Bad Cruz

“Sure thing.” I shoveled more casserole into my mouth. “As soon as I get back from the cruise. I have a lot on my work plate right now.”

“Oh! And then there’s Mrs. Vella’s son, Anthony. He is considering going to med school and asked if he could email you a few questions. I said yes, of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed, grounding my molars as I ate.

Saying no was not an option. I was the perfect son, the perfect neighbor, the perfect acquaintance. Always ready to help.

“One more thing before I go. Your father wants to know if you could help him go over his investment portfolio before we go on the cruise. You know how dreadful he is about these things.”

“Consider it done. I’ll drop in tomorrow.”

Yup.

Being perfect was exhausting.

Especially when, on the inside, I felt anything but.

Just when I thought the fifty-hour day couldn’t possibly get any longer, I got a call to return to the clinic because Mrs. Borowski’s kid, Jensen, had decided it was a good idea for his scrotum to get up close and personal with a Thomas the Train toy’s wheel.

It was Borowski’s second strike this month, as her daughter landed on my patient’s table not even two weeks ago with a rainbow-colored poop sample and a Joker-like smeared grin.

Apparently, little Elin had thought it was a great idea to feast on her crayons.

I arrived at the clinic, removed the train of joy from Jensen’s nut sack, good-naturedly explaining to him that it was not the last time this region of his body would land him into trouble, then peeled my elastic gloves off with a pop when Trinity, my soon to be sister-in-law and nurse, glided into my office.

“Dr. Costello.”

“Please, Trinity, call me Cruz when no patients are around. We’re about to become family.”

“Cruz.” Trinity tasted my name in her mouth, smiling shyly. “Got called in for an urgent procedure?”

She opened one of my file cabinets and dropped patients’ folders into it.

Trinity was a cute blonde with braided hair, a reserved wardrobe, and a few too many freckles. She was well-mannered, well-meaning, and well…boring. You couldn’t confuse her with her bombshell older sister, who gave some of Hollywood’s best a run for their money.

Trinity was almost homely in comparison. More than anything, Trinity looked like a cherub and Tennessee looked like something the devil had created to lure you into sin.

Unlike her sister, though, Nurse Turner didn’t possess the bedside manners of a wild boar, so I didn’t mind her working under me, even if she did take five hundred vacation days a year.

“Don’t ask.” A raspy chuckle escaped me.

“Okay. Let me ask you something else, then.” She turned to face me. Her hands parked over her waist, clad by the pale-blue nurse uniform. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course, sis.”

I smiled warmly. I also added the “sis” to ensure she understood none of the things I was willing to do included her.

Better be safe than sorry when you’re the town’s official hunk. Though, people kept mistaking me for Ryan Gosling in that movie where he dates a blow-up doll because he had a ’stache in it.

I contemplated getting rid of the mustache just because I kept suspecting people had a mental image of me dragging a sex doll around, but ultimately, I was attached to the fucker. Physically and spiritually.

“My sister Nessy needs a ride to the port tomorrow. Her car broke down and my parents are giving Wyatt and me a ride. Not to mention they’re taking Bear, too.”

Spending an hour in a confined space with Tennessee Turner?

Sign me up. Said no one. Ever.

But I was Mr. Perfect.