Mr. Wrong Number:Where are you? I’ll come get you right now and I’ll take care of him.
Another rush of warmth hits my cheeks at the thought of him coming to my rescue. He can’t. If he were to swoop in and save the day, I’d end up liking him way more than I should. Right now, he’s a sweet fantasy. Someone I enjoy talking to, someone I know I don’t have a chance with, but if he comes and saves the day?
I’m a goner.
It’s best if he doesn’t come here. It’s best if he remains the unnamed guy I sometimes talk to and flirt with.
Me:No. No. I’m fine. I promise. I have to get back out there soon. I’ll deal with him. I’m wearing heels that could puncture his chest.
Him:Prove it.
Grinning, I lift the phone just enough to make sure the only part of me he can see is from the neck down. I curl my leg until my heel is almost touching my butt and take the picture.
I send the image and he doesn’t say anything back. I only have a few more minutes before Brian will probably storm the bathroom.
My phone vibrates.
Mr. Wrong Number:You look fucking beautiful. If I was there, there would be no way I could keep my hands off you.
Another second later, an image appears, and it’s of him gripping himself through his pants. Scrubs? I can’t tell at this angle.
He’s so thick.
Yep. I’m a goner.
5
ELIAS
This overnight shiftis killing me.
We have had three motor vehicle accidents come in back-to-back. Ten people were rushed in. Four needed me to relieve pressure on their brain, three lost their lives, and the other three are in critical condition in the ICU.
I’ve been running on fumes.
And then a message from her pops up on my phone.
I read her message in the break room while I sip a hot cup of coffee, needing a minute before I get back out there. It’s one of those nights. There’s been so much blood, chaos, screaming, and crying. Nights like these haunt me. I’ve had to tell two families that their children didn’t make it.
Two too many.
Her text brings me a welcome relief, even if she is on a date with another man. The jealousy burns in my chest more than this burnt coffee does in my stomach. What if she goes home with him? What if his hands are lucky enough to touch her body? Thebody that I revisit every night in the photos and videos she has sent me. I’ve dreamed of her.
I take a sip of coffee, hating every message she sends about this guy. He’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve another second of her time.
The chair on the other side of the table drags across the floor and Dr. Warrick plops down, the same brown paper cup in his hand with the same burnt coffee in it.
“Fuck. What a night.” He rubs a hand down his face, the dark circles under his eyes showing how tired he is.
I barely hear him. His words seem distant as I stare at my phone, my attention focused only on her messages. I have to take a deep breath as she continues to explain just how horrible her date is treating her. She shouldn’t be with anyone else.
She should only be with me.
“Dr. Carrington?”
My name breaks my trance, and I look up to see Dr. Warrick eyeing me curiously.
“Sorry, Dr. Warrick. On break, I can only focus on one thing at a time. It’s been hectic out there. I don’t know if I have another hour left in me.” I drop my phone, wanting to give the man in charge of the entire hospital my full attention.
