After Hours (InterMix)(69)

Huh? What look? If I knew how, I’d have erased it. If I’d known I was going to get kissed good-bye, I wouldn’t have strapped on my Kelly-proof vest so soon. Damn it. But I’d committed to our going back to how we’d been, so I ran with it. “I’ll see you at hand-off.”

He stood. “Drive safe,” he said, and shut my door.

My car had become moody of late, especially when it rained, but I got it running after a couple of attempts. I flipped my lights and wipers on, watching Kelly in my rearview as I pulled away from the curb. His light gray shirt was dark at the shoulders from the rain, and as he climbed into his truck I thought he was just about the most handsome man I’d ever seen. It was a sad thought. There was a chance I might never get to be with him again, but at least I’d enjoyed those couple of days.

As I drove, the melancholy I’d known I’d feel kicked in. The weather didn’t help. But this was the price I’d willingly shelled out to play tourist in Kelly’s sexuality, and having been there and done that and bought the tee shirt, I could assure myself it was worth it.

But it always sucked a little when vacation came to an end.

I didn’t see Kelly on the drive, nor in the lot when I arrived at work. I even dawdled a bit, hoping we might walk into the building together, but maybe he’d given me a few minutes’ head start on purpose, for discretion. The rain was heavier now, and I ran for the employee entrance, soaked by the time I reached the awning. At least the weather made for a good excuse, should anyone spot my car and raise an eyebrow over the fact that I’d driven to work this morning, when I normally walked the five minutes from the apartments.

The locker room felt weird. The clean scrubs I changed into felt weird, too. The last two days had transformed me, and why shouldn’t they have? It’d been over a year since my last boyfriend. In that time I’d forgotten how opened up it can make you feel, relating to somebody flesh to flesh that way. Kelly and I had basically spent all of Thursday and Friday in one long, carnal conversation. No wonder my body felt hoarse.

When I got into the sign-in room, I was surprised to find my name already written in the nurses’ area. In the duties slot someone had noted, Admission—see DF. That’d be Dennis.

Admission. I shivered, dropping instantly into work mode.

Admission meant a new resident, maybe an entrance interview. Given that three-quarters of Starling’s patients were what administration called 401s—401 being the state’s code for involuntary hospitalization—any newcomer to the ward was nearly guaranteed to be two things: dangerous enough to be forced to come here against his will, and not at all happy about that fact.

I had ten minutes before hand-off was due to start, so I went straight to Dennis’s office on the second floor, knocking on the window. He waved me in.

“Erin, good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Have a seat.”

I wheeled a chair up to his desk.

“You saw my note, I take it. Ready for an adventure?”

“Sure,” I lied. I didn’t feel ready at all. I felt wrung out for completely unprofessional reasons, but at least I hadn’t been warned. If I had, I’d have spent the hours leading up to this playing a theoretical movie in my mind, trying to game the scenario.

“Jenny says you’re starting to really find your way on the ward. With the residents.”

“Oh.” Really finding my way? I hadn’t been sexually threatened by any new foodstuffs, but I didn’t think that counted as exemplary progress. “Well, that was nice of her. Um, thank you.”

“And I remember Jenny mentioned you were considering pursuing a BSN . . . ?”

I blushed, nodding. Back in school, I’d made noncommittal noises about going for my RN someday, if I enjoyed the actual day to day reality of nursing. But my advisor had insisted I ought to aim even higher, and Jenny had echoed the sentiment. “I’m giving it some thought.”

“So you’re interested in the higher-level responsibilities of psychiatric nursing.”

“I am.” I was warming to this invitation, nerves banished by the praise and a chance to prove myself. Deep down I was a terminal teacher’s pet.

“We’ve got a new resident joining us this morning, a referral from the ER, previously en route to Cousins.” Cousins Correctional Facility, Dennis meant, a medium-security prison a couple of towns over. “Short-term, we hope, but that’ll be for Dr. Morris to decide.”