Good Boy (WAGs #1)(29)

Wes is headed for the kitchen, where he pulls a third wine glass out of the cupboard and pours for me without even asking first.

Did I mention how much I love this man?

“What are you ordering?” I ask.

“How do you feel about Indian?” Jamie suggests.

“Indian food always makes Blake Riley smiley,” I answer. “I’ll buy.”

It’s usually my treat when we order in, because I eat Jamie’s cooking a few times a week. He told me he buys extra of everything because he knows I’ll probably turn up. “And when you don’t, I have leftovers for lunch,” he explained.

Wes hands me a glass of wine. “You want your usual?” he asks, pulling out his phone.

“Yeah, and let’s get the samosas, too. I’m starved.” Bad news makes me hungry.

I sit down in their massage chair, which is identical to my massage chair. This leaves the whole couch for Wesmie. They sit at opposite ends, but Wes puts his feet in Jamie’s lap.

Jamie’s eyes are on the TV screen, where some sports highlights are playing. But his hands unconsciously attach themselves to Wes’s left foot, and he begins to stroke the arch with his thumbs. Watching, I can almost feel how awesome that must be, the pressure just right against muscles tired from today’s brutal morning practice. I could use a massage. Maybe I’ll book one tomorrow with the team therapist.

Wes gives me a frown. “You okay?”

Fuck. I must have been staring. “Sure. ’Course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” Jamie chews his lip thoughtfully. “Got any hot dates lined up? You just seem a little lonely lately.”

“Lonely? I don’t get lonely.” Maybe I’m at loose ends a little bit right now, but it’s only because our season hasn’t really started up again. That, and Jess Canning still refuses to accept the inevitable.

Wes and Jamie exchange a glance that irks me. Cheezus. Just because a guy spends a lot of time being the third wheel to the happiest couple alive doesn’t mean he’s lonely. That’s ridic.

“Want to watch some Sense8?” I suggest, changing the subject. “We’re almost up to the one with that orgy scene that everybody’s talking about.”

“Sure, buddy,” Wes says kindly. “Cue it up.” He tosses me the clicker and then slides his other foot into Jamie’s welcoming hands.

I dial up our latest show and sit back to watch. I put the massage chair on the quiet setting and relax into its comfy robotic embrace. And everything is just great.

Of course it is.





12 The Leader of the Alien Race





One Month Later





Jess


I’m freaking out.

Again.

This isn’t me, either. I’m not a worrier. Or I didn’t used to be. I’m a California girl, damn it. We’re chill. We take each day as it comes and make the best of it.

But a month into nursing school I’m not any more relaxed than I was on day one. It’s still hard, and I still feel like an alien dropped onto a planet where everyone else has a photographic memory and speaks Latin with great fluency.

The leader of the alien race is Violet Smith. She’s squinting at me right now, in fact, as I lean against a hallway wall in the pediatric oncology ward at the hospital. My evil roommate can tell that I’m not paying enough attention to Nurse Hailey, our instructor. But I need a moment to compose myself, because around the corner there’s a playroom for patients on the pediatric oncology ward. I am about to come face to face with kids fighting cancer.

My classmates are all bent over their clipboards, taking notes as the instructor speaks.

“The play dough is non-toxic, but we still don’t want anyone eating it.” Nurse Hailey smiles at us. “So feel free to shut that down right away. And if you have any trouble with the rubber-band looms, I’m pretty much an expert now. And just have fun with this. Interacting with the kids comes first. And then, when you’re feeling settled, that’s when I want you to start to check off all the observations we’ve been working on in the classroom with regard to patient assessment. Since this is a stealthy assessment, you don’t need to ask the patient any questions. But even without verbal queries you should be able to learn things from the patient’s movements, skin tone, audible breath sounds, et cetera.”

I clutch my bag of play dough and follow the rest of the class into the big room. It looks like the set of a Nickelodeon show—bright furniture in interesting shapes, a wall painted to resemble the facade of a castle. There are tables and chairs and a TV playing an animated movie.

It’s paradise until you look a little closer. A dozen heads turn in our direction as we enter. The kids are all shapes and sizes, but my worried gaze trips over a small bald head and then another. One little girl—she’s wearing a glittery T-shirt that says Girl Power on the front—is so thin that it hurts to look at her. She smiles, though, and her front teeth are missing.

I want to bolt from the room.

My hesitation costs me. The other nursing students scatter like heat-seeking missiles. They each pick a child and sit right down to do their thing. Seconds later, they’re bonding already.

I look frantically around, but all the kids have been taken. My evil roommate smirks at me over the top of the painfully thin little girl’s head. For the last four weeks, she’s enjoyed my discomfort. Whenever I have to ask her a question—when my notes aren’t clear enough or when I just don’t understand something—it makes her entire week.