Page 21 of Never Till Now

Charmer: I hope you’re ok for your shift tonight.

Me: Why wouldn’t I be?

Charmer: Wasn’t sure after yesterday.

Me: I know, I thought I told you to go hard. 😜

Charmer: Hey, that says more about you than me.

We both know the size tool I pack.

Me: Shut up. Heading to work. –

Yes, you’ll pass through my mind with every step.

Not that your ego needs to be stroked.

Charmer: I’ll give you something to stroke 😏

Me: You’re on your own tonight. *Attached racy bikini photo*

By the end of the week, I’m wiped.

“Lauren,” Tessa greets me in the hallway. “You alright, girl?” I take it she sees the dark circles on my exhausted face.

“After a twenty-four-hour shift, a twelve-hour recovery wasn’t quite enough.” I force a laugh and it turns into a yawn. “I am so happy this is my last shift.” Thankfully, double twelve-hour shifts don’t happen too often, or I’d switch to clinical.

“Are you seeing Adam again on your days off?”

I have been filling her in between patients about how our arrangement has been.

“Oh, shoot!” I pull out my phone. “I forgot to text him back. He asked if I wanted to swing by after my shift.”

“Just acquaintances, huh?” Tessa smirks and watches me text a reply. “You’ve worked your ass off the past few days and yet still will find energy to get laid.”

“I thrive with a full schedule.” I look at my phone and see he asked me to bring a comfy change of clothes. “Plus, his bedroom skills are worth giving up hours of sleep.” I’m glad I always keep a change of gym clothes in my bag just in case I deal with a trauma that triggers the need to burn off steam. It saves me not needing to swing by my place after my shift.

A night with Adam has been playing through my mind all afternoon and has been powering me through this last hour. I finish up with patients and grab a chart to wrap up an earlier patient. I’m already off the clock, but I like to release my patients if it is within a reasonable time. I glance over the results confirming what I expected.

“Ava Rose.” I smile, walking into the room. “That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful little girl.” The nine-year-old gives me a half smile. “It appears you have a urinary tract infection, sweetie.”

She glances at her guardian, who bluntly informed me earlier that Ava is a foster child. “I will write Ava a prescription and she needs to take it for seven days. Does she have any known allergies?”

Ava holds her panicked gaze at her foster guardian.

“No allergies.” The woman shoots a pointed look at Ava as if giving her a warning.

Ava swallows and her feet swing off the bed as her guardian returns to looking at her phone. Am I sensing tension, or am I just too tired to focus? It’s quiet as I write the prescription and look up for a final word.

“Do you have any other questions?” I look toward the guardian still staring at her phone and annoyance boils my blood.

“Do I get to sleep here tonight?” The young voice is almost hopeful.

“That’s not necessary. Your antibiotics should make you feel better by morning,” I assure her.

Her foster guardian stands and takes Ava’s hand to help her hop off the bed. Ava stiffens at the contact and my heart drops. I remember the feeling of a foreign touch. I still have yet to cuddle or accept tender touches from someone.

“I promise you’ll feel better. Go get a good night’s sleep and drink lots of water, sweetie.”