Page 96 of The Night Shift
“We’ll reach out if we require anything else,” he says. “Thank you for your time, Miss —” he hesitates, glances at me, “— Dr. Moore.”
I smile.
“You two have a good night,” his partner adds with a gruff nod, and then they both leave.
Holly waits for them to be out of earshot before sidestepping to stand in front of me. “Okay, what thefuckwas that?”
My eyes narrow. But before I can get a word out, Dr. Corbin ambles over. “A word, Dr. Moore?” he says, then glances at me. “You too, Carter.”
Holly’s eyebrows knit together, and she glances at me, like this is all my fault. It probably is. But perhaps Dr. Corbin just wants to congratulate us on our newly discovered relationship.
“What you two do in your personal time is none of my business,” he begins, proving my delusion wrong. “However, ifyou are, as you very clearly told those officers, in a relationship, then I expect you to set up a meeting with HR as soon as possible for the necessary paperwork…” His voice trails off. My senses are scrambled.
Strawberries.
Holly is standing in front of me with her back facing my chest, and her hair smells like fucking strawberries. Sweet, fruity, tangy. My hand twitches with the urge to touch it, to bury my face in that mess. I imagine combing it through my fingers, braiding it, maybe even yanking on a stray strand, letting it brush against my lips while she tells me about all the ways she’s fantasized killing me. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, the scent exploding in my nose, tightening something hedonistic in my core, sending all the blood rushing to my cock —
“Dr. Carter?” A voice lances through my fog of unclean thoughts. All of which begin and end with Holly on top of me.
My eyes snap open. Dr. Corbin. Shit. Right. I clear my throat, feeling a blush creep up my neck, and straighten up. I step beside Holly, careful not to touch her — the last thing I need is a hard-on in front of our boss. She shoots me a quick glare before looking away, frowning deeply.
“Absolutely, sir,” I assure him, trying to sound sincere despite the hundreds of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “We'll get right on that.”
Corbin nods, still skeptical, then shakes his head slowly and walks off, muttering something about “unprofessionalism” and “workplace conduct” under his breath. The second he's out of sight, I turn to Holly with a triumphant grin. “You’re welcome.”
She doesn’t smile back. Instead, she has this blank look in her eyes. A look a child might have before pulling the wings off a butterfly. It’s kind of spooky, actually.
“Dr. Moore…” Holly’s intern approaches us. “Do we um, do we…wait for you here or —”
“Trauma room six,” she cuts her off, her gaze still fixed on me. “There’s a blunt-force trauma case with suspected intracranial hemorrhage. I need you to assess the patient immediately and report back to me with vitals and a preliminary examination.”
The intern nods, her eyes lingering on us for a beat, then glances at me. I offer her a polite smile. The second she and the other interns are out of sight, Holly wastes no time. She grabs my arm, yanks me towards a nearby storage closet, slamming the door shut behind her. The fluorescent light overhead flickers, casting long, distorted shadows across the cramped space. The faint smell of disinfectants and starchy linens hangs in the air. Cramped metal shelves line the walls, jam packed with cardboard boxes overflowing with medical supplies: gauze pads, syringes, IV bags.
“What. The.Fuck. Was. That?!” She takes an empty IV bag and whacks my arm four times.
“Ow, ow, ow! Okay, okay, I get it,” I grimace, rubbing the sore spot.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Judging by my taste in women, a lot. But could you be more specific?”
“You lied to the cops.”
“Is that where we’re drawing the line of morality? Lying?”
She’s not amused.
A despondent sigh leaves my mouth. “It was hardly a lie, Holly. I was just trying to help you. And pardon my bluntness, but I think a ‘thank you’ might be more appropriate than a smack on my arm. If you need a reminder, I’m still recovering from your messy sutures.”
“Oh, my bad! I must be completely blanking out on the exact moment I asked for your help.”
“That’s the beauty of our relationship. You never have to ask for help. You think, I do.”
“Oh, yeah? What am I thinking right now, then?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
