by Ryan, Syd
The car ride over to Regan’s is entertaining for me. The music stations his mom has picked out crack me up. It goes from news radio to classical to rap music. Chris informs me that his mom has a thing for Snoop Dogg. I imagine a lady in her fifties rapping with the Snoop, and laughter pours out of me. I compose myself a few miles from Regan’s house. “Chris, I just wanted to say thank you before we get to Regan’s. I had a total shit day, and you managed to make the crap a little better.”
Chris smiles at me. Looking at him, you would never think he was a firefighter. He has the surfer look going on: shaggy hair and a thin, toned body. There is quite a contrast between him and Gavin. My time with Chris is great because I expect nothing from him, and he feels the same way about me. At this moment, this is all I’m capable of. I really like no expectations because I will be the last one getting hurt.
Regan greets us at the door before we have the chance to knock. “Awaiting my arrival, Regan?”
“Stop, you are not the Duchess of York, even though you have her fashion sense. Now the reason I was at the door was that Grayson was on the patio and saw you pull up.”
We walk through the door, and I watch Grayson and Chris doing the bro code handshake. I stand there waiting for it, and it happens. “Chris, where are your balls at, driving Miss Daisy?” Grayson says. Chris's hand goes through his hair trying to deal with the magnitude of this situation. “Fuck, stop it, man. I listened to Jamie the whole way here.”
“Jamie, I know you had a field day cracking jokes about it. Damn, half the time I think Jamie actually has balls,” Grayson says.
“I admit I had a good time at Chris’s expense. I realize Chris gave me what I needed today, a good laugh. My last few days have been total shit.”
I go into the kitchen and get us some drinks. Regan, being my bestie, has already poured my wine. I take a quick drink, and it goes down so smoothly. I absolutely love wine, but with my fucked-up family history, I have to be careful about the possibility of getting addicted. My alcohol, shopping, and sex drive are already on the border of being unhealthy.
As I walk back into the living room, Chris is texting someone. I don’t expect monogamy, but I deserve respect and expect it in return. The annoyance begins to rise, but I’m not about to let Chris know I’m affected by it. “What’s up?” I’ve made myself calm and collected, expecting my feelings to get hurt.
“I’m texting my mom, telling her I’m getting shit about Miss Daisy. Grayson will be at the firehouse telling all the guys. I bet he even has a photo of it on his phone.”
I pull Chris toward me and whisper in his ear, “I think you need a distraction.” Grayson and Regan are in the kitchen getting the snacks. I place my hand on Chris’s dick and rub up and down, getting him hard.
“Fuck, Jamie,” Chris says as lays his head on my shoulder.
“Chris, you want me to get you off? I’ll jerk you off before they come back, and right before you're about to cum, I will put my mouth on your cock and take everything you have to give me.”
Wearing basketball shorts is to Chris’s advantage tonight. I move my hand inside his boxers, and he makes no attempt to stop me. I don’t have a lot of time to get it done, but I do my best work in stressful situations. I stroke him in fast purposeful movements, and I use my other hand to caress his balls to further the situation along. Chris is in real ecstasy, and the look on his face tells it all.
“Jamie...fuck.”
“Chris, are you ready for me to put my mouth on you? I want your salty cum in my mouth and on my tongue, knowing you gave it to me. I want to suck your cock, you ready for it?” I whisper all this in his ear slowly and carefully. Chris begins to lose control, and I quickly bend down, ready to feel his cum at the back of my throat. I look over, and Regan and Grayson are still gathering up stuff in the kitchen. I lick Chris’s dick clean and put it back into his shorts.
“Damn, Jamie. You just made me cum like an adolescent boy who just figured out what his dick is good for other than taking a piss.” I wink at him, and he pulls me over, kissing me, showing me he appreciated my unexpected act of kindness.
Grayson and Regan bring in the food and drinks, and we gather around her kitchen/dining room table. I’m little surprised by my actions with Chris. I know I’m a tigeress in the bedroom, but that was a little brave even for me, considering I haven’t had much alcohol. We could have been caught, but I have no guilt or shame about it. In fact, I think it turned me on even more. My underwear is damp with desire, and I am not ashamed of it. This is another example of my reckless behavior, not thinking about consequences.
I help Regan bring the remaining items to the dining room. Grayson quickly sits beside Regan before I do, and it pisses me off. Grayson winks at me, thinking he has one up on me. “Let’s keep it clear, Grayson, she was mine long before you came along.”
“Now, that is something I would pay my last dollar to see,” Chris says.
Regan and I both stare at Chris. “Shut the fuck up, Chris. Clearly, we are more than you can handle.” Regan nods in agreement. “I don’t want to watch you get handsy with Regan.”
“Jealous much, Jamie?”
“Now shut the fuck up, Grayson.” Everyone laughs as Grayson deals the cards. “Good place for your hands, Mr. Matthews.”
A few hours later, the girls beat the boys in cards. Our final win is 2-1. The boys tell us that if we want to play a real card game we should let them know. I don’t mention that, during my youth, my dad taught me to play cards. He would use me as a distraction as we took the rest of the players’ money. He would bet them, and I would win. I earned my keep in the family and, in return, I spent time with Dad. I know the situation was messed up, but I would do it all over again to spend time with him. When my parents left, losing my dad hit me the hardest. I guess I was no longer an asset to him.
As the midnight hour hits, I tell the gang I’m ready to head out. The guys go to the patio, giving us a few minutes to talk. Drinking a few glasses of wine makes us chatty.
“When do your anger management classes start?” she asks.
“The first class starts tomorrow. It should be basic, meet and greet.”
“How are you handling it?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Regan, it will be OK. It will be done and over with before you know it. The class starts at 6:00 p.m. The good news is it will be at the end of the shift. It gets me off the unit.”
“I’m off tomorrow, so call me and let me know how it goes.” Regan gives me a hug, and I can’t wait for the embrace to be done. I love Regan—don’t get me wrong—but I can’t handle the intimacy of it. I stand there and attempt to give a halfhearted hug back.
“Chris, time to get our asses on the road via the bumblebee bug.” Chris rolls his eyes at me in annoyance. I laugh at him. “Dude, we are never going to let you live this down. The jokes will be rolling for weeks.” I put my arm through his, looking back at the others and saying goodbye. Chris opens the door for me even though, clearly, this is not a date. I hope he is not getting the wrong idea about us. I will have to keep an eye on it.
I let Chris pick the music out, and he chooses a classic rock station. My thoughts begin to run away on the trip back home. As Chris and I sit in a comfortable silence, I’m thinking about the anger management group tomorrow. I hope this group doesn’t involve too much personal stuff. I got the impression that the group was more instructional than anything else, so it should be fine. Thank God. I can talk about a lot of things, but my family is off limits. The situation with my parents doesn’t define me. Therefore it doesn’t require discussion.
The trip back to the apartment is quick. The alcohol buzz in my body is starting to fade much sooner than I thought it would. I have an internal battle about inviting Chris into my apartment. I could really enjoy the sex, but Chris opening the door for me threw me off my game a little. I try to justify it, telling myself he’s just being a gentleman. Maybe we’ll have some quick on-the-wall sex and then I can put him ou
t the door. Or should I invite him in for some oral action? Chris is usually game for anything. My thoughts are all over the place.
Chris gets out of the car and walks over to my side.
“Hey, I think I’m going to go bed,” I say. “I have to work early in the morning.”
Chris eyes me suspiciously. I never use work as a reason not to have sex. The opposite usually happens: I want to have sex even more the night before a shift. Maybe I use it as a coping mechanism. Chris leans in, kissing me with everything he has. “You sure...Jamie?”
I nod, even though that kiss was something else. I definitely wasn’t expecting it.
Chris walks me to the front door of my apartment. I was going to tell him he didn’t have to walk me to the door, but I knew he would insist regardless. I open the door. “Goodnight, Chris.”
Chris leans in and kisses me on my cheek. “Goodnight, James.” I watch him walk back to the bumblebee racer. I learned two things tonight. The first one is that I need to reevaluate my relationship with Chris. I think he is starting to want more than I’m capable of giving him. The second one is that Gavin Rodgers is taking up too much of my thoughts, I honestly can’t tell you if that is a good or a bad thing.
Chapter 4
I slept restlessly most of the night. The crankiness off the rip isn’t a good sign about my day. I’m one step away from an attendance plan at work. The hospital doesn’t like workers being more than six minutes late to start the shift. The dumb ass thing they just started is that now we have to document our overtime. They are playing big brother watching our every move. It takes everything in me not to tell them to shove it up their ass. I’m getting off late because I do the work of two nurses. A nurse who just worked twelve hours doesn’t want to stay later. Annoying with the dumb shit, to say the least.
I know what you are thinking: just throw some scrubs on and that’s it. I have some days like that, but today isn’t one of them. My hair is a mess of curls all over the place. I need to get it off my neck; it’s another scorching hot summer day. I pull my hair into a wild ponytail. I use some gel to get rid of the frizziness associated with the heat. I add some diamond studs, the only diamonds that will ever be put on my body. Believe me when I tell you there is no diamond ring in this girl’s future. I apply light makeup, courtesy of Sephora. I rub my shimmering lotion all over my body, and my nails were recently manicured with sparkly silver polish. I love sparkle, and sparkle loves me. Regan and I have that in common.
I put on my navy blue scrubs. I tried to get a petition going to allow us to choose our own scrubs, but the older nurses were against it because they didn’t want to spend money on clothes. Then I select my gray Air Max Nikes. I have tried all the special nursing shoes, but the only way to avoid pain in my feet is not to work like a slave for twelve hours.
Checking my reflection in the mirror, I grab my keys and wallet. If my patient load allows it, I will get lunch in the cafeteria. More often than not, I have to skip lunch. I consider my day a great one if I can pee when I need to.
I leave a few minutes later than I should have, eliminating my trip to Starbucks, even though it is located in the hospital. I drive twelve miles over the speed limit, praying I don’t get caught. I run into the hospital like I’m on a weight loss program. Damn, if I’m going to be late, I will be a couple of hours late, not a few minutes late. Grateful the emergency room is on the ground floor, I clock in two minutes before I’m considered tardy. I’m glad I took up running; I’m a hundred percent positive that shaved two minutes off my time.
I enter the staff lounge, looking at Madison and McKenzie. They look like deer in headlights. “Sorry, bitches, I didn’t get fired.” I laugh on my way to my locker. I lock up my wallet except for a few dollars. I glance over in the mirror, making sure my run didn’t make me look sweaty and disheveled. I go to the staff board looking for my assignment. We have three areas: Trauma, Noncritical, and Express Care. The trauma side speaks for itself. Noncritical is for patients who require an I.V. The Express side is for sprained ankles, colds, and other conditions that need quick care that is not invasive. I prefer the Noncritical side; there is plenty ofaction but no life-threatening emergencies. Unfortunately, I’m on the Express Care side. I can’t stand patients who use the emergency room as a doctor’s office. Express Care doesn’t open for another four hours, so I seek out the charge nurse. “Hey, Cheryl...where do you want me until Express Care opens?” Cheryl looks diligently at the staffing sheet. “I have to keep you away from Madison and McKenzie.”
Disappointment hits me, I’m not going to be in Noncritical. “Cheryl, you could solve this problem by assigning them to Express Care.”
“Jamie, I know you don’t really like Express Care, but I assign you there for two reasons.” Intrigued, I perk up and listen carefully. “I assign you there because you take no shit. The drug seekers and people just wanting doctor’s notes to get out of work probably won’t come back. The other reason is you stay on top of the physicians to keep it moving, helping keep down the wait time for the emergency room. Think positive, you are out of there two hours early. I’m going to be the float on the trauma side, helping out till 11:00 a.m.”
“Thanks, Cheryl. I will head over to the Critical side.”
“One last thing, Jamie, I hope your anger management group works out.” She chuckles. I roll my eyes at her. If only she knew how much it bothers me.
The trauma side has five patients at the moment with four other nurses. Basically, they put me to work as an orderly. After an hour, I seek out our orderly, Crawford. Crawford is his last name, and that is how he wants to be addressed. He wants respect, and I guarantee he gets it from all the nurses and doctors. I ask for his help with a patient who recently had a gastric bypass. The patient had surgery about six weeks ago and has dropped fifty pounds. She became short of breath and came to the E.R. The shortness of breath is a result of her operation. She developed a blood clot in her chest. Thankfully, she came to the emergency room, or she would be dead. She still weighs over five hundred pounds, and I’d prefer to keep my back for another twenty years, so I asked Crawford for help.
We quickly clean up the patient, talking about sports. “Jamie, I love to talk sports with you. It’s like talking with a man.”
“I like men, and men love sports. Should I say more?” I wink at him. He rolls his eyes as we exit the room with dirty linens. “Can I ask you another favor?”
“Shoot, why not?”
“I only had two minutes before I was going to be tardy this morning, and I didn’t get my coffee. Can you go to the Starbucks in the lobby and get me one? I will buy you one. Pretty please?”
“I love coffee and I love a beautiful woman. Give me your money, I will go get it. If Cheryl calls for me over the radio, tell her I went to the laundry to get linens.”
“No problem, I will make sure you are covered.” My day is already improving as Crawford sets off to get my coffee.
I transfer to Express Care and get the rooms ready for the first four patients. On the express room side, we have only four beds. As the day lingers on, we may overflow if we are backed up in the waiting room. Sometimes we treat patients from the waiting room. Once they are triaged, we send them for X-rays, and then a doctor will see them in the triage room. If all goes well, we will then discharge them. The process was developed to cut emergency room wait time. The concept is a great one, but patients get agitated because, while they are seen more quickly, our approach is not as personal.
The first four patients are using the emergency room as a doctor’s office. The first one is a twenty-six-year-old male with an earache. The second one is complaining of cold symptoms. The third one has a sore throat. The fourth one has ear wax buildup. I give Dr. Peterson the four charts, and he looks at me.
“I know...it’s bullshit,” I say. “I will provide them with a referral and make office appointments before they leave, so there will be no excuse for their not having a doctor. I’m able to do that until 5
:00 p.m. today when the offices close.”
“Thanks, Jamie. The U.S. dollars spent on unnecessary emergency room care is ridiculous.” I smile back at Dr. Peterson. He reminds me of Dr. Drew from Celebrity Rehab. If he weren't married, I would jump his bones in a hot minute.
The remainder of the shift consists of the same type of patients. I schedule twenty-three follow-up appointments. Since I’m going beyond the requirements of my job to set up those appointments, I am unable to get my lunch today. No surprise on my part. I didn’t expect it anyway.
I give a report to Michael, the incoming nurse, and finish up my charting before my mandated anger management group. I leave the E.R., allowing myself enough time to freshen up before the group. In a hurry, I wash my hands really well and brush my teeth. I add a little of the makeup I keep in my locker. I double check my scrubs, making sure I have no blood on them. I had a patient with a nosebleed today, and it kept pouring nonstop until the doctor did a cauterization. I do a once-over in the mirror and add some shiny lip gloss. With fifteen minutes to spare, I grab two fresh coffees from Starbucks. Hopefully, buying Gavin a coffee will not be a mistake. I think it is essential to let him know I’m not bothered one bit. If only I could convince myself of the same.
Chapter 5
I leave the lobby ten minutes before the group starts. The trip to the education department is longer than I expected, and I’m carrying two coffees without a carrier. The last thing I need is for the coffee to end up all over my scrubs before the group.
I have just six weekly sessions to attend. I keep telling myself that over and over. But I should have made myself eat lunch; I’m a jittery mess.
I enter Suite 204, which is basically a meeting room. I am grateful, the group is a small one based on the size of the conference room. The door is shut, and I knock before entering. “Come on in.” I immediately recognize Gavin’s voice. I was hoping someone else would lead the group. As you can tell, I Iove denial. It works well for me most of the time.