Chapter Five
DROPLETS OFhoney-colored liquid beaded against Bass’s taut, inked stomach and dribbled down over the bare skin of his groin. A scuffed-up hand, knuckles bruised and split, wiped the liquid away as Bass reached down to—just off camera—palm his cock. The touch made his stomach muscles tighten, a sharp twitch under beer-damp skin, and Tag imagined the ragged hitch of Bass’s voice as though he’d asked the question instead of typed it.
Thirsty?
Oh fuck yes. Tag’s mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of it as he tried to swallow. Heat flushed through him in a wave that started at his balls and ended at his ears. He coughed to clear his throat.
“What?” Beattie, the charge nurse on duty, asked as she looked up from the computer. “If it’s the tests for Bay Six, I already double-checked with Maguire. He’s looking for zebras.”
Tag reached for his coffee. “His patient, his zebras,” he said with a shrug. A drink of the coffee reminded him it was cold and always bitter, and he grimaced as he set it back down. “Until the chief of surgery finds out. When did my shift end again?”
Beattie sniffed without looking up from the computer and pointed her finger at the papers spread out in front of Tag. “Two hours ago and as soon as you finish those charts.”
“Done.” Tag scrawled his initials over the last chart, gathered them up, and handed them to her. He textedParchedback to Bass as he rolled his neck from one side to the other to make the vertebra pop. “Tell Maguire his patient had an allergic reaction to whatever they cut his spice with. His balls are itchy because he’s tripping balls.”
“You sound sure.”
Tag shrugged. “He was in last year for the same thing. Ennis saw him. I remembered when I saw his chart. See you next shift, Beattie.”
She rolled her eyes and clacked at the computer as she called up the files. “Not if I get a better offer,” she said. Then she tutted her tongue against her teeth. “Not that it’s happened yet.”
Tag checked his phone. The location pin had already been dropped under his last text—same place as last time. Excitement itched along his spine and refused to be blasé about the invitation. He could pretend to be jaded when he got there, but he wasn’t going to fool himself. It wasn’t that he had any illusions—or only a few, which he knew would bite him eventually—but it was still nice.
Nice to be wanted.
Nice to be a horny idiot.
Nice to be in… fatuated. See? No illusions.
“Yeah. I can’t say the same,” Tag said with a smirk. “You just have to put yourself out there. Get out of the hospital.”
Beattie looked up at him, her eyes narrowed behind funky glasses. “Run,” she told him. There might have been some humor behind the dry warning… or not. Either way, Tag was already on his way out.
He grabbed his stuff from the locker room, slung his jacket over his shoulder, and whistled absently to himself as he took the elevator down. One of the cardio residents got in when the doors opened on his ward and gave Tag a curious look.
“Good news?” he asked as he hit the button for the basement.
“Not really,” Tag said. “Just glad to be getting out of here.”
He looked up just in time to catch the dubious face the resident made. “Really?” he asked. “I mean, I always heard you were married to the job, Dr. Hayes.”
It wasn’t a question. That was a good thing since Tag found himself lost for words. He’d always had a life outside the hospital—a boyfriend, some friends, his sister and the kids he sent obligatory holiday money to. Once a month he grabbed a pickup game of basketball at the court opposite the hospital.
On the other hand… when had he last been more excited to leave the hospital than arrive?
The elevator pinged as it reached the lobby, and the doors opened to let Tag out. He blinked at them for a second and then tried to shrug off his suddenly pensive mood. Tonight wasn’t the night to resolve his work/life balance.
“Night, Dr. Hayes,” the resident said chirpily. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“No, it’s more something I wouldn’t do,” Tag said.
He walked away from the resident’s baffled face as the doors swiped shut in front of his nose.
A BOTTLEcrunched under the wheels of the old Mustang as Tag pulled into The Sheep’s Clothing parking lot. He winced and took the first empty spot he could find, next to a battered yellow Jimmy with mud caked like makeup on the windshield.
The engine coughed as he took his foot off the gas, and it died before he had a chance to touch the keys. That was probably fine.
Tag glanced at himself in the rearview mirror and absently brushed his hand through his dark hair to flatten it down. That didn’t work. It just stuck out in different directions than before. He gave up and twisted around to get his bag from the back seat. The click of the door made him jump as someone opened it.
