Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

5

That body.

Fuck, that body.

I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. Scrubs have never looked so fucking sexy. Long legs, thick thighs, big hips, a snatched waist, and full breasts.

An Old Hollywood hourglass figure.

Marilyn Monroe.

Sophia Loren’s got nothing on Jocelyn Calligaris.

She’s classic.

Thank god I’m done with all my med school requisite classes, because I haven’t been able to focus on shit. I keep picturing Jocelyn in one of those vintage one-piece swimsuits painted on the side of a fighter plane.

Nose Art Jocelyn. Pinup Girl Jocelyn.

I groan inwardly.

I even tried to sketch it, but I’m shit at drawing, so my fighter plane ended up looking like a dildo and the nose art resembled a three-year-old’s sidewalk chalk stick figure. But with big tits.

Kelley laughed for hours when he saw it, but fuck him, because Jocelyn Calligaris owns my brain right now.

I can’t even knit. Every time I pick up my needles, I end up zoning out and replaying our encounter in Roxanne’s room. The ER exchange has earned a permanent place in my replay reel of fuck-ups. I haven’t been that awkward since I was fifteen and stumbling over my own spaghetti limbs.

They don’t trust me around a knife.

Seriously, what the actual fuck was that.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

I was supposed to be the knowledgeable medical professional in that scenario, and instead I acted like an incompetent asshat who’d never been around a pretty girl before.

I groan and rake my fingers through my hair. I was two seconds away from dropping some cringey pick-up lines. Or tripping over my jelly legs and faceplanting at her feet.

Thankfully, I found my balls. Got my groove back. Sway in full force.

It’s nine in the morning when I knock on Riggs’s door. I know for a fact he’s at Bailey’s because Ivy stayed at our place with Kelley last night, but Zay doesn’t need to know that I know.

When there’s no answer, I knock again, then check out the townhouse next door while I wait. There’s a wooden sunflower propped haphazardly on the porch with the word Welcome written on it, but other than that, there’s nothing that sets Jocelyn’s home apart from any of the others on this cul-de-sac. It’s also quiet, probably because it’s 9 a.m. on a Saturday.

Do kids still watch Saturday morning cartoons? Nickelodeon Saturday mornings were fucking tight when I was a kid. What was that show with the little dudes who rode skateboards?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Xavier asks when he opens the door. He’s wearing a pair of BU baseball sweatpants, and his face is still rumpled from sleep. His hair sticks up on one side, making him look kinda like one of those birds with the crazy feathers on their heads. Cockatiel? Cockatoo? Whatever. Never seen him so disheveled.

“Nice crest, Polly.” I push my way through the door and kick off my shoes. “You have a game later. I knew you’d be up.”

“At four,” he grumbles, following me into the kitchen where I drop a paper bag on the counter. “Dyl’s still sleeping. Riggs isn’t even here.”

I pull a bagel sandwich out of the bag and toss it to him. He catches it with one hand.

“Now that our besties are loved up and abandoned us, you and me are besties now, Z.” I pull out my own bagel sandwich, then toss the third in the fridge.

“Xavier,” he says, emphasizing the X.

“Eat the food I brought, you ungrateful dick.” I smile big, then make my way into the living room.