“Are you laughing at me, Doctor Mattox?” Talia demands, tone full of affront.
I force myself to stop, placing the catheter. “Of course not. No. I mean... Yes. I was laughing, but not at you. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s really rude. I should write you up. I feel judged.”
“No— That’s not— I’m so sorry—”
She says nothing as I finish up, taping the tube to her back while apologies continued to spew from my mouth. With the aid of me and the nurse, we help her lie flat on the bed. Her lips are pinched. Arms crossed.
“Has— Has Foley seen this tattoo?” I ask.
Her demeanor breaks, and she bursts into raucous laughter. Behind me, her partner also laughs. I glance at him, and he raises his hands. “Don’t ask me. This was their bet.”
I set my hands on my hips. “Bet?”
“It’s a fake tattoo,” Talia says. “My idea, by the way, so don’t let him take credit. I’m a genius, right?”
“Fake... tattoo?” My mind has gone mushy.
“Doctor Foley bet me you couldn’t keep from laughing. He actually wanted to do a creepy clown face and see if you screamed, but I thought that was too easy.”
What? Seriously? These jerks! “Christ, Talia.”
“You lost me two Snickers bars. I bet him you’d stay professional.”
Yeah. No way was that happening. Asher knows me well.“I’m going to kill him. I’ll buy you an entire truckload of Snickers if you deliver that message for me.”
Talia roars in laughter, unaware she’s in the middle of a contraction.
Epidural: 1
Labor pains: 0
Suck it.
“Clown face?” I say. “Seriously?” That wouldn’t have gone over well. I might’ve peed my pants. “How long have you been plotting this?”
She wipes her eyes with a long-nailed finger. “I thought of it that Pool Party Saturday when you ate the last hot dog. We planned my induction for when you were on OB call.”
That wasmonthsago! I hide my face in my hands to laugh. Pranks are Asher’s love language, but if he thinks I won’t be paying him back for this one...
“He’s lucky it wasn’t the clown. I might have murdered him.”
The nurse nods vigorously. “I might have, too.”
“I still might do it,” I mutter under my breath. “Betting on my professionalism and being right. How dare he?” My mess takes only a minute to clean, disposing of sharps and trashing the rest. “I’ll be back to check on you once he’s dead.”
She hoots again. “You ain’t mad, right?”
“Of course not, but you know I can’t let him win this game.” I open the door, and Asher leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed, one foot flat against the drywall.
Smirking.
The most pleased, dazzling smirk known to man.
This habit he has of leaning on walls and doors is distracting. I’ve suddenly forgotten to be irate.
“You ever heard of Inkbox?” he asks.
