Ten twenty-three was the room number that the rescue crew brought Connor to. I wasn’t supposed to be his nurse, but two local nurses heard that he’d been brought in and refused to show up for work. When the boss threatened to write them up, they quit.
Since I was a travel nurse, the Crossbow name meant nothing to me, and I treated him as if he were any other patient. Albeit, one with handcuffs. It wasn’t the first time I’d taken care of a criminal, so I didn’t see the issue. I was unimpressed with the nursing staff when no one wanted to help me with him, not even to carry a tray of food into his room.
Pete slides into a seat that’s seen many asses in its lifetime. “The new theater is still being built,” he comments.
I wonder what he’d say if he knew that Connor was helping develop that project for the city. I sit beside Pete.
“You can recline your seat.” He leans over me and pushes the button on my chair, and the seat reclines so suddenly that it throws me back, popcorn falling out of my hands and spilling across the floor.
“Oh no.” I grab what’s left of the bag and make a sad face because there’s only a little bit of popcorn at the bottom.
Pete almost rips the bag out of my hands. “I’ll get that.” He walks to the trash bin and dumps the popcorn out, then takes a wet napkin from his pocket and wipes his hands. When he sits back down, he hands me the napkin. “That much butter should be illegal, and it’s terrible for your heart.”
I push the button on the chair for the recliner to return to sitting and regard Pete, who’s taking a drink of his soda water. Did he spill my popcorn on purpose? Or am I crazy? Regardless, I’ve been looking forward to eating movie popcorn since I said yes to the date.
We’re not ten minutes in before Pete’s hand lands on my thigh. He glides his hand up and up, stopping at my panties. I don’t part my legs. I’m put off by the popcorn incident and, to be honest, even the movie. This is some boring-ass movie about a horse. It’s not the horse that’s the issue, because there are great movies about horses; it’s the narrative. It’s not holding my attention.
Still, I won’t say anything because I’m not rude.
Pete’s pinky rubs against my clit. Fine. He can make up for spilling my popcorn by making me come in the theater.
He slides my panties to the side and gets to rubbing.
I watch the movie.
Five minutes in, I’m dry, Pete’s wrist probably hurts, and he withdraws his hand to grab his soda.
“I was getting you ready for tonight,” he comments.
Oh God. “Thanks.” I guess. I mean, what else is there to say?
“Great movie, huh?”
“Amazing.”
My phone pings, and Pete gives me a dirty look.
“Shoot,” I whisper. “Sorry, it could be Dina.”
I mute the sound but don’t recognize the number. It goes to voice mail, but no message is left.
A text comes in from that number.
Hey, Mamma.
My heart somersaults. My heart is a dumbass. Though not as dumb as my pussy, I tell you. I guess I’m made up of two very important but dumb body parts that run my life, because my brain can’t unsee Connor on his knees working hard to make me orgasm in under a minute. Nothing beats a dedicated pit bull after his bone.
Should I answer him? Should I answer a man while on a date with another man, a doctor who’s been trying to go out with me for months? Pete is a little awkward, but most doctors are. Intelligence is awkward for those of us who are less smart. It’s true. I’m not trying to talk down my intelligence.
Yes, I’m a nurse and went to college, but not to study. I went so I could get a job where I could get paid for caring for people and rewarded because I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But let’s get one thing straight: I barely passed organic chemistry. I was not there for that.
A message pings again.
How is your date?
Pete gives me more stink eye, and I silence the phone. I consider ignoring Connor, but if I do that, he might show up here and demand that we text while Pete fingers me.
I’m at the movies. Shhhh.