Page 97 of Screwged for Christmas

HOLLY KISSES

CHAPTER 1

MALCOLM

There was one way to keep my cock out of trouble: avoid socializing with the female staff at Metropolitan Hospital.

And it worked perfectly until last night.

My golden rule—never fuck around in the workplace—has not been easy to follow. Being Dr. Malcolm Murdoch, I have plenty of temptation. I’m thirty-three years old and six foot three. Most mornings, I run through Central Park before work. I have my father’s dark eyes and the small scar on my right cheekbone was put there by my brother years ago. Plus, there’s my sizable inheritance, which makes my physician’s salary from Metropolitan’s emergency department look like my local coffee haunt’s tip jar, and though my colleague, Dr. Holly Ives, routinely accuses me of being an arrogant asshole, judging from the number of women who like my Scottish accent, that’s not a shortcoming.

Tonight, I promised my former medical school roommates I’d join them to talk shit about hospital administration while we hit a few bars downtown. Oliver and I waited out front on the sidewalk for Lucas. Underneath me, the subway rumbled by and the grate we stood over sent up a whoosh of the exhaust. I wasn’t a native New Yorker, but I loved the city--like it was part of my soul.

The fresh air, such as it was in Manhattan, was welcome after my fourteen-hour shift. It was warm for May. New York is like that in spring, it had been eighty degrees earlier that day. Tonight, the temperature had only dropped ten degrees and I wished I’d left my blazer in my staff locker.

Catching a glance at myself in the reflection of the window next to me, my thick dark hair had a tendency to curl if given the slightest opportunity. I liked it cut short, so I didn’t have to bother with it. I wore a hand-tailored jacket and a button-down dress shirt, but I skipped the tie. Faded jeans were my favorite attire when I wasn’t wearing scrubs.

Oliver Sorenson was texting on his phone, trying to locate Lucas. I left him to the task while I tipped my head back and savored being outside.

Twilight in the city always fascinated me. It’s like everyone in New York takes a deep breath while the street lights come on and the office buildings go black. When the skyscrapers light up against the darkening sky, a sense of anticipation radiates for the coming night.

“He’s on his way. Let’s stop at La Salle’s. There’s a send-off for Dr. Mancuso.” Oliver didn’t look up from his phone. He was a pediatric emergency medicine physician who looked like a Viking, was a complete nut about his vinyl LP collection, and loved gossip like an old woman.

“Mancuso’s retiring again?” I asked. Dr. Mancuso “retired” about once a year; after a few months away, she was back on the schedule.

I couldn’t imagine ever retiring. Working as a doctor in the emergency department in a busy New York hospital was all I had ever wanted. Still, I admired Mancuso as a colleague and mentor.

“Do you ever read the staff emails?” Oliver asked, still glued to his phone.

“Never.” As we exited the hospital, I signaled to Lucas.

Lucas Chavez was a pathologist, and like me, New York was his adopted home. He had the compact build of a wrestler, a passion for running marathons, and loved a good dark beer. He was my best friend.

“We’re stopping by La Salle’s first. After that, we’re heading downtown.” Oliver had taken charge of our first stop that evening, which would be a brief visit where we’d grab a beer, congratulate Mancuso, and then hit the door. We could be in and out in half an hour.

La Salle’s wasn’t my kind of place, mostly because it was a few blocks from the hospital and, therefore, popular with staff after hours. I’d only been inside the below street level bar a few times briefly and recalled with a cringe the themed décor that borrowed heavily from the “Cheers” TV show.

Inside, the bar was packed. This surprised me as, given Mancuso’s history, there’d be another one of these for her next year.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Lucas looked at me with pity in his dark eyes. “You really have no idea?”

“I don’t.” We squeezed our way to the bar and everyone we passed knew at least one of us. Most, knew us all.

Great. The entire hospital had shown up. That was a testament to Dr. Mancuso. To me, it set my teeth on edge. I wanted to say my bit and get the hell out of here. I’d be happier wandering down in the blessed anonymity of Greenwich Village.

I jockeyed my way to the bar. Dr. Mancuso perched on a barstool. She was a petite woman with the tight perm favored by grandmothers everywhere. Her smile widened when she saw me.

“Malcolm! This is an honor.” She held out her hand to me. “You never come to my retirement farewells.”

Her hand was bony, and her cheekbones were more pronounced. She’d lost weight. Some time off would do her good. As a doctor, I couldn’t help assessing everyone I met.

“I know you don’t like these things, so you better grab yourself a drink,” she continued.

I ordered a whiskey, then sat down when the seat next to her opened up.

“I’m sorry that you’re retiring, but you’ll be back. I know your type.” I had to lean close so that she could hear me over the noise. I sipped my whiskey.

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