Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“Is it that fireman that’s got you all bound up?” Marcy presses.
I can’t stop the heat from rising in my cheeks any more than I can stop the smile from crossing my lips. I feel like a silly schoolgirl with a crush.
“Yeah, that’s it. I should have guessed,” Marcy says with a laugh. “And have you done anything about that situation?”
Marcy doesn’t know about our tryst in the supply closet. Nobody does. I guess that would count as doing something about that situation, but it’s not something I want to share with her. I think having sexual contact with a patient, even a former patient, in the hospital would be grounds enough to get me bounced out of the program and shatter my dream of becoming an RN.
“Not really,” I say.
Marcy looks at me closely in that unsettling way she has. The woman just has this unearthly ability to see through somebody and uncover those things they’re trying to hide. I’ve seen her do it to others but never to me. Until now. And caught beneath that steely gaze of hers, I find myself withering and fighting the urge to turn and flee to preserve my secrets. After a few moments of tense silence, she laughs. It’s a rolling belly laugh that has her doubled over and slapping her knees, barely able to control herself.
“What?” I ask.
“You think I don’t know about you and Mr. Fireman in the supply closet?”
My heart drops into my shoes, and I feel the color draining from my face, which only makes Marcy laugh harder. I’m glad she’s getting such a kick out of this.
“Girl, people have been hooking up in that closet longer than you’ve been alive. People call it the Love Shack,” she says. “When that door is locked, it’s just like hanging a sock on the knob. People know it’s occupied. Gemma saw you go in there with the fireman, kid.”
A nervous laugh floats out of my mouth, and my face burns so hot, I’m surprised I’m not seeing smoke. A million excuses flash through my mind as I search for a way to deny it. The knowing look on her face tells me she’s not going to buy a single thing I say.
“We work long hours here, so romance on the floor is nothing new. People have been hooking up for time out of mind. Sometimes, you just need to blow off steam after a rough shift,” she says. “But I’d suggest you be a little more discreet next time, Harlow.”
“There’s not going to be a next time,” I reply quickly.
She laughs again. “And why not? That’s a good-lookin’ man, and he obviously has some feelings for you.”
“Because it’s inappropriate.”
“How so?”
“He was our patient. It’s unethical.”
“The keyword in that sentence is ‘was’. He was our patient,” she says. “He’s no longer under our care, and you’re both consenting adults. Nothing unethical about it.”
“He’s twice my age.”
“You’re both adults.”
“I dated his son, Marcy.”
“Are you dating his son now?”
I give her a frown. “You know I’m not.”
“Then that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“You don’t think it’s weird?”
Marcy shrugs. “I think a lot of things are weird. Two people who have chemistry and are obviously attracted to each other getting together isn’t one of them.”
Marcy gives me an even look, as if challenging me to come up with another reason that she can shoot down as easily as King Kong swatted down the planes that buzzed him around the Empire State Building in that old movie.
“You know what I’m hearing?” Marcy asks.
“What’s that?”
“I’m hearing you make a whole bunch of excuses to deny yourself something you want just because you’re afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid,” she confirms.
“And what am I afraid of?”
Marcy shrugs. “Getting hurt maybe? I can’t tell you what you’re afraid of, but from where I’m standing, there is no valid reason you shouldn’t go after that man if that’s what you want. That makes me think you’re scared.”
I laugh. “Well, aren’t you quite the psychotherapist?”
“Not really. I’ve just been around long enough to know a few things about a few things. That’s all,” she says. “So, I guess the only real question you need to answer is—what are you afraid of, Harlow? And is this man somebody you want to spend time with?”
I take in her words and let them rattle around in my head for a few beats. What she’s saying makes perfect sense. But what am I afraid of? It’s not being hurt. Getting hurt is just a byproduct of living and loving, and that’s something I learned to accept a while ago. I’m not afraid of Hunter. He’s the polar opposite of his son in every meaningful way. He’s kind and encouraging. Though a little gruff and rough around the edges, he’s also tender and gentle.
“Is he?” Marcy presses. “Is he somebody you want to spend time with?”