“Yeah … we’re RNs,” she said. “We drive up I-76 West to our shithole apartments, but the traffic is clear, so there’s that.”
“Well,” Dr. Rosenberg said, amused. “Enjoy your night, then. Good night, Avery.”
I nodded. “Good night, Doctor.” I turned on my heels, stiffening when Deb hooked her arm around mine. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you …” I chanted all the way down the hall.
“He is going to be thinking about you while bathing in his champagne-filled bathtub tonight, so you can’t be too mad at me,” she said, chuckling.
“No, he’s not. He’s going to be thinking husband things because he’s married, and you’re an asshole for plotting things like that.”
“I’m not plotting. I’m pulling the strings of your life like a puppeteer because it amuses me.”
“Your honesty is my favorite thing about you, but it also makes me want to squeeze your throat between my hands until your eyes bulge. Just a little. Not a lot.”
She tightened her grip on my arm. “Aw. I love our little talks.”
A blue blur rushed around the corner, nearly knocking me to the floor. Hot liquid instantly soaked my scrubs and splashed up my neck and down my arms. I held my hands out to my side, in shock.
“Oh, Christ,” Josh said, holding his nearly empty Styrofoam cup of coffee. “I’ll go find some cold water. Did it burn you?”
“Yes, the boiling-hot coffee is burning my flesh, Captain Obvious,” I said, feeling the dark liquid drip from my jaw.
Raising his chin, he sniffed the air before his face twisted in revulsion. “What’s that smell?”
“Be right back,” Deb said, rushing down the hall and through an unmarked door. I shook my head, trying not to laugh at the thought of her shit shoe.
Josh barely glanced down at the stain on his own shirt and cargo pants before looking around, desperate to find something to wipe his coffee off my scrubs. The heat was already subsiding—hospital coffee was rarely hot enough to scald. He resorted to using his hands, clumsily brushing his fingers over my stomach, arms, and breasts. It was more awkward than getting felt up by Bobby Lawson in the tenth grade.
I tried to turn in an attempt to deflect the impromptu pat-down. “It’s okay, really, I—”
“This coffee was meant for you … Not exactly like this, though,” Josh said, ignoring my efforts to stop him. He used his thumb to gently brush my wet chin as he looked down into my eyes. He sighed, frustrated.
“W-what? I … um.” I swallowed. “I guess this is my fault?” I asked, still trying to sound tough while completely captivated. Dr. Rosenberg had an effect on me, but he’d never looked at me the way Josh was at that moment. It was a combination of awe, anticipation, and regret. Being that close to him, it became very clear why all the nurses melted in his presence.
He took a step back. “The coffee.” He held up the cup. “I saw you when I came in earlier, so I thought I’d bring you some. I wasn’t sure how long your shift was, so …”
One side of my mouth turned up. “That was very un-McPanties of you, Josh.”
His nose wrinkled, and his head turned to the side a bit like a confused puppy. “Huh?”
“Um … thoughtful. I meant it was very thoughtful.” I took the almost empty cup from his hand. The cooled drops of coffee on the outside of the Styrofoam dampened my palm, matching the rest of me. “I’m off work, actually.”
“Here!” Deb said, pressing a cold towel on my neck. “I brought wet and dry towels from housekeeping and Dermoplast spray. Did he burn you?”
I shook my head, still smiling at Josh. “Not yet.”
He teetered after letting me shoulder past him. I glanced back to see him smirking at the floor. This was a fun game I was sure he had played many times, but not with me.
I pulled Deb along, and although she was confused, she followed.
She looked back to Josh, and then at me. She frowned, repulsed. “Ew, Avery, really? You were just all nervous and goo-goo-eyed at Doc Rose.”
“I’m more single than Rosey,” Josh called. “And I’m probably more in other areas, too.”
I cackled, far too loudly. It wasn’t that funny. He had the humor of a twelve-year-old, but I was in full flirt mode. I’d seen Josh Avery around the ER before, but back then he was just McPanties. Now, he was The Guy Who Pulled Me from the Wreckage. That had meaning. We now had a unique connection. I wanted him to save me again. I just wasn’t sure from what. My thirteen-month dry spell, maybe?
“I am!” he yelled. “And I’m still holding you to an evening of whiskey and lists of things we hate!”
I turned, pushing my ass against the exit. “No coffee?”
Josh held out his hands. “I can bring coffee, sunshine. I’ll bring whatever you want.”
“Give up, Josh,” I said. “I’m not your type.”
“Exactly,” he said, standing tall, wholly satisfied with himself. Quite the turnaround from the upset, fidgeting doof from a few minutes before. His sudden resurfaced confidence had caused mine to waver.
I paused and then pushed my way out into the humid summer night air. My scrubs were soaked, and even though it was at least ninety-five degrees outside, goose bumps formed on my skin. I pulled my hair into a messy bun and waited while Deb searched her huge purse for her keys.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said, waiting next to the passenger door of her red Kia Rio. It was only a year old but had already suffered a love pat from the back. The rear fender was hanging down a bit on one side, and the corner was still bruised where it had traded paint with the white Buick that hadn’t stopped in time.