19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Morgan
T here was a time in my life when I lived for the chaos of the emergency room—the way you never know if you’re going to have a day that resembles Disneyland or a dumpster fire. Until recently, I truly believed that the best shifts were the ones that went up in flames because it’s when I would feel like I was the best nurse.
But something inside of me fundamentally shifted after my aneurysm case. It’s not like I haven’t witnessed some traumatic shit in my time on the floor—that’s simply the nature of the job, but this was different. Maybe it was the straw that broke the camel’s back after years of carrying the weight of death, or maybe it was the fact that I’ve never felt wholly helpless in a situation before, but for the first time in my career, I’ve dreaded coming to work.
I thought that after a few days, I would get over it, but I can’t shake this uneasy feeling every time I clock in. If I didn’t deeply love all of my coworkers, I would call out of work for the next month and use the time off to reset my perspective. But I have a guilty conscience and don’t want to leave them short-staffed, so I’ve been dragging my ass here whether I like it or not.
Unfortunately, today leaned more dumpster fire than Disneyland though, because the nursing home decided that they wanted to take a field trip to our ER this afternoon. If I have to do CPR on another ninety-eight-year-old grandmother, I might just burn the whole hospital down. For the love of all things that are holy, do not resuscitate orders exist for a reason. People should use them.
As I’m walking out of the hospital and bopping to Taylor Swift’s new album, Siri announces that I have a call coming in from Claire Winters.
“What’s up, slut,” I answer, completely forgetting that I’m still within earshot of people as I wait for the parking garage elevator. Fortunately, they are also exhausted healthcare workers with potty mouths, so none of them even bat an eye.
“Do you have a second to talk? Find Friends notified me that one of my Sims had finally left the hospital, so I figured it was okay to call.”
I laugh and decide to take the stairs. “Who else do you have on there?”
“Just you, Cass, Caroline, and Beau,” she answers. “Doctor Dickhead won’t agree to let me add him. He thinks it’s an invasion of privacy, or something, which is shocking given his control issues. I don’t know, I stopped listening when he started talking about life before cell phones and the internet like he remembers it. The dumbass was born in 1992.”
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it .
“Do you think when God made him, he forgot to add anything good?”
Oops—I said it.
Claire giggles, knowing we’re on the same page about her brother. It’s a love-hate relationship.
“Wait,” I add, considering what she just said. “Cass didn’t work today. She shouldn’t be at the hospital.”
Usually, my bestie and I work the same shifts, but I picked up overtime at the last minute with the hope that I could put some cash toward breaking my lease. Though, based on what I know about Claire’s tastes, the more likely scenario is that I’ll be using all of the extra money on our Vegas trip.
“Oh yeah,” she says casually, “Cass is the only one at home, but I couldn’t call her since I had an idea for the bachelorette party.”
I let out a nervous breath as I reach my car because Claire scares me when she has ideas. Not that they aren’t always amazing, just that I know whatever she comes up with is going to be over the top.
I hop behind the wheel, transferring the call to Bluetooth before I respond. “I think you mean joint bachelor and bachelorette party, thanks to benevolent Beau.”
“Awww,” she sings into the phone. “I love that nickname. He is pretty benevolent, isn’t he? Especially in bed.”
I roll my eyes. I can just picture Beau checking in every five seconds to make sure the sex is good for her, which is the absolute last thing I want in a lover. I want a man who takes what he wants from me, not a man who worships the ground that I walk on.
Snooze .
“There’s someone for everyone,” I say flatly, rubbing my tired eyes as I pull out of the parking deck.
My brain desperately wants to shut off and watch reality television until I fall asleep, but my body is on high alert because Walker got back from his lame-ass conference today and asked me to come over after my shift. We haven’t seen each other since he stayed over, but we’ve been texting nonstop .
Something crinkles on the phone line, and I hear a faint, “Sit, Frosty,” before Claire’s voice returns to normal volume. “Sorry, Beau and I are trying to teach him tricks. He’s already learned how to fetch because he’s my smart kitty.”
I stop at the light outside of the hospital, leaning over the center console to pull a handful of Nerd Clusters from the party-size bag that resides in my passenger seat. “Y’all are insane.”
“God, our baby boy has such a big brain,” she coos excitedly. “Wait, can you just come over on your way home? He’s getting so big, and I know he misses his auntie Morgie.”
“Uh—”
I hesitate, trying to come up with an excuse so that I don’t have to tell her that I’m going to Walker’s house after I shower. I’m not ashamed of the fact that we’re fuck buddies, but I just know that she’s going to freak out and make it a huge deal. I can literally hear her squealing about how we’re all just one big happy family, and that’s not what this is.
This is just sex.
Actually, it’s not even sex because we haven’t gotten that far yet. After I held his dick in my mouth like an oversized pacifier, he stayed the night and took over my bed with his big-ass body. But I didn’t have the balls to tell him to get out, nor did I have the heart—especially not when he passed out and unconsciously wrapped his arm around me like he had been doing it his entire life.
“I can’t tonight,” I tell her, hoping she’ll drop the idea.
“Boo, you’re no fun,” Claire whines dramatically. “Okay, but we do need to talk. Will Cass kill me if I reserved a table for all of us at the Hurricane Heatwave show? I know we joked about sexy, dancing men, but we may or may not officially be VIPs.”
Absolutely unhinged images of our weekend flash through my head, quickly vanquished by a car horn behind me indicating that the light has changed.
“Cass should be fine,” I reply distractedly, stepping on the gas, “but Doctor Dingleberry will definitely not be pleased.”
Claire cackles on the other end of the phone, and I can hear her struggling to catch her breath. “I’m obsessed with you. Will you please marry me?”
“Back at you babe. And if I believed in marriage, you’d be the first person on my list.”
“Not true,” she counters. “It would for sure be one of your kinky-ass book boyfriends.”
She’s not wrong—there’s just something about a fictional man that hits different. They’re broody, hot as hell, and have the filthiest mouths known to man. If I could find one in real life, I might be convinced to think about holy matrimony.
“Speaking of book boyfriends . . . did you see the rec I sent to Team Daddies? The plot was average, but the spice was insane. I had over two hundred highlights on my Kindle.”
Nobody responded to the reverse harem recommendation that I sent yesterday, though Caroline did like it which automatically makes her my new favorite person. I feel like behind her posh princess exterior, she’s a total freak in the sheets—my goal for Vegas is to get her drunk and break that icy shell of hers.
Claire scoffs into the speaker. “I’ll never understand why you picked that group text name. All you send are unhinged dark romances where the female main character sobs when they’re having sex.”
I roll my eyes because she and Cassidy are on a rom-com kick right now. And listen, I get it—everyone loves rom-coms. But you just can’t get the right level of kink with that type of book. One of my favorite things about reading is that I learn new things about myself, and the only thing I learn from reading a book with a cartoon cover is that I suddenly have the urge to vomit.
“First of all, they’re happy tears,” I argue as I come to another stoplight on Peachtree. “You would know, if you actually read them. Second of all, Cass vetoed all of my other suggestions.”
“Even Happy Hour Hoes?”
“Yeah, apparently she doesn’t have a degradation kink,” I joke, tossing more of the greatest candy known to man in my mouth. “It made me sad because that’s truly award-winning alliteration.”
“So you chose Team Daddies? Why not Puck Bunnies, or something?”
She’s referencing hockey romance, a phase we all went through a few months ago. The genre has been innovating a ton recently, and several authors have figured out how to get super spicy while mixing in dark themes. Rom-com writers need to take notes.
“You can’t dislike a single dad,” I argue, feeling myself about to step onto my soap box. “It’s just science.”
“What if he’s a dick and blond?”
Oof.
“Hmmm—” I have to pause and think about how to respond to that one.
The entire book community hates blond men for some reason. It’s never been an ick of mine because I imagine all of them to look like Chad Michael Murray, and you’re going to tell me that you hate the teenage heartthrob of the 2000s? There’s no way.
“Redemption arcs are a major pillar of modern literature,” I answer confidently, using my stern older sister voice. “Without them, we wouldn’t have character growth, and you’d be bored. ”
I pause, taking a sip of my Monster Zero to wash down the baby Nerds stuck to my tongue.
“Also, I genuinely believe that blond men are fucking hot.”
“You think all men are hot,” she teases.
“I don’t discriminate,” I say, though my mind flicks to Walker. I’ve definitely been discriminating against other men by only thinking about him for months. Changing the subject, I ask, “So, how much money do I need to set aside for Vegas? I’m kind of scared.”
Claire mentioned that she took care of booking everything since it was so last minute, but she’s been uncharacteristically silent about our specific plans. For all I know, I might be maxing out my credit cards to pay for this trip. Which, I’m totally down for because I don’t have the best financial habits, but I just need a few weeks to mentally prepare for the destruction of my bank account.
“None, silly, unless you want to go to the casino or something. There’s a few hours of free time on the schedule each day.”
A wave of relief washes through me, followed by trepidation as the light turns green. “Schedule? Care to share, my precious?”
Claire might seem like the kind of person who goes with the flow, but she is a Winters, after all. Every member of that family has a genetic mutation for lack of chill—I wouldn’t be surprised if each aspect of the trip is mapped out down to the minute.
“Nope.” Her voice bubbles with excitement. “It’s a surprise. Well, other than the stripper show I just told you about. But I’m zipping my lips on everything else.”
I sigh, considering how to get the information out of her. It’s not that I think she is doing a bad job planning the trip, but Cass isn’t the most ostentatious person, and I want to make sure Claire doesn’t get carried away. The engagement party she planned over New Year’s Eve turned into a huge black-tie affair complete with catering from one of Atlanta’s most expensive restaurants, when I’m pretty sure Cass would have been happier with a barbecue.
“Do I need to call Beau for answers?” I threaten, turning onto my street. “He might think he’s a big tough guy, but I know how to play him like a damn fiddle.”
She giggles. “He doesn’t know anything. It’s driving him crazy because he thinks that as the best man, he should be included in everything. Trust me, he’s been using some very interesting interrogation techniques. But I’ve held firm.”
I smile as I picture their conversation. Claire and Beau are two peas in a pod who playfully poke at each other any chance they can get. It’s adorable really, and if I believed in romantic love, they would be the couple that I use as my inspiration.
“You’re a true warrior.”
“I told him that since he invited himself to my party, he’s a guest, not a host.”
“Cassidy’s party,” I correct.
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay, well please just promise me one thing,” I say as I pull up to my house. “That none of your surprises involve a wedding chapel.”