Gentleman Sinner

Callum will pick you up at seven this evening. I’m taking you for dinner.

You will be gracious and accept.My shakes go up a notch, making the phone tremble in my hold, and Jess is beside me in a split second, pulling her chair closer and taking the phone from my trembling hand, replacing it with my coffee. ‘Okay, let’s talk about this,’ she says, resting her forearms on the table, like she’s set for a board meeting. ‘What’s putting you off?’

‘I told you last night.’ I neglect to mention that I expect he’s not exactly a law-abiding citizen.

‘You’re worried you’ll get attached and it won’t work out?’

I shrug. ‘Guess so.’

‘But wouldn’t it be nice to have sex with a man because you really want to, and not because you simply want to prove to yourself that you can?’

She’s hit the nail on the head. Sex has always been purely a means to prove I’m not scarred for life by the bastard who tormented me. It doesn’t mean I enjoy it. It doesn’t mean I want it. My dalliances are almost robotic for me, and always without attachment. I’m not ruined. I’m just . . . a little broken.

Jess stands and pats my shoulder, smiling softly. ‘Please, Izzy, just do it. He’s obviously into you.’ She wanders off, leaving me at the table. ‘I’ve never seen you in a tangle over a man before. Don’t be afraid of feeling safe. You deserve to be.’

I watch her until she disappears out of the kitchen as I turn the phone in my hand repeatedly, searching for all the reasons why I shouldn’t go to dinner with Theo. They’re nowhere to be found. They’ve abandoned me.*I wasn’t quite with it for my entire shift, my focus and concentration shot. Susan pulled me aside at the end of the day, concerned I was coming down with something. She insisted on taking my temperature and, of course, it was normal. I told her I was fine, just a little tired after back-to-back hard-core shifts, and she accepted, offering to do handover so I could get away on time and get a good night’s sleep. I was immensely grateful, since I’ve still not packed and have a list as long as my arm of things to do before leaving for Vegas. Including texting Theo back to politely decline his offer. Or demand. Whichever. My phone has been burning a hole in my bag all day.

After collecting my bag and coat, I stop off at Mable’s bed to say goodbye, hoping she doesn’t bring up the mammoth man who turned up yesterday to take me home. She was off being X-rayed earlier and hasn’t had the opportunity to grill me since.

Her eyes shine like diamonds when I round the corner into her bay. ‘Here she is,’ she singsongs, pushing her palms into the mattress on either side of her waist to push herself up, hissing and spitting.

‘Mable, stop moving,’ I scold, passing her the control device for the bed. ‘Use this.’

She takes it from my hand and shoves it back to the bed, ignoring me. Because she has a more important matter on her mind. ‘So, the hunk who was here yesterday.’

‘The fracture isn’t healing, then?’ I say, my way of telling her not to go there.

‘No, it’s not.’ She waves a hand dismissively through the air. ‘The hunk.’

I screw up my face in defeat. I’ve been looking after this woman for two weeks, and I know her well enough now to know she won’t let this go. She’s a stubborn old bird. ‘What about him?’

She gives me an impish grin. ‘You been telling me porky-pies, my love?’

‘No.’

‘You said there’s no man in your life.’

‘There isn’t.’

‘Then who was the delicious hunk?’

‘Theo.’

She cocks her head, eyeing me suspiciously. ‘Come on, Izzy. Give an old, crippled lady something.’

‘So you want to be crippled now, huh?’

‘Tell me.’ She pats the mattress.

‘I don’t really know him,’ I say, ignoring her offer to take a seat on her bed and opting for the chair instead. Besides, it’s against the rules to sit on a patient’s bed.

‘You wanna change that?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Just as I answer, Susan rounds the corner, though I can’t see her face or body, only her curvy legs. Because nearly her entire form is hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers.

Her head pokes out from the side. ‘These were left for you at the desk,’ she says, thrusting them at me.

I have to sit back in the chair to fit them on my lap, the aroma of bright red roses filling my nose. ‘For me?’

‘Yes,’ she confirms, reaching for the antibacterial spray and squirting some in her palms. ‘No flowers on the ward.’

‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting any.’ I pull the card free, shuffling the roses to the side to read it: