Broken Lion

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Broken Lion Page 13

by Devon Hartford


  I pulled the other one out of the drawer and strapped it on before climbing back into bed.

  The thing I loved about the gloves was that they were perfect for hitting my g-spot, and with two pairs, I could fry my clit at the same time. Or do both nipples. Mine had always been sensitive, but I’d never believed women who said they could come from just nipple stimulation. Wrong. I’d just never tried EroTouch gloves.

  I switched on both gloves and my vibrating fingers slid across my body. My skin lit up wherever I touched it, almost like another person was touching me. With the lights out and my eyes closed, Lion forced his way into my imagination.

  He was the one touching me with his electric sex.

  Oh, the things Fantasy Lion did to me were undeniably X-rated. I imagined him carrying me through the front door of my condo, my legs wrapped around his trim waist. Already shirtless, he kicked the door closed behind him with the heel of his boot. Fantasy Lion didn’t have a torn ACL. He was strong and insistent. He shoved my skirt up to my waist and tore my panties off before sinking his cock inside my wetness.

  I wanted to fuck you the second I saw you, Irish.

  Yes.

  I need your pussy right fucking now.

  Yes.

  He filled me up. I tightened around him harder and harder with every desperate thrust. We came together, our blinding orgasms crashing through us in perfect harmony.

  Your pussy is soaked, Irish. Soaked for me.

  Yes.

  I had never been fucked against a wall, but Fantasy Lion made me come twice against mine. Of course, the wall changed after the first orgasm to a wall in a tropical hotel somewhere in the Bahamas. In fantasyland, I had all the vacation time a girl could ever want. Then it was sex on the beach with the waves surging around our ankles as we lay in the sand and more orgasms swept over both of us.

  When I couldn’t possibly come one more time, I lay in my lonely bed, staring at the dark ceiling. I turned off my EroTouch Gloves and took them off.

  Why did Lion have to be my patient?

  What would my ex-husband say if he knew I let Daniel spend the day with a convicted felon?

  If I needed a sign that Lion was not the man for me, despite my attraction to him, tonight had been it. Not because of what he had done to those three men. They deserved what happened to them. They were trouble. I had known it the instant they asked to use my phone. Every hair on the back of my neck had gone up. I felt fortunate Lion had been there to protect me and my son.

  But that didn’t change anything going forward.

  Perhaps I needed to find another martial arts dojo for Daniel. Or have Donald take him to every class so I wouldn’t have to see Lion.

  Whatever I did, I needed to avoid Lion Maxwell like the plague.

  I sighed to myself.

  Too bad there wasn’t some way to get around the rules.

  Chapter 17

  LION

  “Would you please move?”

  I picked Guenhwyvar off the coffee table where my carving tools were. She wouldn’t stop walking all over them. I was back on the couch with my knee up and iced.

  Working on a new carving.

  Like before, it was a lion and lioness with their tails curled into a heart shape behind them, sitting on a bed of four leaf clovers. But I had added an element. A lion cub frolicking in front of them, reaching up to touch a butterfly. The butterfly was attached to his paw, but its wings were spread like it was flying through the air. It was the best I could do without mounting the butterfly on a wire or something.

  Since I was off my feet again, carving this was the perfect distraction.

  It was also a good excuse not to call Brigid.

  I wasn’t sure what to say.

  Hey, Irish. I know I’m a felon, and I know I beat those guys bloody in front of your son, but do you want to be my girlfriend?

  Nope. How about:

  Hey, Brigid. Sorry about last night. It’ll never happen again. Just don’t tell the cops it was me who beat those guys.

  What the hell was I going to say?

  I could ignore the obvious:

  Brigid, since the moment we met, I have wanted to fuck you so bad my balls want to explode. I know you can’t date me because you’re my doctor, so let’s just fuck. A lot. Every position I can think of and then some. Your career? What about it? Oh, you don’t want to lose your job? I don’t see why that’s a problem.

  Yeah, right.

  Dean had made it sound so easy. Call her and tell her how you feel.

  Yeah, right.

  I felt like an idiot.

  I looked up at Aslan. He watched me from the top shelf of the cat tree. Yeah, you’re an idiot.

  “Fuck you too, Azz! If you’re not careful, I’ll make you go hunt for your food like Tigger.”

  Aslan blinked. You won’t do that.

  “You think I won’t?”

  You won’t.

  He was the cockiest son of a bitch I’d ever met.

  But he was right.

  Pussy.

  “You’re the one calling me a pussy? You’re the fucking cat!”

  Blink. Asshole.

  “If you blink one more time, I’m throwing you out.”

  You won’t. Blink.

  I flipped him off.

  He knew what I meant. His tail went swish.

  I went back to carving and trying to think of a way to talk to Brigid that didn’t make me look like bad news.

  Chapter 18

  BRIGID

  “Can I ask you a personal question, Dr. Whitman?”

  “Brigid, I’ve asked you to stop calling me that for the past five years.” He said it with a smile.

  “Okay, Brooks. I need your advice.”

  “Ask away.”

  I knew Dr. Brooks Whitman from his frequent visits to the hospital. He was a general practitioner with his own private practice in the Eagle Rock area, so he often came into LACH. Even though he was old enough to be my grandfather, he still had a full head of silver hair. I had liked him from the day we met at the start of my residency. He was always trying to mentor me, and I was grateful for it. Someone like him would be invaluable for me to know if I ever took the plunge into private practice.

  We sat outside LACH in one of the garden courtyards at a picnic table. It was mid afternoon, so few other people were around and I felt like we were in relative privacy.

  I took a deep breath. “Brooks, have you ever dated one of your patients? I mean, before you were married?”

  He grinned. “I married one of my patients.”

  “Janet was one of your patients?”

  “Indeed she was. Sometimes still is. Usually when I’m brushing my teeth and she wants to know if this or that is cancer.”

  “I can relate,” I grinned. The downside to being a doctor was that you often thought you had every disease or symptom known to modern medical science. It tended to rub off on your family members. “So, Janet was your patient when you started dating her?”

  “Oh yes. Definitely.”

  “Did you date her right away?”

  “No. Janet was one of my regular patients. I waited two years before asking her to dinner. Took her to The Brown Derby over on Wilshire before it went out of business. The one that was built to look like a giant brown derby hat.”

  “But she was your patient for two years before that?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wasn’t that unethical? I imagine you knew all kinds of personal details about her. She looked up to you as her doctor. As an authority figure.”

  He shrugged. “It was a different time. Back then, doctors often married their patients or the nurses they worked with. Nobody thought twice about it. Janet continued as my patient until long after we were married. She didn’t find another doctor until much later, when she wanted a second opinion about something or other.” He winked. “After we were married, she never took what I said as gospel. Why are you asking about this anyway?”

  �
��Do you really want to know?”

  “You don’t have to tell me. But I can probably guess. I still have a few functioning brain cells left.”

  “I’m interested in one of my patients.”

  “Is he interested in you?”

  I laughed. “He has made his interests abundantly clear.”

  “Is he as handsome as I am?” He winked.

  “Not by half. But he has a certain charm.”

  “You do know how to flatter an old man.”

  I smiled.

  “I take it you’re worried about the ethical ramifications of dating one of your patients. And the consequences.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  “I can’t endorse it. You know that, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you see this man romantically, you’ll be taking a risk.”

  I sagged. “I know. But he was the one who came onto me.”

  “What did you treat him for?”

  “Treat him? All I did was order an MRI when he came into the ECU and prescribe some pills for pain and inflammation. When I told him I couldn’t date him, he insisted on being treated by another doctor. It was weeks before I ran into him by accident at a karate event. We’ve spent time together since then, but it’s been totally platonic. We’re really just friends.”

  “That’s good news. But it’s difficult to say how the Medical Board of California will react. Dating a former patient isn’t technically breaking a state law, but it will look bad to the state board. I can’t speak for this hospital either. I would imagine for them this is a legal and ethical gray area, one that opens them up to potential lawsuits. But maybe they’ll treat yours as a special case.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I would hope so, but your guess is as good as mine.” He shrugged. “Off the record, I don’t personally consider your situation an ethical issue. But as I said, things are much stricter than they were in my day. Gosh, when I was doing my residency, you could still smoke in the hospitals. Heck, you could smoke while examining patients.”

  “Is that true?”

  “It most certainly is. We had ashtrays in every exam room. I don’t know how we did it. Anyway, back to your point. You’ll be taking a risk if you date this man. Have you discharged him as a patient?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. There’s no official time table, but the longer you wait before dating him, the less likely the Medical Board or anyone will care.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “But it’s always a risk.”

  “I know.” I sighed.

  “For what it’s worth, Brigid, I know you’re a good doctor and a good person. While you’ll be taking a professional risk if you see this man romantically, something tells me you wouldn’t be taking this risk if you didn’t think he was worthwhile.”

  “He most definitely is.”

  “Then I wish you the best of luck. But remember, patience is always a virtue.”

  The only trouble was that I was getting increasingly impatient. I couldn’t escape the feeling that some hidden problem was going to blow up in my face.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  “Girl, you are not gonna believe what happened Sunday morning while you was off.”

  “What now?” Suddenly worried, I stared at Latisha as I walked up to the nurses station and set my purse on the counter.

  “LAPD brought in three men who were brutally beaten over at Universal CityWalk.”

  Oh no.

  “Allison told me Noah said—”

  “You mean Officer Murdock?”

  “Yeah, him. She said he said the men said Lion Maxwell attacked them.”

  “That’s a lot of saids.” My guts were starting to churn with toxic nausea.

  “That’s what I said,” she smirked. “You know anything about that?” Her tone was worried but intensely concerned. She was smart. She had seen the Irish Springs lion carving and had already put all the pieces together. “You were off Saturday, weren’t you?”

  “I was on call.” I wasn’t going to confirm or deny anything. Withholding information wasn’t lying, was it?

  “Right,” she nodded.

  “So, what happened to the men? Was anyone seriously hurt?”

  “One had a few contusions that needed suturing. The other swallowed a few teeth. The third had a fractured hyoid and a broken nose.”

  “Did he need surgery?”

  “Yeah. His airway was compromised by the hyoid fracture.”

  “Who did the surgery?”

  “Dr. Hackett was assisted by Dr. Foster.” Dr. Foster was an Ear Nose & Throat specialist.

  “Where is the man now?”

  “Up in SIU. Foster wanted him kept overnight for observation.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No. I was at home when all this went down.”

  “What about the other two men?”

  “Discharged late Sunday.”

  I stared at her.

  “Something you wanna tell me, Bridge?”

  I snorted, “No way.”

  “What are we talking about, ladies?” Dr. Hackett said as he whisked up to the nurses station. “Me, I hope?” He flashed his imitation Hugh Grant smile.

  “We always talking about you, Dr. Hackett,” Latisha said with fake sincerity that was almost believable. Almost.

  Hackett lapped it right up. “Shall I assume good things?”

  “Nothing but the best,” Latisha smiled.

  I tried not to laugh.

  “Why thank you, Ms. Brown.” Hackett fiddled with his tie. “And how are you today, Brigid? Doing well, I hope?”

  “Splendid.”

  Latisha and I both waited for Hackett to take the hint and wander off.

  He sniffed grandly. “Right then. Duty calls.” As he strolled off, he tipped an imaginary hat at us. “Ladies.”

  When he was gone, Latisha mocked him in a snooty British accent. “Dyoo-ty cawlls.” She shook her head. “More like doody calls. Why does that man always walk like he’s constipated?”

  I laughed. “Because his asshole is so tight he can’t pass his stool.”

  “True that,” she snorted.

  “And that explains why he has brown eyes.”

  “You did not just go there.”

  “I believe I did.”

  She tried to hold in a tickling snicker.

  “Go ahead and laugh.”

  She did.

  I didn’t.

  All I could think about was the ticking time bomb up in the SIU. If I was Nurse Jackie, I would go take care of things myself. Since I wasn’t, I would have to wait for the bomb to explode in my face.

  Maybe it was a good idea for me to avoid any further interaction with Lion.

  No good could come of it.

  Chapter 19

  LION

  A week later, on Saturday, I was lounging out by the pool icing my knee. The fight at Universal hadn’t made it any worse that I could tell, but I called Dr. Hackett and told him I tripped and landed on it. He ordered me to come in for an MRI. Turned out it hadn’t gotten any worse. I think the knee brace saved it. I also told him about my ribs. An X-Ray confirmed three were cracked, but it wasn’t bad. He give me some painkillers and something for the swelling. I didn’t bother getting either prescription filled. The pain wasn’t that bad. But we did agree to postpone the surgery for several more weeks so I could stabilize.

  Tigger trotted out of the house through the open French doors and stared at me.

  “Gonna go chase some birds?”

  Unlike Aslan, Tigger never said a thing. He just looked at you. What he was thinking was a mystery. I don’t think he knew either. He just chased things. That was good enough for him.

  My phone played Jump Around by House of Pain.

  Brigid.

  My heart hammered and I nearly fell off the lounger grabbing for it. My ribs screamed and so did I.

  “Fuck!”
/>   Tigger sprinted across the lawn and dove into the jungle behind the pool.

  Irish Kiss: I have your Harry Potter picture from Saturday. I should probably give it back.

  My world crumbled in the span of fourteen words.

  She was done with me.

  I knew it.

  I wasn’t worth the risk.

  My body suddenly burned with pure rage. Whoever made the rules about doctors not dating patients needed to die. I pictured a big stone building somewhere with tall columns like a courthouse. I needed to go bomb that building into dust.

  Never in my life had an institution stood between me and a woman. What did an institution know about love? Nothing. This was ridiculous.

  What the hell was I gonna do?

  Tell her how you feel.

  Not over a text.

  Me: Can you bring it to my place? My knee is killing me.

  It was half true. It didn’t hurt, but having it out of commission and laying around icing it all the time drove me nuts.

  When she didn’t respond immediately, I started freaking out. I could feel her slipping through my fingers. A minute later, she texted.

  Irish Kiss: Can I mail it to you?”

  Me: I don’t want it getting broken.

  Irish Kiss: I’ll pack it really well.

  Me: What if it gets lost at the post office?

  Irish Kiss: I’ll send it certified.

  Me: What if the mailman gets robbed?

  I was so scared I sent that before I thought about how lame it sounded.

  Irish Kiss: That only happens in the old west.

  Me: I live in a bad part of town.

  That was a lie and a half and it wasn’t going to make her want to come here.

  Me: I actually live in the Hollywood Hills. It’s not bad at all.

  Irish Kiss: That’s not what I’ve heard.

  Was she joking? Hinting that I was the bad thing in the Hills or something else? I couldn’t tell. I hated texting.

  Me: I promise it’s safe. My house is gated.

  I sounded like a douche because only douches told you their houses were gated. I needed to start thinking before I texted.

 

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