West (The Henchmen MC 19)

"Working hard there, huh, Auggs?" I asked, watching as she hit the power button for her phone, making the sex music cut abruptly off. A slow, sweet smile pulled at her lips.

"I hope I have Mae's sex drive when I'm her age," she declared, patting the woman's leg. "She has half the men on this floor wrapped around her finger."

"Half," Mae balked.

"Fine. Two-thirds. We all know the dudes who run the ongoing Scrabble games have been in the closet their whole lives. Poor dudes," she added, climbing off the awkward hospital bed, rescuing her ID badge to her pocket before it hit the floor. "Mae, this is my friend, West. West, this is Mae. Don't get too close. You'll fall under her spell too."

"Just a friend? What a shame. Keeping him in the, oh, what's the term?"

"Friend-zone," Auggie filled in. "But no. Actually, he has shot me down. What? Three times now?" she asked, lifting a brow in my direction.

"What?" Mae asked, outraged instantly. "Are you married?" she asked.

"God, no," I said, shaking my head.

"Then what's the problem? You won't find anyone more beautiful than our Augustina here. Or someone with a better heart," she added, sending Auggie a motherly smile.

If I wasn't mistaken, Auggie melted under that approval, too.

Suddenly, the job choice made a lot of sense for her. She got the love and affection from mother and father figures that she had never gotten growing up. In turn, she played a step-in daughter or granddaughter to all the men and women trapped in this place who rarely—if ever—saw their own loved ones.

There was a strange, off-putting pulling sensation across my chest, uncomfortable enough for my hand to move there, pressing, wondering what the fuck could have caused it, why it was there, when it would go away.

"The problem is, he's friends with my brother. So he thinks I am off-limits."

"My first husband was my brother's best friend," Mae supplied, wispy brows raising.

"See?" Auggie said, glancing at me over her shoulder as she arranged the blankets around Mae, then shuffled some of the items around on her nightstand.

"Who knows, you two might end up married. I wouldn't mind waking up to that one every morning," Mae added in a conspiratorial voice to Auggie, wiggling her brows as she did so.

"He's not bad looking, is he?" Auggie asked, turning to look at me.

"I've never touched a man with tattoos," Mae declared.

"Well, say no more," Auggie said, moving across the small space, grabbing my hand, pulling me forward.

That chest tightening thing was getting even more intense, harder to ignore, as her delicate fingers slipped between mine, curled, held, on tight as she forced me to stand beside the bed.

"Hold your arm out," she demanded. "Go on, Mae, feel him up all you like," she told her patient who seemed more like a friend to me.

Mae's cheeks heated as her hand rose, papery-skinned fingers sliding up and down my arm.

"That's one more thing off the list," Mae said as her hand dropped back on the bed, looking tired. "Thank you, young man," she added, giving me a soft smile.

"You eat your dinner tonight, you hear me? Or no more naked hotties tomorrow," Auggie warned.

"Would it kill them to put a little butter in the mashed potatoes?" Mae grumbled.

"No, but it might kill you. So eat your bland, healthy foods, because I want you around for a good, long time yet, okay?" Auggie said, patting Mae's arm with her free hand, making me suddenly realize that she was still holding onto my hand, tight, reassuring.

"I thought you said you didn't have a man," one of the nurses at the station accused as we emerged into the hallway, her gaze moving toward our interlocked hands, making Auggie's hand drop mine as if burned, curling her fingers into a fight fist at her side instead.

"I don't," she insisted.

"Girl, my husband doesn't even come in here to pick me up from work," the nurse insisted. "He waits in the car outside and texts me. So, trust me, you have yourself a man."

Auggie ignored this, walking over to the desk, reaching for a clipboard, jotting something down in small, sloppy script.

"Richard's rash is getting better. Overnight should be ashamed of themselves for letting it get that bad. I hope they fire that new girl. Is it so hard to make sure someone isn't sitting in their own piss for hours straight?" she growled, heated, passionate about her patients. "Is there any word from the hospital about Joy?" she asked, tone guarded, like she was expecting the worst. I figured that if anyone left this place to go to the hospital, the prognosis couldn't have been great.

"It's not looking promising," the nurse whose tag said Lorraine told her, tone a little more guarded.

I figured that when you worked with people who didn't have long left in the world, you had to be able to detach yourself a bit to be able to handle all of the loss.