Page 35 of Bite Your Tongue

As she walks away, I smile because I’m so thankful that she’ll get to be with her family. She works long-ass shifts, and when she’s here, she gives one hundred and ten percent to each patient, as it should be. She deserves to have Christmas Day off.

My mom wasn’t thrilled when she found out that I had to work on the holiday, but I promised her that if or when I have kids, I would be sure to take holidays off, and that seemed to make her happy. She told me I should meet up with my olderbrother, Silas, but I somehow escaped that too. I love Silas, but I’m needed here right now, so here is where I want to be.

I’m not the only one spending Christmas by myself though. Ryder is back in Maine, all alone. Apparently, his parents went on a holiday cruise, which he seemed to think was good.

The past few weeks, we’ve kept in touch—as friends. Although he certainly likes to sometimes push the flirty envelope, which prompts me to tell him to cut the shit. If our friendship is going to work, we can’t be flirting. That’s not appropriate.

Maybe we’ll talk tonight. Who knows? As long as we keep the lines clear, I’ll be his friend forever. He’s nice and funny, and he seems quite uncomplicated, so I see no issue with being friends.

This is crazy.

Or maybe it’s weird.

Yeah, it’s definitely fucking weird, and now I’m fixing to look like a stalker.

Since I got Saylor’s number that night at the airport, we’ve kept in touch. I know I need to tell her brother, but also, if we are just friends, what’s it really matter?

Except now it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m waiting for her outside of the hospital she works at like a stage-five clinger who’s been friend-zoned and who still got on a plane to be here. She’s working six a.m. till six p.m. tomorrow, but I figured we couldhang out tonight, and I’ll surprise her with dinner or something when she gets out tomorrow. I know she doesn’t want me the way I want her—or she does, but won’t accept it—but I couldn’t stand the thought of her being alone on Christmas.

And selfishly … I’m hoping we’ll have some sex to celebrate the holidays because who doesn’t want that?

The door opens, and a few people walk through, passing by me as I sit on the bench. They look tired and sad. I’m sure they are because this is the place of death and sickness.

I hate hospitals for this exact reason.

Looking down at my phone, I scroll mindlessly on Instagram. I see some pictures of Logan, Maci, and Amelia decorating gingerbread houses.

In matching fucking pajamas.

I’d make fun of the guy, but truthfully, I’m a tad jealous. He did things a little backward—had a surprise kid with a woman who sadly died the day Amelia was born and then found the love of his life, who was also his kid’s nanny. A few months later, here they are, wearing matching pajamas, decorating gingerbread houses, and living their best lives. Still, good for him. He’s so happy, and if anyone deserves happiness, it’s that guy.

I scroll some more, seeing more pictures of friends with their families. Cam Hardy posted a picture three minutes ago of him and his stepdaughter, Isla, ice skating. A few posts down, Paige shared a photo of her, Kolt, and their two cats on the couch, watching Christmas movies.

Everyone looks so happy. And here I am, in Charleston, surprising a woman who wants nothing more than my dick for her own pleasure. I’m pathetic, but it is what it is.

The automatic doors open again, and when I lift my gaze this time, Saylor’s walking toward me in navy-blue scrubs, glancing down at her phone with a Dr. Pepper in her other hand.

I know I shouldn’t look at her the way that I am right now, but, goddamn, she’s so cute, even after working a long shift. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, some loose pieces falling out. She’s petite but curvy, and even through the top, her tits strain, and I can see a slight jiggle, making my cock twitch. She doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on, other than maybe a little of that shit that goes on her lashes, and yet she’s breathtaking.

I might hate hospitals, but if I was lying in a hospital bed, about to die, I’d gladly take her as my nurse to help ease the pain.

“Oh, hey there, Brat,” I drawl slowly and wait for her eyes to lift to meet mine.

Slowly, she takes me in, and her forehead creases in confusion. “Ummm, hey? What—what are you doing here?”

Pushing up from the bench, I take a few steps toward her, stuffing my phone into my pocket. “Well, I guess I figured since I’d be a loner on Christmas and you’d be a loner on Christmas … we could be losers—I mean, loners—together.” I shrug my shoulders. “If that’s okay with you—although, after flying here, you’d better say yes, or I may just force you to hang out with me anyway. Not sure I could handle that sort of rejection. And itisChristmas. So, you’re supposed to be kind.”

I’m actually shocked when she doesn’t instantly hit me with a witty response. Instead, she studies my face for a good long time. She looks like she’s searching for something, but what that something is, I’m not sure. She doesn’t look amused, but she also doesn’t seem pissed, so that’s a win in my book.

“You flew to Charleston so that I didn’t have to be alone on Christmas?” she says with unmistakable skepticism. “Seriously?”

I frown, suddenly feeling like a giant, warm, and squishy pussy. “Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a vagina,” I utter, but don’t bother defending myself. “But yes. Yes, I did.”

“Vaginas are pretty damn strong,” she says, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Built to take a beating. And literally … they create human life. So, I believe what you meant to say was, you feel like a scrotum,” she says flatly. “That would make more sense.”

“Yeah, I guess that checks out,” I whisper. “Either way, yeah. I flew here to be with you for Christmas. Go on; tell me what a loser I am.”

The corner of her mouth tips up, and her eyes teasingly widen a fraction. “Jeez, Cambridge, just how obsessed with meareyou?” she says playfully. “This is kind of over the top. Even for your simpy self.”

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