“All done, Mr. Prescott. You’re lucky. It won’t impact your hand function at all. It was a bad bleed, but just three stitches did the trick.”
The blonde nurse with eyes that aren’t Rhiannon’s color tells me as she finishes wrapping my hand, then squeezes my thigh a little higher than what I’d call appropriate given my thigh was never injured.
Rhiannon’s sitting in the chair in the corner, and though the nurse has no way of knowing whether we’re together or not, it feels like a disrespectful assumption for her to make, and one that crosses the lines of professional boundaries.
That is, unless it’s obvious to her and everyone around us that Rhiannon and I don’t fit together.
“Thanks,” I say with a simple nod.
She smiles again, resting one hand gently on her hip, the other falling to her throat like she’s playing with an invisible necklace.
“So, how did it happen?”
Oh, we’re making small talk now.
I notice Rhiannon sit up in the chair, her whole body going stiff.
“I bumped into a vase in my house and knocked it over. Tried to catch it, but it slipped and cracked. My hand got cut on some of the shards while I was cleaning up.”
The nurse studies my face like she’s searching for the lie. “And you brought the maid with you?”
Rhiannon snorts softly from the corner but before I can respond she stands to join us. “We prefer cleaning personnel. But also, this is just a costume.” She winks suggestively and the nurse blushes, her mouth dropping into an ‘O’ like she’s finally realizing we came heretogether. But we’re nottogether. So why did Rhiannon say that?
Rhiannon laughs. “I’m just kidding. This is my uniform. Hi, I’m the maid who cut his hand.” She extends her hand to shake the nurses who now looks confused and uncomfortable.
“Um, are you two together?”
We both answer no at the exact same time. I cut my eyes at her with a glare but she’s smiling, not looking my way. I mean, we aren’t together, but she was a little too eager in making that clear.
“Okay, well,” the nurse smiles at me again, “you’re all set Mr. Prescott, just head on out whenever you’re ready.” Then she practically sprints out of the room before we can make things anymore awkward.
“I can take a cab home,” I tell her.
“Maybe that nurse will give you a ride,” she says with a wide, knowing grin. “Come on. Don’t be like that. My car is safe, and I don’t mind driving you. I’ll drop you off on my way out of the city.”
I hesitate, not sure if I should spend any more alone time with her both out of fear for my physical safety and mental health. Since being trapped in this hospital room with her, silently waiting to be seen and then stitched up, her warm scent has enveloped me, reminding me of our nights spent naked together. I’ve been painfully fighting to stay soft ever since.
So much for getting Rhiannon out of my system. This entire situation did nothing for me except make me like her more.
I sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”
We make our way out of the bustling, mid-town ER and towards the parking garage of the hospital but before we can exit, Rhiannon stops us to get a soda from one of the vending machines near the entrance.
“I haven’t had any caffeine since breakfast this morning and I’m dreading this drive home,” she says.
I lean one shoulder against the vending machine, watching her carefully. “I see Matt’s latest story on the dangers of consuming soda haven’t deterred you from drinking it.”
She snorts as she presses the bottle to her lips, swallowing with a sigh. “Wow. Chemicals have never tasted so good.”
I can’t fight the smile now. “You’re an interesting woman. You know that, right? Here I was thinking you were this carefree, easy going, wild bird and all along you’re a woman who makes videos, cleans penthouses and coaches people on how to have sex.”
She snorts, a spray of soda escaping her mouth and landing on the uniform she’s still wearing. It makes me smile—she didn’t bother changing before bringing me here, didn’t feel the need to impress anyone or care what they might think.
We’re in New York City, the fashion capital of North America and she simply doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks about her. I like that, the unfiltered ease of just being herself no matter the circumstances. She’s never self-conscious and the most confident woman I’ve ever met.
I tend to intimidate most people, but I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do that with Rhiannon. And I don’t want to.
“Dammit,” she brushes off the orange, and then opts to unbutton her shirt even lower, as if a few more buttons can conceal the bright soda stain that’s lingering there now, only drawing my eyes to her chest again.
