wish she could just jump in bed with him and never crawl back out.
It made Susan wonder if she even really knew who she was after all. She searched her soul for an answer she couldn’t find, and as they headed toward their first call—what sounded like an asthma attack with no inhaler around—she was more focused on figuring out her own life than saving someone else’s. She doubted the attack was lethal; they were usually just caused by panic attacks when an asthmatic discovered they’d left their inhaler at home. They’d give the girl some oxygen, carry her to the hospital for a shot of steroids, and she’d be fine.
Susan had bigger problems. She didn’t know if it was worse that she’d mischaracterized bikers in general in the past and lumped them into a category, effectively treating them like a lower class, or that she now suddenly saw something good in one of them, which raised questions about why she would just up and change her opinion.
Either way, Jim Wade was a distraction, and he remained as such throughout her shift. In fact, she caught herself starting to apply burn ointment to a bleeding cut instead of antiseptic wash and placing an oxygen mask on a patient but not turning on the oxygen feed. If she didn’t get her head on straight, she’d end up causing someone to slip into a coma with too high a dose of painkillers.
She’d never presented this sort of danger to her patients, and she didn’t like her distraction was affecting her job. She was just grateful that she caught her own mistakes and that Eric didn’t see her fumbling like this. He would shit a brick and tell her she needed to take time off until she could guarantee that she wasn’t a danger to herself and others. She couldn’t afford time off. She had walked away from the never-ending supply of money a long time ago, and she had no intention of repairing that severed bridge.
Finally, she was off duty. The day had been stressful not because there were any huge emergencies, but because the calls had been nonstop, Susan did something rare—she went into the women’s locker room for a shower.
Turning on the hot spray, she bent forward, bracing herself against the wall with both hands, and let the water slide over her head and down her back. It eased her muscles momentarily, until her wayward thoughts turned to Jim and what he looked like in the shower, his body glistening with water as it poured in rivulets over his toned muscles and down the creases between them.
She washed quickly, spending extra time and effort on her hair to the point of irritating her scalp. She didn’t mind—at least it kept her from having an orgasm right there in the public showers. Wrapped in a towel, she went to her locker and grabbed her street clothes, tugging them on and twisting her wet hair on top of her head with a clip. It could dry later. She had to get out of here.
She headed home, and when she got there, she held her phone in her hand, staring at Jim’s number. She shouldn’t call him. She should block his number and pretend none of this had ever happened. She still didn’t know how they were going to work this out. Hell, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to get to know him better or just use him for sex.
But she couldn’t fight the urge. She had the feeling it was going to take more than a few bouts of sex to get him out of her system to the point that she could function like a normal human being again. She dialed his number, hoping she could start on that road tonight. It was late, but he was in a motorcycle gang. They didn’t really run on normal business hours, right?
It rang five times, then went to voicemail. “Wade of Wade Enterprises. Can’t call you back if I don’t know who you are, so do what you gotta do.” She almost laughed, but the beep sounded, and she tried to think of what she was actually going to say.
Time was running out, and finally she blurted, “Hey, Jim, it’s
It made Susan wonder if she even really knew who she was after all. She searched her soul for an answer she couldn’t find, and as they headed toward their first call—what sounded like an asthma attack with no inhaler around—she was more focused on figuring out her own life than saving someone else’s. She doubted the attack was lethal; they were usually just caused by panic attacks when an asthmatic discovered they’d left their inhaler at home. They’d give the girl some oxygen, carry her to the hospital for a shot of steroids, and she’d be fine.
Susan had bigger problems. She didn’t know if it was worse that she’d mischaracterized bikers in general in the past and lumped them into a category, effectively treating them like a lower class, or that she now suddenly saw something good in one of them, which raised questions about why she would just up and change her opinion.
Either way, Jim Wade was a distraction, and he remained as such throughout her shift. In fact, she caught herself starting to apply burn ointment to a bleeding cut instead of antiseptic wash and placing an oxygen mask on a patient but not turning on the oxygen feed. If she didn’t get her head on straight, she’d end up causing someone to slip into a coma with too high a dose of painkillers.
She’d never presented this sort of danger to her patients, and she didn’t like her distraction was affecting her job. She was just grateful that she caught her own mistakes and that Eric didn’t see her fumbling like this. He would shit a brick and tell her she needed to take time off until she could guarantee that she wasn’t a danger to herself and others. She couldn’t afford time off. She had walked away from the never-ending supply of money a long time ago, and she had no intention of repairing that severed bridge.
Finally, she was off duty. The day had been stressful not because there were any huge emergencies, but because the calls had been nonstop, Susan did something rare—she went into the women’s locker room for a shower.
Turning on the hot spray, she bent forward, bracing herself against the wall with both hands, and let the water slide over her head and down her back. It eased her muscles momentarily, until her wayward thoughts turned to Jim and what he looked like in the shower, his body glistening with water as it poured in rivulets over his toned muscles and down the creases between them.
She washed quickly, spending extra time and effort on her hair to the point of irritating her scalp. She didn’t mind—at least it kept her from having an orgasm right there in the public showers. Wrapped in a towel, she went to her locker and grabbed her street clothes, tugging them on and twisting her wet hair on top of her head with a clip. It could dry later. She had to get out of here.
She headed home, and when she got there, she held her phone in her hand, staring at Jim’s number. She shouldn’t call him. She should block his number and pretend none of this had ever happened. She still didn’t know how they were going to work this out. Hell, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to get to know him better or just use him for sex.
But she couldn’t fight the urge. She had the feeling it was going to take more than a few bouts of sex to get him out of her system to the point that she could function like a normal human being again. She dialed his number, hoping she could start on that road tonight. It was late, but he was in a motorcycle gang. They didn’t really run on normal business hours, right?
It rang five times, then went to voicemail. “Wade of Wade Enterprises. Can’t call you back if I don’t know who you are, so do what you gotta do.” She almost laughed, but the beep sounded, and she tried to think of what she was actually going to say.
Time was running out, and finally she blurted, “Hey, Jim, it’s