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I laugh softly and look down at the chart in my hands. It’s been a couple of days since I talked to Hunter—since our tryst in the supply closet—and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Or about him. Just thinking about his fingers and tongue inside me right now sends a warm tingle running through my body. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to stave off the rush of heat and the wetness that accompanies it, but it’s a futile effort. No matter how hard I try to push it out of my head, I can still feel the warmth of his tongue and see that sensual gleam in his eyes as he made me come.
“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?”
