Page 8 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
He grabs the scrub top I've taken off, lays it on the bed, and then pulls a glitter marker from his seemingly bottomless bag.
"What are you?—"
"Shh. Artist at work."
I watch in horror and fascination as he writes across the back of my scrub top in large, sparkly letters: NURSE HOTTIE.
"You can't be serious."
"Dead serious." He blows on the paint to dry it faster. "Now, put it on."
"Ryan will hate it."
"The Incredible Sulk will deal." Sylas hands me the top. "Or he won't. And then you call me, and we go for ice cream with a side of vindication."
Staring at the glittering letters, a strange mix of anxiety and defiance bubbling in my chest.
"Put it on," Sylas repeats, softer this time. "Be too much. Be exactly who you are."
After a long moment, I slip the top on, the fabric stretching tight across my back. The words NURSE HOTTIE are now announced to the world.
Sylas steps back, admiring his handiwork. "Perfect." He turns me toward the mirror. "Look at yourself, Ethan. Really look."
I do. The glitter on my cheekbones catches the light, making my eyes look bigger and more intense. The tight scrubs show off a body I've been working on without noticing the changes. I look... different. Confident, maybe. Or at least like someone who could be.
"Wow," I breathe.
"Wow, is right." Sylas squeezes my shoulders. "If Asshat von Fuckface doesn't lose his mind when he sees you, he's either blind or straight, and we know he's neither."
The unexpected laugh relaxes muscles I didn't even know were tight. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." He hands me my phone. "Promise you'll call if things go sideways. I'm going out too, but keep me on standby."
"It won't go sideways," I say, trying to convince myself as much as him. "This time, it's different."
Sylas gives me a long look. "I hope you're right." He checks his watch. Now go. It's almost eight, and we can't have you be late for his coming-out party."
"It's not a coming out?—"
"Figure of speech. Go be fabulous."
I grab my keys and wallet, pausing at the door. "Seriously, Sy. Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah. Remember who made you look this good when the boys are drooling over you.”
My eyes roll, but I don't hold in the smile that spreads across my face.
But as I head out into the cool October night, Sy's words linger in my mind, along with the glitter on my face and the letters blazed across my back.
Thompson Field has been transformedinto a Halloween carnival, orange lights strung between booths and "Monster Mash" blaring from speakers. I check my phone: 7:58. I'm early, but my nerves won't let me be fashionably late.
The confidence Sylas instilled is already fading, replaced by self-consciousness as I tug at my tight scrub top. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have gone with something more subtle.
"Ethan? Oh my god, you look amazing!"
Turning to find Jessica from my pediatrics rotation, dressed as what appears to be a sexy vaccination, complete with a giant syringe headband.
"Thanks," I manage, surprised by her enthusiasm.
