He leans in closer and smiles with a cocky grin. His tongue sits patiently at the corner of his mouth, teasing me relentlessly. “No, and I hope you aren’t either.”
Oh.
There comes a point in your life when a dry spell is no longer a dry spell—more like a century drought. This is that point, and Noah is awakening the ravaging beast inside of me that so desperately needs to feel a man’s body pressed against my skin. That, or even to have the smell of a man on my sheets.
“Zoey… Zoey,” he calls my name.
I shake my head and refocus on the gorgeous Noah.
“So how about it?”
Confused and embarrassed for zoning out while he asked me a question, I ask coyly, “How about what?”
He laughs on cue. “I’ve been crashing on a friend’s couch. Can we head back to your place?”
With a giddy smile, I tell him to give me a second. My cell is peeping through the top of my purse. I pull it out and type a message to Drew.
Zoey: Code Red
I don’t wait for a response and quickly shove the cell back into my purse. Noah gently traces the tips of my fingers, watching me with playful eyes. My body is telling me it’s the right thing to do—go have fun and be a single twenty-nine-year-old woman. Sweats, pizza, and wallowing in self-pity are things of the past. I’ve been needing to get back in the game, and Noah is the perfect excuse to do just that.
Mia strolls at a snail’s pace back to our table. I’m quick to tell her we’re heading off and grabbing my purse in a frenzy. Offering me a cheeky wink, she says goodbye as Noah and I follow closely behind her.
I didn’t know where tonight would end, but I now know this—it’s definitely my lucky day.
Chapter Eight
Drew
Working in a hospital is never predictable. One minute you’re filling out paperwork, and the next, you’re assisting in saving someone’s life.
Some days I wonder what it would be like to work in an office, nine to five, with a set lunch break and less pressure. Then, I’ll have one of those days where something I do makes a difference, saves a life. Those are the times when everything I’ve worked so hard for—the blood, sweat, and endless hours of studying—are brought to light. There is so much more I need to learn before I’m a qualified surgeon, but that doesn’t stop me in the slightest.
However, this week’s schedule is wearing me down. With one intern on vacation and another two struck down with the flu, we’re spreading ourselves really thin. Almost every shift this week is rostered to be a double.
The hospital is understaffed in general. It isn’t as big as the main hospital in the city, given it’s in a seedy part of town. However, poverty and lack of healthcare make the waits even longer and stretch the resources. Tonight’s one of those nights, not having even stopped to grab something to eat. Somewhere during the night, my energy level fell low, forcing me to go to the vending machine to grab a protein bar to get me through the rest of the night.
Taking a seat on the uncomfortable plastic armchair near reception, I pull my cell out of my pocket to check any calls I might have missed. Earlier on, I’d felt it vibrate in my pocket. Usually, I ignore my cell at work, but something compels me to check the message. I enter my passcode, and the text appears on my screen. It’s from Zoey.
Zoey: Code Red
My eyes do a double take staring at the illuminated screen in shock. Code Red? I hadn’t received a Code Red text in forever. My eyes read over the message again. It definitely says Code Red. I shove the cell back in my pocket, ignoring the text, praying it will magically disappear.
It’s been a long, fucking day with the hospital inundated with some sort of stomach virus that’s plaguing the city. The last thing I need is my roomie sending me texts because she’s about to get fucking laid, especially since we were messaging earlier about her good news. Is this how she celebrates?
I close my eyes and try to get a grip on why Zoey’s text is angering me. Code Red has me seeing red.
We came up with Code Red when I first brought a girl home, and Zoey walked in on the chick unzipping my pants on the couch. It was agreed then and there that we needed to set boundaries and forewarn each other to avoid situations like this. It’s never been an issue before, and it shouldn’t have been now. I just didn’t think Zoey would send me a text like that. And why is it bothering me so much?
The stark-white wall beside me looks like a perfect target to smash my fist into because the frustration and unknown feelings are consuming me. I’m not that guy—the one with a chip on his shoulder, carrying the jealousy gene which can destroy relationships. But the thought of another man touching Zo is simply unbearable.
Get over it. She’s dated and fucked men before.
The roomie code. Remember the roomie code.
One of the shift supervisors approaches me. “Hey, Drew. John called in sick. Any chance you can cover his shift?”
“Sure,” I agree, exhausted.