spray me down, starting with my hair, and working his way down, rinsing all the soap away. He hands me a bottle of some lemon smelling disinfectant and has me wash with it before turning to Davis. I can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes when Davis snaps, “Dude, I’ve been washing my balls since I was four. I’ve got it.”
As I finish rinsing the rest of the disinfectant away, Mr. Hatten speaks up, “You spray my ass with that one more time, son, and I’m going to ram it up yours.” I can’t help it. Laughter shakes my chest as I dry off and dress in the gown I’m provided. I’m going to have to call Kasha or Lydia to bring me some clothes. Kasha’s going to love this. I’ll never live it down.
Davis approaches me, shaking his head. “We’ve just been publicly decontaminated and quarantined. What are you smiling about?” He looks so funny in the little blue gown that doesn’t quite fit around his chest. At least I’m thin enough to wrap the gown around myself so my ass isn’t showing.
“You wanted in my life, buddy. This is what you get. Are you ready to run, yet?” I tease.
“What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t handle a little anthrax?”
“It’s not anthrax. The asshole is just pissed. You watch. It’ll turn out to be flour or something.” I was sure Casey did this, the handwriting even looked like his, but that doesn’t explain why Mr. Hatten is here.
We’re escorted to a long room with four beds and told that someone will be in to brief us on the situation soon. In the meantime, we’re locked in. Mr. Hatten takes the bed nearest the door, while I sit on the far one by the window. “Mr. Hatten, how did you end up here?”
“Some shit for brains left me an envelope on my counter at work. I opened it up and powder went flying.”
“Where do you work?” Davis asks, also trying to piece this together.
“Salvage yard on Fifth Street.” He climbs onto the bed, his saggy, wrinkled ass hanging out the back of his robe. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Patients are sent to x-ray in gowns all the time, but Davis looks horrified.
“We’re cool as long as he doesn’t bend over,” I mumble. “We don’t want to see anything resembling a baby bird.”
“Thanks for that image,” Davis sighs, and grabs a sheet off the extra bed, wrapping himself in it to keep from mooning the guy back.
“Do you know a man named Casey Hillard?” I ask.
Mr. Hatten tilts his head back and thinks about it. “Can’t say I do.”
“Skinny, blond, with a bird tattoo on the back of his hand?”
Recognition dawns in the old man’s hazel eyes. “That little punk! Begged me to hire him on, but I caught him sleeping in one of the cars on his second day. Fired him. You think he did this? Why did he target you?”
“I dumped him.”
“Well, shit fire. Wait until I get my hands on that little shit weasel.”
Davis and I both laugh, and he climbs onto the bed with me. We don’t have a chance to discuss it further because hazmat man is back. I recognize him as one of the new doctors. He explains that we have to stay here until they can test the powder and see if it’s dangerous. Hopefully, we’ll be out in twenty-four hours.
“Can we have some real clothes?” Davis asks.
“If you have someone bring them.”
Thankfully, he gives me my phone so I can call Kasha. She agrees to swing by my place and bring me some clothes, along with picking up some sweats for Davis. Now, all we can do is wait. Mr. Hatten turns on the television and seems to tune us out.
I lay my head on Davis’s chest, and he plays with my hair. “Are you scared?”
“No, I’m pissed. The powder is going to turn out to be nothing, but he still managed to humiliate us.”
“At least you didn’t have a man trying to wash your balls.”
“It turned you on a little, didn’t it? You can admit it.”
“No!” We lie together, talking and laughing as if this isn’t an incredibly awkward situation. It doesn’t help that Mr. Hatten keeps cutting farts as if he’s the only one in the room. Finally, Kasha and Lydia show up. They won’t let them in the room, so I have to talk to them through the window, but hazmat man brings in the bag of clothes.
“What the hell have I missed in the last two days?” Kasha asks, gesturing to me and Davis. “I leave you alone for two days and you’re quarantined with your wedding fling.”
“Casey
happened,” I reply.
“Are you going to be okay?” Lydia asks.
“We’ll be fine, but her ex isn’t going to make it through the week,” Davis growls. He’s pulling clothing out of the bag and his gaze darts to Kasha. “Seriously?” he says, holding up a blue garment.
“Are those pajama pants?” I ask, and he thrusts them into my hands.
Kasha grins at him as I chuckle, handing back the pajama pants covered in smiling dolphins. He jerks them on and pulls a white T-shirt over his head. “Smile, sexy,” Kasha says, snapping a picture with her phone.
Kasha and Lydia don’t stay long, and we spend the rest of the evening cuddled up together, waiting to hear the test results. A police officer shows up and talks to us through the window, letting us know Casey has been arrested.
We eat horrible hospital food for dinner, and about an hour after Mr. Hatten falls asleep, we get the full effect of the chili we were served. The room is filled with his increasingly fragrant gas, and Davis laughs, pulling the sheet over our heads. Forehead to forehead, we cuddle together. “The answer to your earlier question is no, Hen. I’m not ready to run. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right where I want to be.”
“You want to be in a stinking hospital room with a man whose anus has a questionable shutter speed?”
“I want to be with you. I don’t care where we are, or what we’re doing. I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you. And everything in between. I’m in love with you, Hen. I always have been. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to act on it.”
A lump forms in my throat. When I was eighteen, there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to hear those words from him, and in eight years, that hasn’t changed. Maybe I’m being stupid and reckless letting him back into my heart, but honestly, he never left. It’s always beat for him. It’s dim under the sheet, but I can make out his features and the way his eyes widen when I reply, “Fine, you win. I love you, too.”