But I just wave it away.
“Nah, man,” I tell him. “It’s cool. Don’t let me compromise your load.”
“I’d say it’s already compromised,” he laughs.
I can practically feel his gaze gliding up and down my body. The way it lingers, he might as well be feeling up my tits.
And all things considered…I don’t think I even mind.
Actually, I think I’d like that.
I’d like that a lot.
“Sabrina.” I lean across the row of washers that separates my side of the room from his and offer him my hand to shake. “You must be new here. Normally, I’m the only one who does her laundry at four a.m.…thus.”
I nonchalantly gesture to my tits and watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his sexy throat as he takes my hand.
“Rainier,” he says back. “I’m…ah, fuck. I’m sorry for intruding. Honestly, I didn’t mean…Should I go?”
He’s trying really fucking hard to keep his eyes off my tits now, and I’m trying really fucking hard to stop imagining how they’d feel pressed up against his hunky chest.
“It’s okay. I’m just waiting on the dryer. I’ll go.” I try to pull my hand away—not that I want to—but he still has it held tight in his.
Rainier’s skin is warm. His palm is slightly calloused. And it takes him just long enough to let go of our handshake that I have a chance to realize how fucking wet I am right now.
“Seriously,” he says, pushing his lab coat into my hands before he lets me move away. “If you’re leaving…put this on. Who knows what kind of creeps might be lurking in the halls at this time of night.”
“Flashers, voyeurs and perverts, am I right?”
He smiles at me as I shrug his lab coat over my shoulders. “I hope I didn’t ruin your night, Sabrina.”
I can’t even help it. I wink at him as I turn to leave.
“Actually, I’d say that you made it a lot better.”
Rainier
Whatever I expected when I bought my apartment at the Bradford…
Runnin
g into Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus bopping around in the laundry room wasn’t it.
Sabrina. Her name is Sabrina. Sabrina with the long blonde hair and the perky tits and the ass like it was sculpted by God himself…
I just keep seeing her as Venus in my head, is all.
It’s not that I’m not accustomed to beautiful women. Before med school, I could have a different woman in my bed every night of the fucking week. But since I started working the night shift…
I wouldn’t say that I don’t see many beautiful women anymore.
Just that when I do, they’re usually trauma victims being rushed through the ER and straight into surgery. Car accidents, mystery tumors, domestic violence injuries…when I see beautiful women, it’s usually on the worst days of their lives.
These days, when I’m inside someone, it’s because they’re laid out on my operating table instead of in my bed.
As it turns out, it’s hard to see a woman as a potential dinner date once you’ve pumped her stomach and picked pieces of her front windshield out of her major organs.
So, dating—dating isn’t much of a reality for me anymore. It doesn’t bother me much, except for when it does.