Chapter 8 #2
I resume my seat at the end of the couch and enjoy the show of Holly ripping into the wrapper around the block of chocolate – one of three I ordered – snapping off two rows and crunching them down like they were carrots sticks instead of something that is usually savoured.
She snaps off two more before she seems to remember that I am also in the room.
‘Want some?’ she asks around her next mouthful.
I shake my head, bemused. ‘I’m good, thanks.’ I couldn’t possibly deprive her.
She smiles so big at me it’s like someone has turned on the light.
Clearly that was the right answer. Once those two rows are gone, she delves into the bag again and hauls out a plastic container with a half dozen brownies.
Ripping off the lid, she helps herself to one, her teeth sinking into the square, and the noise she makes at the back of her throat and the way her eyes shut is exactly the way they shut when I made her come in the elevator.
Like she’s experiencing next-level ecstasy, and hell if I don’t feel that right down to my throbbing balls. Who knew watching a woman inhale chocolate-based food like it was an Olympic sport was such a turn on?
‘This is so freaking good,’ she says, her eyes opening and finding mine, her voice muffled as she tries to chew, swallow and speak. ‘You really should try this.’
Again, I decline. I’d rather watch her, listen to those appreciative noises spilling from lips coated with crumbs. ‘I’m enjoying the show.’
She rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t stop eating until three brownies have disappeared. It’s barely been ten minutes since I handed the bag over but it appears she’s finally indulged in enough chocolate to satisfy the dictates of her hormones.
Shoving one hand on her stomach just above the hot water bottle, she grabs a tissue from the box and wipes at her mouth before tossing it on the table to join the others.
Sighing contently, she scooches back down, her head propped on the arm, her legs extended, her feet, which now peek out of the end of the duvet, once again almost touching my thigh.
I quirk an eyebrow. ‘Good?’
Another sigh. ‘So good.’
‘Better?’
‘Much.’ She smiles. ‘Thank you. You’re really good at providing food.’
Hell, yeah I am. And I want that to continue. ‘You know what else I’m really good at? Not,’ I add quickly when I realise that sentence could be misconstrued, ‘sex.’
What kind of a dude could witness Holly’s current state and think, I know what she wants – some dick banging around in there.
Her mouth quirks up at one side. ‘Although you are really good at that.’
I grin. Hell fucking yeah I am. Her compliment goes straight to my head – both of them – but I’m not dumb enough to think that’s some kind of invitation. I have zero issues with period sex, it’s just not the vibe she’s putting out right now.
‘I give a really great foot massage, too.’
She half laughs. ‘Of course you do. Danny Colton, fairy godmother.’
I groan this time in a fake horrified manner, like she’s insulted my manhood. That sounds depressingly platonic. ‘Thank you. I think?’ I glance at her socked feet. ‘Shall I?’
‘You have to now. You can’t boast about your prowess and not follow through.’
She’s right. I cannot. Nor do I have any intention of not following through.
Grinning, I pull off the sock on the left foot and move my ass a little closer so her heel rests on top of my thigh. She places the other foot flat to the floor and I ignore how it opens her legs. With the duvet covering most of her lower half, it’s not like she’s flashing me.
Placing one hand on the sole of her foot, one hand on the top, I stroke from toes to heel and back up again, using firm, even pressure.
‘Oh dear Lord.’ Her eyes flutter closed and she lets out a long, slow exhale, which tells me all I need to know about her state of bliss. ‘I think every woman should have a Danny when she’s on her period.’
‘I take it your ex wasn’t much of a foot rubber.’
She snorts. ‘The only thing he liked to massage was his ego.’
Supressing a laugh, I try not to feel superior as my fingers work her toes from the front and behind and we don’t speak for a few minutes. Her eyes stay shut and she whimpers pleasurably while I rub her feet and I concentrate on my hands while willing my cock to not even think about twitching.
‘So, come on then,’ I say after she moans a particularly lusty moan and my dick is about to mutiny. ‘Tell me about this day of yours.’
Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe she can’t. But I’m not going to be some bullshit chicken-ass too afraid, or too full of my own importance, to ask.
She sighs as her eyes flutter open and lock on mine. ‘I don’t know where to start.’
I nod slowly. Her days must be pretty full on. I glance at my hands as they knead her instep, giving her time to gather her thoughts. ‘Did something happen?’
‘Apart from not being fast enough to dodge a flying fist you mean?’
My fingers stop the massage abruptly and my gaze flies to hers. ‘Someone hit you?’
She shrugs. ‘It happens occasionally. Occupational hazard.’
‘What?’ The hot hiss of fury roils in my gut, broiling the contents.
‘It’s fine. It was an old woman with Alzheimer’s who was flailing around while we were trying to restrain her from running out into the street. I’m crankier with myself more than anything. Usually I see them coming and I can duck.’
Seriously? What the fuck. She seems so calm about it. Like she works at a boxing ring instead of a hospital. ‘Did she hurt you?’
‘Nah, just a glancing blow near my ear. Didn’t even leave a mark.’
I blink at her casual dismissal of violence in the workplace. ‘Still… didn’t it piss you off? You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of thing.’
‘Sure, at the time it was a bit of a shock and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about being beaned by a little old lady, but…’ She shrugs again. ‘It wasn’t deliberate. She has dementia. The world’s a scary place for her. She was just scared.’
Her gaze is soft and her voice forgiving, and I marvel at that. ‘You’re a good person.’
‘Then why have you stopped massaging my foot?’ she asks with a smile as she wriggles it in my loose grasp.
I smile back and recommence. ‘What else?’ I ask as my fingers dig into her arch, eliciting a soft moan. I have a feeling being smacked upside the head was just one of the things Holly had to contend with today.
She sighs but it’s heavier this time and I sense that this is the thing weighing most on her mind as she stares at my hands working her feet.
‘There was this man. Ninety-two. End-stage cancer. Double pneumonia. In a really bad way. Knew it was the end. I didn’t know him but he’d been treated by oncology at the hospital on and off for over a decade.
He already had an NFR in place but there was no next of kin, no loved one with him; he came in from home in the back of an ambulance.
Sweet old guy apologising for making such a fuss.
He said he thought he was okay to go at home but that when it got down to it, he didn’t want to die alone. ’
She takes a ragged breath which is so loaded with empathy I feel it as a physical weight against my skin.
‘So he came to us.’ She shakes her head and glances at me, her eyes glassy.
‘There were no beds in oncology and I knew he wasn’t going to last that long anyway.
So we made him comfortable and took it in turns to hold his hand.
He died a few hours later. But it’s so sad.
He died surrounded by strangers. It’s just not right, is it? ’
It’s fair to say that I feel wholly inadequate in this moment to be a comfort.
I’m a drummer, FFS. I know how to beat a stick against something percussive.
And I can massage her feet – that’s it. Maybe her ex knew what to say?
The thought of that has me spurting out the first thing that comes into my head.
‘He wasn’t alone though, was he? He had you guys. ’
Which is actually pretty damn good.
‘It’s not the same,’ she says dismissively.
‘Maybe not to you. But if he’s been in and out of hospital for a decade and he has no significant others, maybe you weren’t strangers. Maybe you were… home to him.’
A tear spills from one eye and tracks down her cheek before she dashes it away. ‘Yeah.’ She sniffles. ‘Maybe you’re right. I hope so.’ She rubs at her face. ‘Sorry. I know working in ER is what I want but sometimes I think I’m far too soft to work there.’
‘Don’t.’ I shake my head. Holly shouldn’t have to apologise for shedding tears over the death of an old man who’d found his way into her ER today because he didn’t want to die alone. She should be wearing that shit like a badge of honour. ‘I’d rather a doctor who has empathy than one who doesn’t.’
She gives a husky half laugh as she switches feet. ‘My boss would beg to differ.’
Bending her knee, she pushes the toes of the first foot under my thigh. A flaming arrow of lust shoots north about three inches and buries itself between my balls. Her other foot lands in my waiting hands.
‘Well,’ I say as I ignore the fire in my crotch and pull off her sock, ‘he sounds awful.’ What the world needs is more doctors who empathise with their patients, not medical automatons.
‘She,’ Holly corrects. ‘And yes. She can be. Although I suppose she’s just trying to toughen us up. There’s a time for emotion. I’ve gotta learn to compartmentalise.’
I press my thumb into the centre of her arch, and Holly shudders as her eyes close again and she lets out a long low moan which, thank fuck, stops all that nonsense talk about compartmentalising.
It also does all kinds of crazy things to my pulse and the tightness of my testicles.
‘Jesus, Danny. You should do this for a living. Your fingers are magic.’
I laugh. I’ve been doing all kinds of fancy stick moves since I first learned how to hit a drum, which makes them extra dextrous.
And I give her the full treatment, kneading and stroking until her audible appreciation quietens then stops, and I’m pretty sure she’s actually fallen asleep.
Her deep, even breathing seems to confirm it.
I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but she looks a helluva lot better than when I arrived an hour ago. Her face has smoothed out. There’s no frown lines now; in fact, she looks years younger.
Easing her foot off my lap, I gently remove the hot water bottle from her stomach and pad over to the microwave to give it another quick zap. When it beeps I remove it and walk it back, repositioning it before tucking the duvet around her.
The heat from the bottle must finally have seeped through because she stirs as I turn to go. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmurs, her voice low, her eyelids fluttering open and closed. ‘I fell asleep on you.’
‘It’s fine,’ I whisper, although I don’t know why I’m whispering. Maybe it’s the overall ambience of the dark room and flickering TV glow. ‘Go to sleep. I’ll see myself out.’
She nods and says, ‘Thank you,’ a small smile on her mouth as her eyes drift shut again. I smile at her rugged up, her face almost beatific now. I’m feeling pretty damn smug as well as privileged to be the one that made a difference for her tonight.
‘Danny?’
Her voice drifts to me as I reach for the doorknob, and I pause. ‘Yes?’
‘I promise I don’t always look like a doctor or a bridge troll. One of these days I hope you get to see me all glammed up instead of wearing a duvet and stuffing my face like the Cookie Monster.’
Is she kidding? I’ve seen her naked – I’ll take that any day. ‘Cookie Monster is hot,’ I throw over my shoulder.
She laughs and says, ‘Weirdo.’
But it sounds sleepy and I call, ‘Goodnight,’ and close the door behind me.