I propped myself up on my elbow to look at him. His hair was completely disheveled, his lips swollen from kissing, and there were marks on his neck that I'd definitely left there. He looked thoroughly debauched, and I felt a surge of possessive satisfaction.
"You look like you've been thoroughly ravaged," I said.
"I have been." He traced a finger down my spine, making me shiver. "And I loved every second of it."
"Good," I said, settling back against his chest. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Outside, the city hummed with its usual nighttime energy, but inside my bedroom, we existed in our own bubble of contentment. For the first time in years, I felt completely satisfied — not just physically, but emotionally. Like I'd found something I didn't even know I was looking for.
Jimmy's breathing was starting to even out, and I could feel him relaxing into sleep. I should have been tired too, but instead I felt energized, alive in a way I hadn't in months.
Maybe this was what happiness felt like. Maybe this was what it was like to be with someone who didn't want to change you, who didn't see your strength as a threat, who could match your intensity without being intimidated by it.
Maybe this was what love felt like.
The thought should have scared me. Instead, it felt like coming home.
chapter
eighteen
I walkedinto Metro General at 6:45 p.m. with what I was pretty sure was a permanent grin plastered on my face. The automatic doors seemed to open faster, the fluorescent lights seemed less harsh, and even the familiar smell of antiseptic and industrial cleaner felt welcoming instead of sterile.
I was in love. Or falling in love. Or had fallen so hard I was still bouncing. The specifics didn't matter — what mattered was that Izzy Delgado existed in the world, and for some miraculous reason, she wanted to exist in it with me.
"Well, well," Brenda said as I walked into the break room for report. "Someone's looking chipper tonight."
"It's a beautiful evening," I said, still grinning as I hung my stethoscope around my neck.
"It's a busy night in the ER," Chloe pointed out, but she was smiling, too. "What's got you so happy?"
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed with a text. Izzy.
Izzy
Just got to the station. Thompson's already asking about "that nurse" again.
I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me as I typed back:
Tell him I said hi. And that I still remember where he lives.
"Oh my God," Brenda said, reading over my shoulder without shame. "You're texting someone. During report."
"I am not — "
"You absolutely are." She grinned. "And you're blushing. This is amazing."
Before I could defend myself, Kellen appeared at my elbow. Our night shift charge nurse looked like he'd been run over by the same truck that had apparently delivered me to paradise. Late forties, with disheveled silver-blonde hair and wrinkled scrubs, he had the thousand-yard stare of someone who'd been working nights for a couple decades too long.
"Alright, folks, welcome to another night in paradise," he said drolly, addressing the room. "Looks like it'll be a busy one. Inpatient beds are hard to come by, and we've been holding patients since this morning. Just have to keep everyone alive until seven-oh-five. Any questions?"
"Boy," I said aloud, cheerfully, "this job sure would be a lot easier if it weren't for all the sick people."
Kellen's voice could have flash-frozen coffee. "Mr. Dalton, are you having some kind of neurological event? Should I call Dr. Peterson?"
