Sweet Nothing(9)

Quinn nearly fell over before rubbing his chest as if he’d been violently attacked.

“You think that’s bad? This is the nice one. That one—” he extended his arm toward Avery “—is into slavery.”

“Avery,” I corrected. “Her name is Avery, and we know her from work, remember?” I couldn’t contain my laugh at his serious expression.

“She doesn’t like me. Can you believe that?”

“I can.” I grabbed Quinn’s arm and looped it over my shoulders, pulling him from Deb’s side. “Come on, buddy. I think it’s time we go home.”

“But I want to hang out with the twins.”

“I think they’ve had about enough of you.” I winked at Avery, and she smiled, appreciative.

“But I owe you a beer,” Quinn whined.

“Yeah, you do. But I think we should go back to my place. You can sleep on the floor where Dax pissed this afternoon.” I helped Quinn through the front door of the bar and let him lean against the brick veneer exterior as he drank in the fresh air.

“It’s so hot out here.” He tugged at the collar of his blue polo shirt, stretching the fabric. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You have it coming.” I turned around at the sound of the door creaking behind me.

“Make sure you keep him hydrated and maybe feed him a banana or something,” Avery said.

“Yeah, ahh … thanks for being so cool about him.” I shoved my hands deep into my jean pockets. “He’s not normally like this.” I glanced over my shoulder at Quinn, who was doubled over and dry heaving loudly, his shirt lying on the ground at his side.

“I sure hope not. His mother would be very disappointed.”

“He told you about his mother?”

“He all but bribed us with her homemade pie to sleep with him.” She covered her mouth as she struggled to contain her laugh. “It was an interesting strategy.”

“I’ll let him know you were impressed with his pickup lines tomorrow. Better yet, I’ll let his mom know.” I winked and she focused on the space between us.

Conversation stalled as I tried to think of something to say to her over the sound of Quinn emptying his stomach. I wanted to ask her out, desperate to stick around and spend more time with her, but there wasn’t a line in the world that would work in this situation.

“I should get him home.” Rubbing my hand over the back of my neck, I decided then that I was going to make tomorrow a living hell for Quinn.

“Thanks again.” Avery pulled open the bar door and slipped inside to join her friend.

“Come on.” I helped Quinn stand upright, tossing his shirt over my shoulder and guiding him down the darkened street to my apartment.

It was going to be a long night.





“So let me get this straight,” Deb said, standing by her locker in just a scrub top and striped, neon-colored socks. “He pulls you out of a burning car—”

“It wasn’t burning,” I deadpanned.

“—and calls his ambulance buddies to bring you to safety, probably cradling your head in his beautiful, buff arm while sniffing your granny panties.”

I shook my head, revolted. “At what point in this story did my panties come off?”

She stared at me with a blank expression. “This is Paramedic McPanties we’re talking about, right? He probably took them off to fashion a tourniquet like a sexy MacGyver.”

I exhaled. “McPanties is an awful, horrible nickname.”

“You laughed the first time I said it. Now you’re defensive. This is bad.” She dropped her shit-soaked sneaker into a plastic bag and tied the top, tossing it into her locker with a thud.

“You’re going to just throw that away, right?” I asked, rubbing the beginning of a headache from my left temple.

“Throw my shoes away?” she asked, appalled at my suggestion.

She spun around, stepping into the tiny bathroom across from the lockers, and scrubbed her hands until they looked raw. After ripping a paper towel from the dispenser, Deb turned off the faucet and then took a few towels to dry her hands before throwing away the wet paper. She reached back to tie her dark hair into a tiny ponytail at the nape of her neck. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought.”

I smiled, watching Deb step into a fresh pair of scrubs and then slide into her Crocs. “At least keep it in the bag until you know if your patient tests positive for—”

“Bleach kills everything,” she said. “Anyway, if I get C. diff, I might lose that last fifty pounds I’ve been trying to get off since the eighties.”

“You were born in the eighties.”

“My mother had gestational diabetes. I was husky.” She closed her locker, snapping the combination lock and twisting the dial.

“Better twist it again,” I said. “Don’t want anyone taking your shit shoe.”

“I don’t want those skinny bitches from radiology stealing my pudding.”

Andrea from X-ray glanced over her shoulder at us.

“That’s right,” Deb said with wide eyes. She pointed at her. “I see you staring at my chocolate vanilla Super Snack Pack.”

Andrea pushed through the door, suddenly in a hurry.