The Fear That Divides Us (The Devil's Dust #3)(14)

“Nope, I don’t,” I reply flatly, looking over discharge papers the nurse just gave me.

“Come on, Jessica. You can’t turn me down forever,” Shane chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the counter.

“Oh, but I can.” I look up from the papers and smile wolfishly at him.

“Dr. Wren, I’m sorry to do this, but you were put on call for the night,” a nurse informs me. I look over the desk with disbelief, my eyes burning a hole through her. I was supposed to have tonight off. I know for a fact I’ll be called in five minutes after leaving this place.

“What?” I all but shout.

“Don’t kill the messenger,” she replies meekly, walking away.

“Shit. I was supposed to take Addie to pick out movies tonight,” I mutter, sliding my hands through my hair in anger. My job has impossible hours, making the time I have with Addie limited. She is going to be livid when I tell her. I’ve canceled movie night three times already because of having to work extra hours unexpectedly.

“You go on a date with me and I’ll take your shift. You can go home to your daughter with no interruptions,” Shane show-tunes, focusing on his clipboard and feigning nonchalance.

I throw my head back and growl in frustration. The only dates I do are one-night stands. No strings attached. No complications. But I don’t want to skip on movies again with Addie. What harm could one date with Shane possibly do? We’ll go eat and then I’ll head home. Maybe he’ll see I am not who he is looking for in the end and leave me alone.

“Or I can settle for a quickie in the supply closet,” Shane suggests. My head snaps over and looks at him, trying to read if he is joking or not. His head tilted to the side, and his brown eyes are staring at me intently.

“Oh, my God, you would,” Shane whispers, his eyebrows lifted. My hesitation making him think I would be as easy to give a quick rump in the closet.

“What? No, I—”

“Date it is. See you this weekend,” Shane chuckles, walking away.

***

A guy rushing into the ER who had stapled his thumb to a board at the end of my shift means I’m home late. Surprisingly, we get a lot of those cases. I love the ER, the adrenaline that pumps through my veins when someone rushes in after a chaotic experience, depending on you for their wellbeing. However, it’s not that thrilling when it happens right before you’re about to clock out.

I go to key in the code to the security gate at my apartment and the gate pushes open before I even have a chance to press a button. I scowl and try to shut the gate, curious as to why it’s not locked. It’s not shutting at all. It’s broken.

“What the hell?” I yell, flinging the gate open.

Damn slumlord is letting this place go to shit. Some kid in his early twenties who just likes to sit around and get high inherited the place after his dad passed away. It has been a ‘fix it yourself’ ever since. I head up the stairs to my apartment and find a note taped to my door saying Addie is staying with Bree, since her niece came over for the night. Addie loves playing with Bree’s niece so it doesn’t surprise me she wants to stay over.

I look over at Bree’s door contemplating knocking so I can see Addie. The security gate not working is going to have me up all night worried. I know it’s late though and she’s probably asleep. I open my door and slam it shut with my foot, dropping my groceries to the floor. I fish out the bottle of wine and head to the kitchen to remove the cork. I don’t even bother with a glass; I just drink from the bottle. I’m classy like that.

I drink alcohol more than I should. It helps forget the pain, the memories, and the fear. That and what single mother doesn't need wine occasionally? I don’t have a problem with it though. I never drink when I am on call, or around my daughter. Heading into my bedroom, taking a big swig from the bottle I stop in the doorway and inspect the drawers of my dresser all pulled out. My clothes sprung from one end of the room to the other. Looks like Addie played dress up again. My shirts are mostly strung out, along with all my lipsticks scattered along the top of the dresser. I swear she’s nine going on sixteen. I’m going to have my hands full with her. Maybe I should start buying gothic lipstick, leaving it in her reach, then she can run around looking like a member from KISS; it would be better than the bright pink or red she obviously was wearing.

I fall on my bed landing on my back, my hand holding the bottle of wine dangling over the bed as I look up at the ceiling. I wonder what Bobby is doing. I wince at my internal thought, and close my eyes tightly.

“This is your fault,” I whisper to the bottle of wine in my hand. The wine helps with a long day, but often brings me to thinking about Bobby. I hate how he makes me want him; has me thinking about him all the time. Not to mention, Bobby’s a rock star in the sack, making it that much harder to stay away. I’m usually so high on desire from his skilled fingers and the affection he shows my body, that I don’t realize what I’m doing until it’s over. He’s not the one afraid of taking what we have and complicating it. Bobby has made it clear, as I have, that he has no desire to take things further. That’s not what I necessarily want, but absolutely need. What we have works: no attachment, no broken hearts.

I groan and sit up, taking another big swig, the fruity goodness numbing my senses. My phone vibrates in my back pocket making me jump and spill wine all over myself.