Chapter 4
FOUR
SOFEE
“I just don’t know how a pretty girl such as yourself doesn’t have a nice beau to hang on her arm,” the little old lady says from her hospital bed. I plaster on a small grin as I wrap the blood pressure cuff around her upper arm.
Mrs. Myers is what we call a frequent flier in our department. She lives over at Sunny Hills Assisted Living Facility but visits us at the hospital at least once a month. More often than not, we treat her for dehydration and the occasional UTI and then send her on her way.
Even though her in-house physician can treat her conditions, she always insists on being sent to the hospital. She claims it's because she would rather leave her care up to professionals, but I suspect she just likes to get out of that place she’s forced to call home.
I always found it funny how they named those places after such pleasant things. As if naming them Sunny Hills or Shady Acres is supposed to make you think of anything other than a sad place for the elderly to go and die.
I start to say something to my sweet patient, but my shadow immediately cuts me off.
“That would require her to actually get out of this place once in a while and go explore places where members of the opposite sex like to frequent.” Miles smiles down at Mrs. Myers before fluttering his eyelashes at me prettily.
Miles Sutton has been my best friend since he started working at this hospital about five months ago. His free-spirited personality is easily the best thing about him, though his classic good looks are a close runner-up. He’s on the shorter side for a man but is still taller than me. Not that it takes much . I'm pretty short, so everyone towers over me. His dark emerald eyes glimmer with a smirk as he waits for my response.
I snort and ignore my friend as I finish counting my patient’s respirations. “How did my love life become the topic of conversation yet again?”
“You mean lack thereof,” Miles murmurs under his breath. I glare at him, and he shows me his one dimpled smile in return. Rolling my eyes, I turn away from the two before I start typing in Betty’s chart.
“Well, from the sounds of it, Miles has a point, dear. When was the last time you went on a date?” she asks, and I have to smother the urge to groan in frustration.
Out of all the things I want to be doing tonight, discussing my dating history with my Eighty-three-year-old patient isn't anywhere on my list. Nevertheless, she poses an interesting question. When was the last time? Is it bad if I can’t even begin to guess when my last date was? Or who it was with, for that matter.
My expression must be telling as Miles saunters around the bed and bumps my shoulder while opening one of the supply cabinets. “Awe, look at her, Betty. She’s trying to count how many months it's been.” He sticks out his bottom lip and cocks his head to the side in a pout. “You poor thing, you have no idea, do you?” His sweet southern accent dripping with condescension.
I huff an irritated sound and place my fist on my side, jutting my hip out as I think. “Yes, I do,” I wrack my brain for the answer, any answer. But absolutely nothing’s coming to mind. I would lie about it, but Miles would see right through it.
“No, you don’t, but I do,” he tsks as he grabs a sterile pad and unfolds it with practiced hands. Mrs. Myers proves how often she comes in as she automatically raises her arm for him to place the pad under without being asked. “The last time you went out with a guy was over six months ago. You drove because his car was ‘in the shop’ and he took you to one of those terribly cheap chain buffet restaurants, and you guys split the bill. Then he tried to invite himself back to your place to ‘Netflix and chill.’” He uses his fingers to make the quotation marks, as if we don’t already know what he’s talking about.
I gape at him. “How do you even know that? You weren’t even working here yet.” I ask as I wash and dry my hands, then slip on some clean gloves. In no time, I’m wrapping the tourniquet around Betty’s upper arm and palpating for a good vein.
“Um, hello?” He waves as he preps the IV bag for me. “I’m your best friend. You tell me everything, and I make a point to know about your sex life.”
I chuckle as I locate a good vein, cleanse the area with an alcohol swab, and smoothly insert the needle. Betty's eyes tighten at the corners as I get the backflow I’m looking for before removing the needle, leaving the cannula behind. I toss the used needle in the appropriate biohazard bin before continuing. After securing the tubes with tape, I shift my attention to the infusion pump.
“You’re my only friend, Miles. Don’t get too excited,” I tease as I remove my gloves and set the pump where the doctor ordered it to be.
He laughs and starts to gather my trash, discarding it from the bedside. “Semantics,” he says with a sarcastic tone. “Still doesn’t change the fact that I know when the last time you had sex was.”
“Miles,” I hiss, motioning to our patient. “Mixed company.”
“Oh, honey, it’s quite alright. I have six children and a whole slew of grandchildren. I know all about what happens behind closed bedroom doors.” Betty wiggles her eyebrows and gets a far-off look in her eyes. She smiles, her aged face creasing with the motion. “In fact, when Mr. Myers was alive, we had sex all the time. Couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves for our whole marriage. And, oh, that man knew what he was doing?—”
“And we’re done with story time,” Miles says, cutting Betty off before she says something that will give us both nightmares. She waves her hand at him and clicks her tongue, but I can still see a grin forming on her thin lips. “We need to focus on getting Sofee a date, Mrs. Myers. Or at least getting her laid.”
“Miles!” I screech with indignation.
“Well, he’s not wrong, honey. I mean, look at you,” Betty says as she gestures toward me. I look down at myself in confusion before eyeing her curiously. “You are a gorgeous young lady. Men should be stumbling over themselves to get to you. Are you not putting yourself out there? Maybe you’re giving off the wrong signals.”
“This is so not happening right now,” I mumble to myself as I grab my iPad and continue to tap in her chart, ignoring them both.
“Oh, Betty, you have no idea. It’s like she walks around all day holding a huge flashing PROCEED WITH CAUTION sign.” Miles plops down in the roller chair and rolls toward her bedside. He leans against the bed next to her and they both look at me. “I could set her up with a sure thing, but she’s too hung up on some dark and delicious motorcycle guy.”
My mouth drops open as I gape at him. “I am not,” I argue.
He scoffs as he turns his attention to Mrs. Myers. “The super cute x-ray tech up on level four asked her out last month, and she totally blew him off. Said she had other plans when we all know she was just at her brother's clubhouse pining after some guy who won’t even give her the time of day. The poor guy was so devastated he disappeared and hasn’t been heard from since,” he says, as if he’s revealing the juiciest bit of hospital gossip. Betty gasps as though shocked by my behavior. This whole conversation is a little melodramatic, to say the least.
“Oh, pu-lease. Andrew hardly disappeared; I heard he just transferred to a different hospital. And the only reason you were remotely interested in me dating him was because you had the hots for his roommate. Don’t act like you weren’t planning a double date for us.” I arch a regal eyebrow at my friend. His returning grin turns sheepish.
He simply shrugs, saying nothing before standing and walking toward me. It’s time to move on to the next patient now that Betty’s IV has been set.
“Oh, I have a fabulous idea!” Mrs. Myers practically bounces with excited energy. “Why don’t you two date? You’re both young and attractive, you would make the prettiest babies.” She claps her hands together in her delusion.
I snort and glance at Miles. He smiles back at me before extending a hand to Mrs. Myers. When she places hers in his, he pats it.
“You are correct, Mrs. Betty. Sofee and I are both great catches and have a lot in common, some would say too much in common,” he pauses, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “In the way that we both want a big, burly man to sweep us off our feet,” he says as he pops his hip to the side in a flamboyant show. Betty’s brows crease as she studies my friend, not quite understanding what he’s saying. He flutters his eyelashes at her and smiles stiffly. “I’m a flaming homosexual, honey.”
“Oh,” Betty laughs as she places her hand on top of his before patting it lovingly. “Well, in that case, my grandson is single, and I think you two would make a handsome couple.” She smiles.
I can’t help but laugh out loud as Miles’ eyes widen in surprise. He shakes his head, his dark brown waves grazing the tops of his ears. Smoothly, he removes his hand from between hers and grabs her blanket. After raising it to her shoulders, he stands back to his full height.
“I’m not saying no, Mrs. Myers. I’m saying I’ll need to see a photo of him first.” He grins down at our elderly patient, revealing his adorable dimple once again.
Betty’s eyes light up as she looks at my friend. “Deal,” she says as she leans back. Miles presses a button on the guardrail, and the head of the bed slowly descends. After ensuring her comfort, we dim the lights and leave the room together.
“Wanna make a bet on whether her grandson is actually gay?” he murmurs as we walk back to the nurses' station. I chuckle and pull out my seat, tapping on my computer as I do.
“I think the odds are in your favor. If he were straight, she would have offered him to me on a silver platter, I’m sure,” I say as I pull up my next patient's chart.
Miles plops down in the empty chair beside me and sways back and forth. It's a quiet day today. I've only seen seven patients so far, and my shift is almost done. I might actually get out of here on time for once. Not like I’ll be doing anything after work tonight besides going back to the clubhouse and hiding in my room.
I’m typing about lab results in Mr. Kirkman's chart when Miles speaks again. “So, you just gonna ignore what I said about the hottie with the motorcycle?” he asks, and my typing immediately falters. I sigh heavily as I try to refocus on my task.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say about him,” I murmur.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he scoffs. “Maybe that you’re madly in lust with him.”
I stop typing and turn to face my friend. “I am not.”
Miles tilts his head back and laughs out loud. I glance around the nurses' station to see how many people his outburst attracted. Thank goodness we’re the only ones behind the desk at the moment.
“I see you’re still living in Delulu.” He grins at me, his smile lines deepening.
“I’m not delusional. I have nothing to say about Declan because I have no feelings for him.” Even as I say the words, I taste their wrongness on my tongue. I shrug. “Except barely restrained contempt.”
Miles shakes his head, his grin still in place. “There’s a fine line between hate and lust, baby girl. They kinda go hand in hand.”
I huff before turning back to my computer. There will be no getting through to him. He reads far too many of those romance books where the enemies become lovers. That shit isn’t real. In the real world, when two people hate each other, they rarely fuck each others brains out.
“Just think about it for a second, Sof,” he says before leaning into my space. He drops his voice an octave and hushes his words. “Haven’t you ever looked at someone you don’t like and thought about how hot it would be between you two? Ever wondered what they look like naked?”
My mind drifts at his words. Soon, my typing slows as I think about what Declan would look like naked. I’ve only seen him shirtless once, but that glimpse was enough to make me salivate. His body is covered in colorful tattoos that tempt me to trace each one with my fingers and then my tongue. Never having seen beyond the V that disappears beneath his jeans, I can only imagine what lies beneath that denim.
“Thought about what it would be like for him to graze his lips against yours before plunging his tongue in to taste you for the first time.” His voice carries the tone of a lover as he speaks.
Images of Declan’s mouth forming a smile only to fall into a scowl cloud my vision. The way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips has me clenching my thighs together. Thoughts of that tongue caressing my lips are the next thing that comes to mind. I bite back the sigh that threatens to escape before I embarrass myself.
“Wondered what it would be like for him to grab you in a rough, dominant grasp and fuck the hate right out of you?”
I suck in a sharp breath and feel heat rise to my cheeks. I push away from the desk and stand quickly. My core pulses, and my nipples pucker tightly at the image he’s planted in my mind. I can feel a dampness in my panties that wasn’t there before.
Miles leans back in his chair and grabs his stomach as he belly laughs, clueing me into the fact that he got exactly the reaction he was looking for.
I slap him on the shoulder. “Stop it. I don’t want Declan to fuck anything out of me,” I lie so effortlessly.
“Yeah, that’s why you left a wet spot behind in this chair.” He eyes the spot I just vacated suspiciously as he chuckles. Gasping, I lunge for the chair and scowl down at the clean black upholstery, then at my so-called friend. I punch him in the shoulder this time before sitting back down with a growl. That only seems to make him laugh harder.
I try to ignore him as I resume my angry typing, not seeing any of the words I write. He’s wrong. I don’t like Declan that way. I don’t like Declan at all.
But even as I think the words, I see how false they are. It’s true, Declan pisses me off in ways no other man ever has. But sometimes, when he doesn't notice me, I catch myself watching him. Find myself contemplating the things Miles just spoke about.
Sometimes I do wonder what it would be like if he ever tried to fuck the hate out of me. I just know it would be intense and raw, fulfilling everything I secretly crave. He would degrade me in the sweetest way. Make me feel like his dirty little fuck toy. I don’t understand why I want him to do these nasty things to me and I try not to think about it for too long.
But even if I do have these thoughts about him, it’s not like they would ever come to fruition. Somehow, I don’t get the feeling that he shares the same sentiments I do. A lot of my anger and hatred for him stems from the way he treats me. It's as if I'm an annoyance, a burden that was thrust into his life. I don’t know many people who can view someone as a burden and still be sexually interested in them.
“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” Miles says, startling me from my thoughts.
“No,” I lie.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then tell me why you’ve typed the same word three times in a row?”
I start to argue until I realize he’s right. I grumble in frustration and hit the backspace button furiously. Miles' chuckle becomes muffled as he bends down and opens the bottom drawer next to him.
“I was saving this for your birthday, but it’s obvious you need it now.” He smiles as he sets a bright pink bag on the desk. I eye the sparkly tissue paper peeking out of the bag warily, as if a snake's about to pop out and bite me.
“My birthday isn’t for another month,” I mutter dumbly as I stare at the bag. He pushes it closer to me.
“We’re never promised a tomorrow,” he shrugs and forges on. “And, I’m just that good of a friend. Open it,” he demands.
I glance at him and see his easy smile. I’m not sure what’s in the bag, but whatever it is makes him happy for some reason. I study the bag again as if it’s booby-trapped before gingerly grabbing the top lip of it. Sliding it closer to me, I grip the top bundle of tissue paper. The wad of paper crinkles as I pull it from the bag and glance inside. My cheeks immediately redden two shades brighter than the hot pink bag before I quickly stuff the paper back inside, concealing the contents.
“I charged it for you already.” Miles leans forward and snatches the bag from my hands. I fumble for it in a hurried motion, but he’s too quick. Before I can pull the package from his hands, he already has the tissue paper on the floor and the lavender-colored vibrator, still in its box, pulled from the bag.
The high-pitched noise that escapes me is embarrassing as I quickly look all around us to see if anyone else is witnessing my humiliation. Miles tosses the empty bag to the floor before I can catch it. I practically lunge from my seat, scrambling to grab it.
“The lady at the store said it has ten different settings depending on what you’re in the mood for. I hear the thrusting action is a new upgrade people are raving about. But the saleswoman assured me that this little sucker thing is the most important part of the toy. Apparently, it thumps your cl?—”
“I’m begging you to shut the fuck up!” I screech as I rip the box from his hands. He laughs out loud as I hastily shove the expensive vibrator back into the bag. My face is blazing as I grab as much tissue paper from the floor as I can and quickly cover the package. By the time I’m done, the bag is a crumpled, ripped mess, and I feel like I’m literally on fire as nervous sweat beads on my skin, totally obliterating any deodorant I had on prior to this altercation.
I stand abruptly with my crinkled gift and start a fast-paced walk to the employee break room where I can stash the bag in my locker. Miles leans so far back in his chair as he laughs, I’m surprised he doesn’t topple to the ground.
“You are such a shit!” I hiss as I clutch the bag to my chest.
“Oh, now, don’t be like that, Sof. I could probably show you how to use it if you don’t know how. Just think of it this way, now you don’t have to worry about getting a date. You can just fuck yourself from now on,” he howls, and I yelp as though someone bit my ass, practically running to the break room.