Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  Before Mick can react, my palm is coming into contact with my forehead and I’m letting out a sigh.

  “Would somebody shut that guy up?” one of the doctors barks from inside the room.

  I turn to Eli. “You should probably ease back a little bit or they’re going to kick you out of the hospital,” I tell him.

  “What about Mick?” Eli asks. “He’s in there going for kidney shots.”

  “Oh, they’ll just dose him with a sedative. To tell you the truth, I’m not entirely sure why they haven’t done that already.”

  “That should be pretty fun to watch.”

  “Rans, I need you to talk to me, man!” Mick wheezes.

  “You’re doing great in there,” Eli says. “Just remember to keep your hands up. You don’t want to get caught exposing your chin.” I’m somewhere near telling Eli he should probably cool it now when he turns to me, saying, “So, what brings you here?”

  I furrow my brow. Is he trying to hit on me?

  “I work here.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I mean, what do you do here?”

  “I’m a…” I start, but cannot for the life of me remember my actual job title. My shoulders drop and with a long rush of air, I say, “candy striper.”

  “Sounds fantastic,” he says, more interested in the doctor heading toward Mick’s room with a syringe already prepared, needle uncovered. A few seconds later, a security guard bursts through the ER doors and it doesn’t take him any time to find where the problem is.

  It’s looking like the diversion is about over with, right until the doctor approaches Mick, syringe in hand. If I had a video camera and a month off to review the tape, I still wouldn’t know how Mick manages to not only prevent the doctor from sticking him, but actually causes the doctor to accidentally stab himself with the needle.

  The doctor drops to the floor, and I’m not sure I should be laughing right now, but I am. To ease my conscience, I lean over the counter of the nurse’s station, grab the phone and page more security to the ER.

  “Aw,” Eli complains, “it was just starting to get fun.”

  “His name’s Mick, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  I know I’m risking catching a flailing arm to the face, but I leave my spot and approach the bedlam.

  “Mick?” I ask. “Mick, I’m going to need you to listen to me.”

  He hasn’t stopped trying to get the doctors away from him—even though they’ve elected to give him some space—but at least he’s looking at me now.

  “Mick, I know you’re scared,” I tell him. “I know you don’t like hospitals, but we’re here to help you, okay? You were in a major car crash, and we need to make sure there’s not internal bleeding.”

  Mick stops flailing. His face goes white.

  I’ve got him.

  “That’s better,” I tell him. “Now, the doctors are going to have a look at you, and I want you to cooperate.”

  “They’re trying to kill me!” he screeches dramatically and starts fighting again as the doctors take a step toward the stretcher.

  “Mick, I’m worried that if you keep doing what you’re doing, you’re going to go septic,” I tell him. “Not only is that potentially lethal, but it’s also one of the more painful conditions-”

  “Just give me the shot!” he yells.

  I look at Dr. Eisley as the doctors and nurses lift him onto his very own stretcher, the needle still sticking out of his hand.

  “It’s going to take a second to get another one ready,” I tell him. “Just stay still and this will all go a lot smoother.”

  He relaxes a little, but still jerks away every time a doctor tries to get a closer look at him.

  Having seen Mick’s Achilles’ heel, I don’t bother with an extended plea. I just say the words, “Massive blood loss,” and he goes from pale to passed-out on the stretcher.

  I take a look at his SATs. He’s okay.

  Mick does look pretty beat up, but from what I can tell, most of the wounds are superficial. I am relatively sure, though, that if he’d kept up what he was doing, he actually would have ended up doing something worse than giving Dr. Eisley an unscheduled nap.

  I go back to where I was standing and lean back against the counter.

  “As much fun as it was seeing the guy try to take on half a dozen healthcare workers—and it really, really was—I’ve gotta say, that whole thing you did there making him pass out by scaring him was kinda hot,” Eli says.

  “You’re a bit of a strange person, aren’t you?” I ask.

  “You never told me your name.”

  “Oh you don’t want my name. I’m just a candy striper. I’m not really involved in the medical stuff.”

  He shakes his head, one corner of his lips pulling up into a half-smile. “I’m not asking because I want to tell you that he’s allergic to penicillin or anything. I’m asking because I want to know.”

  For a minute there, caught up in the moment, I forgot how shy I am. It’s silly, but now that the attention is on me, I clam.

  “You’re not going to tell me your name, are you?” he asks.

  I’m blushing; I know it. My face feels hot and that little voice in the back of my head is telling me to get the hell out of here.

  “Well, Kate,” he says, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “What?” I ask.

  He pats the left side of his chest with his open hand. At first, I think it’s some sort of weird mating thing I never learned, but then it occurs to me.

  “Right,” I say, “the name tag.”

  “Yeah, it’s a little harder to be coy about your name when you’ve got it pinned on your shirt,” he says. “So, how long is he going to be out?”

  “Not too long. He’ll be groggy for a little while after he wakes up, but hopefully the doctors have had a chance to at least see what’s going on before then.”

  “It’s probably going to be a while, though, before he’ll be up for talking again?” Eli asks.

  What he’s saying almost sounds like real concern. That’s why I don’t trust it.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I was just wondering if the hospital had a decent cafeteria,” he says.

  I chortle and answer, “Yeah, it’s pretty decent as long as you stay away from the food.”

  “Sounds about right. You hungry?”

  All right, I may be terrible at picking up on signals, but that sounds like he’s asking me out to dinner. Granted, it’d be dinner in the building where I’m currently working and it’s hardly a romantic setting, but still.

  “I don’t think that’d be very appropriate,” I tell him.

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Being hungry?”

  “No,” I tell him, “getting something to eat with you.”

  “Ah,” Eli says. “That’s fine then.”

  I glance down along the nurse’s station, my eyes settling on one of the many clocks in the room.

  “It was nice to meet you,” I tell Eli, and before he has a chance to respond, I walk away. My shift’s over, but even if it wasn’t, I’d probably have found some other excuse.

  I’m not the kind of woman people like Eli want. I’m far too quiet, much too reserved.

  Guys like him, they go for the more gregarious type, the ones who wear the low-cut tops and have tattoos of butterflies eating mountain lions. He’d just think I was boring. Guys like him, the best I could hope to get out of it would be a one-night stand without a chance of seeing him after it.

  That’s not really my idea of a good time.

  Still, as I’m clocking out, I feel pretty good about myself. I know the whole thing’s just a ploy to get in my pants, but Eli is a very attractive man. The thought of being wrapped in those strong arms is difficult to put out of my mind.

  “Hey, Chavez, before you clock out, I’m going to need you to do a bit of tidying up in room 217,” Dr. Chavez’s voice comes from behind me.

  Yeah, that’s not a coincidence. She’s my
mom.

  “I’m already clocked out,” I tell her. “If you want, I can-”

  “That’d be great,” mom, Dr. Chavez, says, and walks away without another word.

  I guess my night’s not quite over yet.

  Chapter Two

  Shopping Around

  Eli

  Mick’s been in the hospital for about a week now. It’s not that he’s really that messed up, it’s just that he’s not capable of cooperating with anyone in a hospital.

  They’ll kick him out eventually, but not until the threat of being sued is overshadowed by having to deal with him. I give it another day, two at the most.

  Right now, I’m finishing up with a brake replacement. After I get these lug nuts on, I’m out of here for the night and then it’s a quick trip to the hospital to visit my idiot friend before I can go enjoy my evening.

  I’m getting the last wheel in place when my boss Maye comes over, asking if I’m about done.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “This is the last bit and then I’m outta here. Need anything else before I go?”

  “Nah,” Maye says. “How’s he doing?”

  “I’m going to visit him after I’m off,” I answer. “You don’t want to come see the dirt bag, do you?”

  “Visit him in a hospital?” she asks with a titter. “Are you out of your mind?”

  This isn’t the first time Mick’s gone off the road.

  I kind of feel responsible. After all, I was the one that told him he could take that Monte Carlo. I never expected the guy to hit his nitrous about a hundred feet into the drag, though, and on a residential street...

  The boy’s got some learning to do.

  “Hey, did that carburetor ever come in for the Galaxie?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know why you don’t just leave that thing on the side of the road someplace, maybe along the side of a cliff. It has to be the most unreliable car I’ve ever come across, and you know that’s saying something.”

  “It’s a sentimental thing.”

  She’s nodding, but not doing a very good job of hiding her amusement. “Sentimentality, huh?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “I get really sentimental about all the money I’ve dumped into it, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me want to drop a little more.”

  She laughs, and I quickly get the last tire on the last car of the day; I am finally done.

  “Hey,” Maye calls after I’ve clocked out and I’m heading out the door. “Tell your friend that if he’s not back here by tomorrow, I’m going to ship his job to Freedonia.”

  “Freedonia?” I ask. “That doesn’t sound like a real thing.”

  “Doesn’t need to be,” she says and smiles. “You know he’ll believe any old thing you tell him when he’s around doctors.”

  “I’ll make sure to tell him,” I answer and make my way to the bus stop.

  Maye wasn’t wrong about the Galaxie. It’s not my only car, but let’s just say it’s the only one I can drive around at the moment.

  I give Mick a lot of crap, but he’s the one that got me into all this: the cars, the shop, the racing…especially the racing.

  Maye lets me store my bread and butter at the shop—a ’70 Chevelle SS 454 with more money under the hood than my parents paid for their last house. In return, I work at the shop free of charge.

  The creative accounting was what you might call a promotion. A guy like me, with the kind of money I have at any given moment, is what you might call a red flag.

  In exchange for this “promotion,” Maye always has me cut her in when I’m racing. The cut’s a little steep at fifty-fifty, but I’d rather lose half my money now than lose it all later. Still, it’s good to be discreet when possible and the Chevelle is definitely not that.

  The bus comes and I get to the hospital just before visiting hours are finished. Inside the room, I’ll probably act like I hadn’t planned it that way.

  I love Mick like a brother, I really do, but the guy’s insane fear of doctors and hospitals can get to be a little much after a while.

  When I walk into the room, though, Mick is all smiles.

  “What’s up, Eli?” he asks.

  “Hey, we’re back to a first name basis,” I say. “The drugs they’re giving you must be primo.”

  “I think I’m actually starting to like hospitals, you know?”

  I shake my head. “Did you sneak something in on top of it?”

  “No, man,” he says. “It’s this hospital chick. I never got the sexy nurse thing, but this volunteer, she’s been checking me out.”

  It’s endearing, but I still laugh.

  “Yeah, I can tell by looking at you all the women in the building must be lining up,” I tell him.

  “No, I’m serious. I’ll just be sitting here, trying to think of a way to access a map of the hospital so I can get the hell out of here without being caught, you know, and this chick just opens the door to my room, looks in at me, smiles, says hello, and then turns and walks back out the door. It’s happened eight times since I’ve been here.”

  “Hey, if it’s helping you get through all this without knocking out another doctor-” I start.

  “I didn’t knock the guy out,” he interrupts. “He knocked himself out with that vial of death he was trying to pump into me.”

  “So,” I sneer, “tell me about your hospital chick.”

  “You remember that one, the candy striper whatever that told me all that crap and made me pass out?”

  “Yeah?” I laugh.

  I think I see what’s going on here.

  “It’s her, man,” he says. “She’s way into me—I think she felt sorry for what she did, making me pass out and all, and then it was like a Florida Nightingale thing.”

  “Mick, could you do me a favor?”

  He turns his head a little. “What?”

  “Could you remind me why we’re friends?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks. “I’m delightful.”

  “Florida is a state,” I tell him. “Florence Nightingale was a nurse. You are a moron.”

  He shrugs as much as a man in full body restraints can shrug.

  “So when are they letting you out of here?”

  “I don’t know, man,” he says. “They say I keep ‘reinjuring’ myself when they go to check on the leg, so they’re going to have to keep it immobile or whatever for a while.”

  “You do realize they probably would have let you out of here like an hour after I brought you in if you hadn’t freaked out like you always do, right?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Dude, could you stop asking me that question? You’ve asked me that every time I’ve talked to you and you never seem to have anywhere else to go, so that’s a lot.”

  “You’re here because you don’t want to be here,” I prod. “I’m sorry, that’s funny to me.”

  He scowls at me. “You weren’t helping,” he says. “Anyway, aren’t people supposed to be nicer to you when you’re in the hospital?”

  “I’m just planting seeds,” I tell him.

  “Carlos was here a little while ago,” Mick says, changing the subject.

  “He lose another old Bentley?”

  Mick shakes his head. “No, man. Well, yeah, he lost the Bentley, but apparently that guy Jax is putting together a tournament.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “The guy’s a psychopath,” I tell Mick.

  “People always say that, but how many people do you think are really psychopaths?”

  As much as I want to hear more about the “tournament” some overblown underground kingpin probably isn’t putting together, Mick has left me with an opportunity.

  “I bet they’d know,” I tell him.

  I know that it’s mean, but I get up from my chair, walk over to the bed, and press the nurse’s call button.

  A very weary voice answers, “Yes?”

  “Excuse me, I was wondering” I start.

  �
�Dude,” Mick says, “don’t call them in here. I don’t want them in here.”

  “Yes?” the nurse asks.

  “I’m sorry, the question must have slipped my mind,” I say and put down the call box.

  Mick’s breathing like he just got done running from the cops up a hill in the middle of summer. Me, I’m hunched forward, trying to keep my eyes open wide enough to see the look on his face while I laugh my ass off at him.

  I’m still cracking up when the door opens, though I stop immediately after it does.

  Kate, the candy striper with the pixie cut from the ER pokes her head in and says, “Hey, Mick. How are—oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. I should have expected someone, though, with all the laughing. You two must be really good friends.”

  She’s speaking fast, her hands are fidgeting, and her face is red. Mick was right, she’s interested in someone. I’m just not convinced yet that it’s him.

  “Friends,” Mick scoffs. “This guy’s doing like KGB mind games on me and she thinks-”

  “It’s Kate, right?” I ask, standing up and walking over to her, my hand extended to shake hers.

  She takes it. “You remembered,” she says. “You’re the one with the ridiculous name.”

  “Eli?” I ask. “I get that it’s kind of old-fashioned, but-”

  “No,” she says. She pushes her lips together like she’s trying to stop herself from saying more.

  Her palm is sweaty as she looks down and realizes we’re still shaking hands. I let go.

  “Right,” I say. “I know what you meant. If it helps at all, I didn’t pick the name.”

  “Could I get another Xanax?” Mick asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, turning toward him, my eyes wide, “I’ll call the nurse and have her bring something in for you.”

  There’s more white exposed above his irises than beneath them.

  Kate’s still standing half-inside, half-outside the room. I hadn’t noticed both of her eyes the other day. Her right eye is a deep blue; her left is a piercing green.

  It’s strange that I hadn’t noticed something so striking.

  “Are those…” I start, intending to ask her if she’s wearing two differently colored contacts, but realize how stupid that would be.

  She gets the idea anyway. “They’re not contacts,” she says. “I have heterochromia iridis.”