“She was here first, I have no idea how many she’s had,” Trina says, holding her palms up and shaking her head back and forth.
“We just got here, this is our first,” Trina says.
“Oh, good, I hate being behind. Things are more fun when we keep the same pace,” I say.
“Agreed,” Trina and Clair say together and look at Lana.
“Hey, I’ve only had three or four drinks, and you know I can drink all of you under the table any night,” Lana says.
“Yeah, she’s got a point there,” I say.
A cute, petite waitress arrives to take our order and quickly moves on to the next table. The place is packed for a weeknight. The poor waitress has her work cut out for her, but she surprises me when she returns in a couple of minutes with our round of drinks.
“So, Imani, any hot dates lately?” Lana asks. She has spent every waking moment of the last ten years trying to get me into the dating scene. “Yeah, Lana, sure. I’m getting married next month, did I forget to tell you?”
I think her eyes actually just lit up for a second. Incredible. She’ll never learn.
“Such a waste, Imani, you’re a catch, girl. You got that little Miss Hottie independent, creative thing going for you. You just need to get out there and find your prince charming.”
“I’ll get right on that, Lana.” I’m starting to get irritated.
I throw back my drink in an attempt to loosen up and not let this crap bother me.
“Oh, look at her go!” Lana yells over every voice in the bar.
“Lana, keep it down, or they’re going to throw us out of here,” Trina hisses. She’s always been embarrassed by Lana’s boisterousness.
Trina is my quiet bookworm. She has a boyfriend and out of the four of us, she’s the most challenging to drag out on girls’ night, which makes her the most intelligent in my opinion. She’d rather stay in with Jack, and if I had a man, that’s exactly where I’d be right now.
Clair is the member of our little clique that I haven’t known as long as the others. We met a year ago, and I’m still not sure what to think of her.
She doesn’t have a boyfriend per say, but she does spend time with a man regularly. She refuses to claim him as anything serious and sometimes when we’ve had a lot to drink she makes references to a lifestyle I’m not familiar with.
I think she might be into something dark, but I don’t pry, I’m not sure I want to know anyhow.
My phone vibrates in my clutch on the table, but I’m with everyone that would be calling me at this time of night unless it’s the hospital needing help.
I get out my phone, and, sure enough, it’s the hospital. I stare at the screen and consider my options until it stops ringing.
I can’t work after having a drink, but the opportunity to see Marcus is tempting. The magnetic pull of that man is so strong that I would actually trade a night on the town with my girls for a shift at the hospital.
As soon as I lay the phone down, it buzzes again, what the hell? Something feels wrong. I punch the answer button, and my co-worker, Sheila, is yelling at me, “Imani! We need you to come down here right away, please. The patient in bed eight is awake, and he’s freaking out. He’s screaming for you!”
Marcus is finally awake.
Chapter 8
I knew it would happen on my night off, damn it.
“Imani, can you hear me?”
“Yeah, what’s going on?” I’m up and moving off of my bar stool when I hear a man yelling my name in the background of the phone call.
“He opened his eyes and is trying to get out of bed. He’s been yelling for you for twenty minutes straight. He won’t shut up, and security is here trying to keep him in bed. I know it’s your night off, but please, can you come?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right there, don’t let him hurt himself.”
She blows out a relieved breath, “Oh, thank God. I’m going to hang up and tell him you’re coming so maybe he’ll calm down.”
I’m halfway to the door of the club trying to get my arms into my sweater.
“Hey!” Lana yells.
“Imani! Where are you going?” Trina shouts at the same time.
“I have to go. He’s awake,” I call over my shoulder.
They have no idea who I’m talking about, but there’s no time to explain right now. I have to get to him. He’s awake, and he’s yelling my name.
He must have heard me encouraging him. I wonder if he could feel me touching him, too? I shake that thought from my mind as I run out the door of the bar.
I don’t even notice the cold as I race into the street and unlock my car door. It’s hard not to speed, but I’m over the limit by ten mph, I’ve recently had a drink, and I’m a nurse. Getting pulled over could mean losing my nursing license, and, God knows, I can't afford for that to happen.
I pull into the parking garage at a dangerous speed, swing into a spot close to the stairs, and jump out of the car.
I’m an expert when walking and maneuvering in heels but running, that’s just dangerous. I need to slow down, or I’ll end up in bed with a broken leg right next to Marcus.
Ok, so that wouldn’t be so terrible.
I fumble for my badge and flash it at the security guard as I fly past him at the main entrance. The poor guy looks confused at first, but then he recognizes me.
He’s used to seeing me dressed in the equivalent of pajamas, not a barely-there miniskirt and stilettos. Surprise, there’s a body under those scrubs.
I punch the up button a million times before it opens. I jump in and jam the number five until it starts moving. Two floors away from the ICU I can already hear him.
His voice is deep, loud, and panicked. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I feel his desperation. It pulls at my heart, and memories of waking up in the hospital after my attack flood my brain.
When the doors open, I stumble out and race down the hall to his room. At his door, I stop short and hold my breath while I take in the scene.
Sheila is standing at the foot of the bed with her arms extended, motioning and begging Marcus to lie back down. She’s trying to reason with a madman, which is a funny sight because she’s about five feet two inches tall and barely one hundred pounds. He dwarfs her several times over.
Four security guards are at his bedside attempting to restrain him unsuccessfully while he thrashes and screams. Adrenalin can temporarily give a person superhuman strength, and that’s what he looks like right now, a super human.
With no hospital gown on, he must have torn it off and tossed it aside, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, and wild messy dark curls, he looks like Superman having a panic attack, only hotter.
The security guards glance toward the door to see who is entering the room. Each one has their own personalized look of shock, mouths gaping, wide eyes. One even dropped Marcus’s arm that he had been attempting to restrain. It takes me a second before I realize why they’re gawking. My outfit, or lack thereof, isn’t exactly appropriate hospital attire.
I didn’t even succeed at getting my sweater on leaving the bar. That’s a lot of skin exposed under the harsh fluorescent hospital lights. The staring only lasts a second before Marcus begins to struggle again and they turn their focus back to him.