“Well, that athlete isn’t in jail. She got into an altercation, and charges are being filed, but she’s not violent,” I state, trying to quell her worries. “Wendy was in the room when Margeaux was visiting Sammy. They were having a great time.”
“Not violent? Dr. Jacob, this woman competes in a brutal sport, and Wendy just sent me a video Sammy was watching where this Margeaux woman struck another woman with a chair. You think this is someone that should be around your patients? Wendy never gave permission for this woman to post photos of Sammy. Luckily, Sammy’s face was blurred out of the images, but it won’t be long until hisidentity is figured out. And it looks like this athlete just visited him to make herself look good. You know how many times I’ve seen people try to visit the pediatric ICU and cardiac floors just to have a few snap shots with sick kids? It makes them look like saints, and in the end, the kids are still sick. They are just used as a photo op,” Dr. Nash goes on and on.
Margeaux isn’t like that. She wouldn’t use Sammy as a prop. There has to be an explanation for all of this.
“I-I’m sorry, Dr. Nash. I didn’t think Margeaux had any nefarious intent. Sammy was genuinely excited to meet her. He had a great couple of days when she visited,” I explain, trying to diffuse the situation.
“I bet he did. But now what happens? Wendy doesn’t want the entire country to know about Sammy’s condition. She doesn’t want their pity, or their fake support. Watch, tomorrow, the hospital will be flooded with reporters and tv crews to talk to Sammy and his mom. And instead of being able to go home and live his life quietly, and safely, he will be followed and bombarded by people looking for a quick story.”
My guts twist and I smack my head realizing how stupid I’ve been. Once again, I’ve allowed myself to be hypnotized by Margeaux. I couldn’t see what she was trying to do. She knew I was a doctor when she found my ID badge. Lance was dancing and making out with her friend at the bar. I’m sure he told Margeaux’s bachelorette party that we were both doctors. Could she have been using me this entire time?
“I’ll be sure to go into the hospital early tomorrow and make sure nobody gets in and bothers Sammy. He’s going home tomorrow, and I don’t want him and Wendy to feel overwhelmed by cameras and questions. I’m so sorry I let this happen, Dr. Nash,” I say remorsefully.
Dr. Nash’s tone is oozing with disappointment. I’ve been her star resident, and now, who knows? I need her recommendations and support to progress in my fellowship next year. Otherwise, I can get kicked out of this program.
We talk for a few more minutes, and I hang up feeling like such a loser. I let this woman worm her way into my life to the point thatshe’s compromised my relationship with Nicolette, my job, and now Sammy’s safety.
I should have listened to my instincts when they told me Margeaux Wild is bad news.
12
MARGEAUX
“Fuck,girl. I thought I had a bad week when I sneezed so hard my tampon flew out of me. But Jesus fuck, you had it so much worse,” Jazz says as we stuff our faces with ice cream in my apartment.
I swallow down a spoonful of black cherry and chocolate chip ice cream. Not paying attention to how much I scoop out, I give myself a horrible brain freeze.
“I’m done talking about it. Theonlygood parts were meeting that kid, Sammy, and those French fries,” I grumble, massaging my forehead to soothe away my brain freeze. I look down and, of course, a glob of ice cream is on my shirt.Ugghhh. Every time!
“Has Dahlia reached out to you about your upcoming matches?” she asks, changing the subject smoothly.
“I have a meeting with her and the match directors tomorrow. I’m not super enthused about it, but I’m hoping they’re understanding. I know I’m not on the program for at least one more week.”
I’m actually dreading this meeting. I’m so worried I’m going to get kicked out of the PEW. This is all I want to do with my life. I haven’t made a plan for my future if wrestling doesn’t work out. Will I have to move back home? It’s like I stepped into some weird alternate universe at Paramount and my life was turned upside down.
“I’m sure it will all work out. It was a genius move on your part to post those pictures with that sick boy. Major sympathy points, and it makes you seem like less of the bar-brawling type,” Jazz says she licks her spoon clean.
That’s the second meeting I need to have tomorrow. Ashleigh manages my social media and she posted those photos of me and Sammy. She said it was the perfect story to spin the press and gain me some favor with the people of Paramount. It worked. I still owe the city of Paramount a steep fine, and that Brice Strickland guy is still going to press charges, but I’m hoping an apology works in my favor. Maybe I can sway him with some tickets to a live PEW match, or something. Ashleigh is dealing with his lawyers.
“So, can we talk about this hot doctor you made out with?” Jazz snaps me out of my thoughts and is staring me down, wiggling her eyebrows.
My cheeks heat and I hide my face in my half-eaten carton of ice cream. “Nothing to tell. Just a random guy. Had a hot make out. Found out he has a bitchy twig for a girlfriend. Classic douchebag guy,” I scoff.
“Ugh! Seriously?! A girlfriend? Why do guys do this?! Fuck him. And by that, I mean forget about him, Mar. There are plenty of single guys here. You know Travis is super interested in you,” she winks at me.
“No. Remember my rule about sleeping with fellow athletes. It’s just going to make things messy,” I say. I also just don’t feel like jumping into bed with anyone new. I’m pissed as fuck at Jon, and I’m glad I’m never going to see him again.
Just thinking about Jon hurts. Not a lot, but enough to make me feel stupid. I should have known a sweet, good-looking guy like him would be unavailable. To be fair, I did jump him in the locker room. It’s not like he initiated the kiss. He didn’t stop it either. At least not until someone almost caught us. Ugh. I’m so stupid.
“You know Travis can be discreet. He’s not looking for anything serious. He can be a fun palate cleanser,” Jazz says. “Who am I kidding? Heisa fun palate cleanser!” she laughs.
I laugh with her, putting my ice cream down on the coffee table,letting the condensation drip off the carton. “Sounds like you’re not done with Travis,” I suggest, tossing a small pillow at her.
“Hmmm…probably not. I mean, the dude is a fucking machine. And I mean it when I say that, Mar. Afuckingmachine. A machine for fucking.”
“I get it, Jazz. He’s a breathing sex robot,” I roll my eyes at her, suddenly feeling horny and frustrated that I don’t have my own sex robot. At least not a human-sized one.
My thoughts wander, thinking what sex could have been like with Jon. He’s short, but he has strong hands. And if he fucks like he kisses, he’s probably super passionate, and generous in bed. I bet he would go down on me for an hour before he even takes his pants off. Fuck, I really need to have an orgasm.
