I crossed my arms and huffed as she walked away. Michaels was usually a lazy, unprofessional brat. She was just a few years younger than me, but her parents still paid her bills, leaving her without motivation for a solid work ethic. If a Bruno Mars concert were within driving range, she would call in sick. I had been burned enough times to know not to like anyone. At the moment, Michaels was compassionate and patient with my foul mood, making it very hard, but not entirely impossible, for me to dislike her.
I ran my fingers over my teeth. Thank God. All present. Felt my face. Whoa. Better than I imagined. I wiggled my toes. Yes. I'm walking out of here.
Not long after I took stock of my injuries, Michaels gave me the green light along with the few pieces of personal property that had been gathered from the wreckage. I hobbled from the sterile C.-diff-and-bleach smell of the hospital to the sweaty mildew odor of a cab.
The driver looked unsure as I retied the second gown around me that I'd used as a robe. "You sure you can go home just yet?" he asked.
"That bad, huh?"
I tried to ignore his curious eyes in the rearview mirror as I struggled to secure my seatbelt.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Fine."
"You sick? You're not gonna puke in my cab, are ya?"
"Car accident. I feel fine, thank you."
"Your family couldn't pick you up?"
"No family," I said. Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to me to call anyone. I'd been alone for so long, family was a foreign concept to me. There was an aunt and a few cousins in Florida, but I didn't know them. Certainly not enough to let them know I'd been in a minor accident.
I kept busy enough with work that I barely noticed I was alone, but family was good for situations like this. Family kept you from having to ride home in a cab wearing two hospital gowns and oatmeal-colored non-skid socks.
"Where's your clothes, kid?" he asked.
"In my closet."
"Don'tcha have someone to bring you some? Anyone?"
I shook my head, giving him the address of my building. The driver finally pulled away, and after he learned the answer to the expected what do you do, he talked over jazz radio about his bunions, a life-long aversion to raw vegetables, and his two-pack-a-day Pall Mall habit. For some reason, when people learned I was a nurse, they felt the urge to confess their health sins. I guessed it was so I would either absolve them or diagnose them, but I had yet to do either.
"Is this the one, sweetheart?" the driver asked, pointing with his fat, tar-stained finger. "I think one of my ex-girlfriends lived here once."
"I thought everyone your age married the first person they dated?"
He made a face. "Nah. I would have, but she wouldn't wait for me." He pointed to his embroidered hat that read VETERAN. "Navy."
"Thank you for your service."
He nodded in acknowledgment. His yellowed nails were lined with grime, and he had at least a day's worth of silver scruff on his weathered face. He'd served our country and, by the looks of his hands, had worked harder jobs than driving a cab, compelling me to give him an extra-nice tip. I had no purse or pockets, and definitely no money. I opened my hand, revealing a few wadded up dollar bills and my keys.
"Let me just run up to get some more cash," I said, my sore muscles complaining as I pushed open the door.
He huffed. "The hospital fares never pay."
"No, I'll pay you. Please wait here. I'll be right back. Keep the meter running. I'll pay you for your time, too."
His eyes softened and he smiled. "Pay me next time, kid. Most people don't even offer."
For half a second, I'd forgotten there would be a next time. No telling what salvage yard my poor little sea-green Prius was in. It had crumpled around me as we cartwheeled together across the intersection into a patch of grass on the other side. I had somehow made it out in one piece, but there would be many more taxi rides in my future. That thought made my heart hurt. The Prius had protected me, and now it was spare parts.
"Thanks," I said, looking at his license on the dash. "Melvin."
"It's just Mel." He handed me a bent, smudged card. "Call me if you need another ride, but no more freebies."
"Of course. I will. Thank you."
He left me standing on the curb in front of the stoop of my building. I waved and then padded up the steps and pulled open the door, glad my apartment was only on the second floor. After just half a flight, my body slowed, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I slid the key into the lock and turned it, shoving open the door and then leaning back against the wood until it closed.
"TGIF," I said with a sigh, sliding down to the floor.
Almost two years in the same apartment, and it still looked like something a property manager would use to entice a potential renter. Nailing holes into walls that didn't belong to me just didn't feel right, but that didn't explain why I hadn't bought real plates, either.
I looked over at the door-less kitchen cabinets, exposing my collection of paper plates and plastic cups to match the plastic cutlery in the drawers below. Just one glass casserole dish, a skillet, and one pot were sitting in the space beneath the countertop gathering dust. Eating out had been more of a pastime than a necessity until that moment.
I pulled myself up and forced my feet across the room in order to rummage through the medicine cabinet for an old bottle of Lortab. I rolled the tiny robin's-egg-colored pill in my palm before tossing it to the back of my throat, chasing it with a gulp of flat Mountain Dew.
The Formica felt cold against my backside as I waited for my veins to carry the hydrocodone and sugar through my body.
Once I began feeling human again, I showered, slipped an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt over my head, and stepped into my favorite royal-blue cuffed sweatpants. As I piled my still-damp hair on top of my head, it crossed my mind that I would probably meet who might be the love of my life while dressed like a colorblind cat lady. But I had to eat, and I would rather make the walk across the street without a bra than try to scrounge up something to cook--not that I had any groceries.
I glanced in the mirror and paused. My face was not the frightening mess I'd imagined. Instead, I looked ... normal. Tired, maybe, but otherwise fresh-faced and not at all like a mushy tomato.
Keys in hand, and gripping the railing the whole way down, I headed back downstairs, pausing just long enough to check for traffic before crossing against the light to JayWok, my favorite Chinese eatery in Philadelphia.
The soy sauce and grease filled my nose before I even opened the door, and I smiled. The takeout line was long, so I sat at my regular table and waited for Coco to take my order.
Within moments, she was standing next to me in a maroon apron over skinny jeans and a name tag that read Cocolina pinned to a too-small white polo shirt. She was holding a menu I didn't need and filling a glass with water I wouldn't drink. "The usual?" she asked.
"Probably," I said.
She frowned. "Did you quit the hospital? I don't think I've seen you without scrubs on."
"I have the day off."
"Sick?"
"Not really," I said.
She turned on her heels, knowing I wouldn't expand on my answer.
I cupped my chin in my hand. Dozens of people of all shapes and sizes passed by the large window next to the booth I'd made my own since I'd first walked through the door twenty-three months ago. Summer break was in full swing, and now that the sun was out, tourists grouped in families and crowded the sidewalks, making an old wound throb in my chest. I was an adult, but still, I missed the feel of my father's large hand around mine. I envied the little girls who passed by with wide grins and impatient, pointing fingers, either being pulled by or tugging their daddies along. By now, I knew it would never go away. I would always miss my parents and mourn every moment they couldn't experience with me.
A white sack crinkled when it was set in front of me, bearing the simple JayWok logo on the front: a cherry-red medallion with thick
, mirrored lines and spaces. I always wondered what the mini-maze meant, but I was distracted by the knuckles covering the rolled-down top of the sack.
"Eating alone?" the man asked.
His hands were sexy. Yes, sexy. Thick, just the right size, and muscular. Yes, muscular. When a woman had been single as long as I had, we began to notice certain things, like hands, that others may not. The tiny dark hairs on his fingers, his freshly cut nails, and the scar on his right index finger. Most important was what his hand was missing: a wedding band. The only thing worse than a wedding band was the dreaded tan line on the ring finger of a man looking to stray. He was missing that, too, and I couldn't help but smile.
I looked up, seeing a familiar pair of gray eyes belonging to a guy I knew was definitely single. "Excuse me?"
"Are you eating alone?" he said again, this time enunciating.
"Uh, yes." His assessment was more than a little embarrassing. "I know. It's kind of pathetic."
"I don't know," he said, sitting in the chair across from me. "I think it's kind of romantic."
I narrowed my eyes. Romantic? That didn't sound like the obnoxious paramedic who flirted with every nurse in my ER.
He let go of the sack and held up his hands. "I'm glad to see you're okay. If you'd taken off a few seconds earlier, it would have been a lot worse."
"It's all pretty fuzzy."
He frowned, lost in thought. "Not for me."
"Well, keep it to yourself if you don't mind. I'd rather not know."
"You're welcome."
"For what?"
"Digging you out of the crinkled can of a car and calling nine-one-one."
I blinked. "Oh. I mean ... thank you. I didn't realize."
He waved me away. "That is not my coolest act of heroism. I have way better stories."
I raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to hear them sometime. Just to know what I'm up against."
The break room gossip had circulated that the new paramedic was also new to Philadelphia. I wasn't sure what he was running from, but it was obvious what he was chasing: tail. Tall, thin, short, voluptuous, and any combination in between. He loved to conquer, and until that moment, I wouldn't have dreamed of giving him the time of day. Knowing what he'd done--even if it was a normal thing for him--his eyes seemed a little softer, and his smile a little sweeter. It was easier to see him, not as a predator but as having the potential for more than a one-night stand.
He chuckled. "I know what you're thinking. I didn't follow you here or anything. My shift is in an hour and I was grabbing something to go."
The hydrocodone made it more difficult to process everything he was saying, and I was more than just a little aggravated he didn't respond to my pickup line.
After a short pause, I finally found an appropriate response. "I didn't think you were stalking me. I can't see you putting in that kind of time."
"That's not true."
"You have the attention span of a toddler."
He grinned, his eyes bright. "What's your name?"
"You know my name."
"Not your work name, Jacobs. Your first name."
I hesitated. We kept to last names at work to keep things professional. I sometimes had to work with this guy. Even if the accident had changed certain things, I had a hard time believing he was someone I could trust with my first name.
Maybe it was because I had remembered how alone I was more than once that day, or maybe I had no reason at all, but I chose to give it to the flirty paramedic who had sexy, ringless hands. "Avery."
He shot me a dubious look. "Avery."
I nodded, unsure if I had, in a Lortab-induced haze, mispronounced my own name.
"Avery?" he said again in disbelief.
"Yes, why? Is that okay?"
He pointed to his chest. "Josh Avery."
"Oh!" I said, finally understanding. "Maybe we're related." I was proud of myself for managing humor in my current state.
He turned up one side of his mouth, and a dimple sunk into his left cheek. "I hope not." His thoughts were anything but innocent as his gaze bore into me.
He reached across the table, extending his hand. I barely tapped it with my fingers, but he held on to them a bit longer as I pulled away.
Even before I knew his name, I'd known Josh as Quinn Cipriani's new partner, the charming, bed-hopping paramedic who had come out of nowhere to seduce every nurse under thirty-five in the ER. Even aware of all that, I had no choice but to be flattered.
Josh had all the traits of the modern, attractive male: the square chin, strong jaw, a celebrity smile, long lashes, and I-could-fall-in-love-with-you eyes. He always smelled like fabric softener and cheap but pleasant cologne, even nine hours into a shift--not that I'd made a point to notice.
Now he was sitting across from me, somehow still looking attractive in a worn T-shirt and mismatched athletic shorts. He watched me with a new spark in his eye, no doubt the infamous, undeniable charm I'd seen him exhibit a hundred times before. He nodded at Coco as she passed, and then turned his attention back to me, his eyes the most beautiful I'd ever seen. He was enjoying watching me squirm, shamelessly flirting with me when we both knew I looked like hell. I tried to retain my game face. It would be too embarrassing to admit to Deb that I'd giggled like one of a dozen new nurses we'd watched him win over.
"Don't be late, Josh."
"Are you working tonight? Maybe I'll run into you."
I shook my head. "Not tonight, but I'm sure we'll cross paths again."
The sack crackled in his hand as he scooped it up. He stood and smiled. "Cross paths? I was thinking more along the lines of dinner and movie. Maybe not a movie. You can't talk during a movie."
"I hate when people talk during movies."
"Me too," he said. "I bet we hate a lot of the same things."
"Sounds like a good time."
"Doesn't it?" He flashed his dimple again and then walked past me. The door chimed, and he continued down to the stoplight, turning the corner. Even though my forehead was pressed against the glass, I lost sight of him.
"Chicken fried rice and low-sodium soy," Coco said, setting down the white sack with a red circle.
I rolled down the top of the sack and held it close, unable to stop smiling.
"Guess your bad day isn't so bad?" Coco chirped.
I bit my lip, annoyed at how happy the last five minutes had just made me.
"Josh Avery," Coco cooed. "I'd let him take my temperature, if you know what I mean." I arched a brow, but she continued. "He lives three blocks down. I'm surprised you haven't run into him here before."
"How do you know where he lives?" I asked, still staring out the window, ignoring her crass comment. I couldn't blame her. I'd seen countless women reduced to a puddle of mush in his presence.
"We deliver, Avery. Remember?" She sighed. "He's cute. With all of that dark hair and the light eyes, he reminds me of the prince from The Little Mermaid. But, you know, beefier. Ooh, if you married him, you'd be Avery Avery." She giggled and pulled at one of her tightly curled spirals. It bounced back into place.
"Marry him," I muttered. "How absurd." I stood and clutched the bag to my middle. A wide grin spread across my face, and despite the aches and pains from being tossed inside the Prius like a penny in a vacuum, the feeling lasted the rest of the day.
I gripped the paper sack in my fist as I jogged across the street, puddled water splashing over the toes of my sneakers. I didn't have much time before my shift started, but I hadn't slept at all last night and was dying for a few minutes of shut-eye.
I rubbed my empty hand mindlessly over my stomach as it growled in protest from skipping breakfast. I'd opted to spend my morning in the gym down on twenty-seventh instead of letting my imagination run wild with thoughts of Avery in the wreckage.
I took the stairs up to the second floor of my building two at a time, relishing in the burn of my calf muscles.
The key had just turned and the door had barely cracked open befor
e Dax, my scraggly, sad excuse for a puppy, was jumping on my leg, clawing for attention.
I'd saved him from becoming another spot on the highway two weeks before. We had become fast friends, if I ignored the fact that he liked to piss on the kitchen floor more than a drunk frat guy.
"You want some lo mein, little man?" I tossed the bag on the counter before rummaging through the cupboard and grabbing two paper plates.
The bag crackled as I dug my hand inside and pulled out the single container of food, dividing it evenly before setting the extra plate on the ground.
Dax wasted no time pushing his brown nose into the plate, shoving the food onto the dingy linoleum.
"You're welcome." I stepped into the living room and sunk down on the secondhand love seat with a groan.
Grabbing the remote, I clicked on the television to fill the room with a little background noise, in hopes to keep the worry that had plagued me at bay.
From day to day, I saw some horrible things: families ripped apart, lives cut short. If you didn't learn how to cope with it, you wouldn't last long in my line of work. My way of dealing with loss and suffering was to block it out and pretend it didn't bother me. After a while, it didn't. My heart had hardened enough that I could lie to myself and say I didn't care--and it was almost believable. Almost.
I unrolled the sack and pulled out the JayWok box, letting my vision go unfocused. The people on the television blended into colored blobs as their voices began to fade into the background.
I swallowed a large bite of my food, thinking of Avery and her crooked smirk. She was the complete opposite of my type, meaning there wasn't a hint of glitter on her face and her clothes wouldn't need to be soaked in baby oil to be peeled off her body.
Dax pawed at my arm as I shoveled in another bite.
"You had yours," I said, pushing from the couch and making my way to the kitchen.
Hard as it was to admit, I couldn't take bumps and bruises like I could as a kid when I rode dirt bikes. I felt every scrape and muscle strain from the fender bender. Pulling open the fridge, I grabbed the half jug of milk and twisted off the top to chug the contents.
Mid-sip, I turned around to see the rest of my food being devoured by the dog.
"Damn it, Dax," I barked, twisting the cap back on the jug and putting it back into the fridge.
The time on the stove clock made my jaw clench. "I don't have time to pick anything else up, shithead."