Sammy hits the back of his hand against Jon’s upper arm. “You don’t get it, Dr. J. Keep watching. The next matches get even better!”
Jon looks at me as if I’m some kind of deranged stranger. He understands I’m in character, right? I can’t just be regular Margeaux around this kid. It’s one of the first things we’re taught when at training camps—always stay in character when you’re around fans. Even if they know that matches are planned and choreographed, they come to see you, not thereal you. Still, I hate the feeling that Jon is judging me, or looking down at what I do for a living. He’s not the first person, certainly won’t be the last.
Sammy and I spent a couple of hours joking around, watching some of my older matches, and talking about life behind the scenes as a wrestler. Jon sat quietly, observing, listening. He reattached Sammy’s IV, and I made a point not to ask what it was for, or why the boy is in the hospital. I figured if he wants to talk about it, I’ll listen. I imagine if he’s sick, he doesn’t want to talk about it more than he has to. I bet that if you’re living with a disease, or condition, your entire identity circles around that, and people forget you have a personality behind all the medications, and hospital gowns.
It’s safe to say that Sammy is the coolest kid I’ve ever met. He’s funny—he teases Jon constantly, and Jon just rolls with it. I join in and tease him about his dorky side part hairstyle, followed by me messing up his hair, which quickly transformed Jon from ‘good doctor’ to ‘Dr. J’. I like his hair a little messier, less put together. It goes well with the layer of dark stubble. My thighs twitch remembering how that stubble scratched me just right when he was kissing me.
Sammy asks for a few pictures with me, and I can’t say no to this kid. I’d give him anything he asks for at this point, and by the way Jonwatches after this boy, I feel like it’s the same for him. It isn’t too long before Sammy falls asleep and Jon tells me he usually has to nap around this time.
“That’s the most excited I’ve seen him in a long time,” Jon says, looking at Sammy’s monitor, and jotting some notes in his patient chart. I’ve watched a bunch of medical dramas, and I can’t help but be curious to know why this awesome kid is in the hospital.
“Yea? Well, glad I could brighten his day a little. Will he be here much longer?” I ask, hoping to hear that he gets to go home tomorrow. But, judging by how lived-in this room looks, I’m getting the vibe that Sammy isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Unfortunately…no,” Jon says, his brown eyes looking down at the sleeping boy. “We’re waiting for a heart transplant. But it’s not looking good.”
And just like that, my heart crumbles to pieces. “He needs a new heart? He seems fine,” I say, refusing to believe this boy is that ill.
“Yea. Like I said, he’s never this excited and high energy. I’m sure he’ll be worn out for the rest of the day.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause him any harm?—”
“Are you kidding? That’s what he needed. He just needed to feel like a normal, healthy kid foronce. I do my best every day I’m here, but you really helped him today, Margeaux.”
We both become quiet, just the sounds from the monitors, and the rustling from the hallway filling the space around us. Fuck. I wanted to be angry at this guy for blowing me off after our super sexy and sweaty make out session. Now, all I want is to find the nearest closet or on-call room—as shown in every hospital drama—and have another intense make out session with this guy. I mean, I can’t be the only one who feels the intense energy between us, right?
“Well, you’re welcome, Dr. J. Or, should I say, Dr. Jacob?” I tease him. We both give a half-hearted laugh, and the tension breaks slightly. “Seriously though. Your name is Jon Jacob? Like the nursery rhyme?” I ask, flicking his ID badge that he clipped back to his dark red scrubs.
“It’s, uh. A family name,” he says shrugging his shoulders, and brushing his fingers through his thick hair, keeping it messy.
“It’s a cute name.”
“Cute, huh?”
“Mmhm. Cute name for a cute guy,” I say, trying to build the tension back up. I think it’s working when his tongue swipes across his lower lip. He has great lips.
“Margeaux, listen. I have?—”
“Oh! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A perky, super tiny, honey blonde bounces into Sammy’s room. She automatically throws her arms around Jon, squeezing in the small space between us, not casting me a glance as she smacks her lips to his.
What. The. Fuck?
Jon’s hands go to her bony hips as she keeps peppering him with kisses like a fucking puppy or something.Gross.
“Oh, babe. Who isthis?” she asks, looking—no, glaring—at me over her shoulder. I’m easily a foot taller than she is. She should really be careful where she’s throwing those eye daggers.
“Oh, um. This is Margeaux. Margeaux Wild. She’s a wrestler,” Jon explains in a panicked tone, as if his ditzy girlfriend is cuing into the hot sexual tension that was building up before she bulldozed her way through it. “Margeaux, this is Nicolette. My girlfriend.”
“Soon-to-be fiancé,” she juts in, and I notice the disbelief befalling Jon’s face at her comment.
“Uhh. Well…”
“We’re moving in together first. You know, putting down roots,” Nicolette continues explaining smugly. All of her words are dripping with the subtext ofhands off my man. “Wait. I know who you are. Aren’t you wanted for assaulting Brice Strickland? Babe! She shouldn’t be here, around sickchildren. She’s dangerous!” Nicolette moves behind Jon and pulls him away from me as if I’m about to find a scalpel and cut their throats. Well, that doesn’t seem like a horrible option for her.
“Relax, Nicolette. Margeaux is fine. In fact, she was visiting Sammy today. He’s a big fan of hers,” Jon says diffusing the situation.
“Yea. And I’m notwantedfor anything.” Except, maybe a ride on your soon-to-be-fiance’s cock. “It was simply a misunderstanding and it’s being settled,” I explain even more. I can feel my entire body getting hot. I despise girls like this.Peoplelike this. So quick to judge.
“Right. Well, I think it’s time for you to go. This is a hospital, not awrestling gym,” Nicolette sneers, turning her perfectly pointed nose at me and looking at my tattoos with disgust. “Besides, Jon is a very important doctor here. He should really get back to his patients, right, babe?” She turns to him, giving him the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. This girl hasgold diggerwritten all over her botoxed face. I mean, I’m not surprised. This is Paramount. All that matters here is money.
