Bad Medicine (Wolf Love Book 4)

by Red L. Jameson

  I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Not good.

  Especially when I know soon Asha will wake up and tell me to get lost. I need to remember that. Need to keep that in my mind as I torture myself for the next few days by trying to woo her. It might be a hopeless endeavor. But here’s the thing: life is fucking short. No, really it is. I know that’s an expression and everyone and their grandma says it, but take it from a guy who’s watched his buddies die a slow, painful death. I’ve watched my best friend, Adam, bleed out, while I did everything to stop it, but I couldn’t. I pushed his guts back into his abdominal cavity. I begged him not to go. I fucking begged and cried on the man. For twenty-two minutes, I plugged as many of his wounds as I could and I still couldn’t save him.

  While in the Army, thank fuck, most of the men under my care survived, but fourteen didn’t, including Adam. Now, I’m a civilian nurse, and it’s easier to separate myself from the dying. But in the Army, I lived with those men, ate with them, joked with them, heard them while they masturbated, peed on the side of the roads with them. They were my family and I could not save them. So, yeah, life is a lot more out of control than we like to think it is as well as fucking short.

  May as well live it while you can, even if it means you will fall down, even if it means you will fail, even if it means you will never be the same again. You fucking live it. Because there are men out there, like Adam, who can’t.

  In my mind, I salute my buddy, thinking he’d be proud of me for having a pretty little doctor in my bed. And he might be proud of me for not tearing off her clothes. Well, I’d get her permission first, but then…I’d rush things, I’d push her, I’d want more and more until I’d had my fill and then I’d leave her behind.

  But not with Asha.

  When I walk back to my bedroom, that tangible string to be with her pulls harder and harder. The water almost slips from my grasp as I take her in. She’s sound asleep. Her hair is an untamable mane that I adore, but her face is so soft. She has one hand curled close to her forehead. She’s breathing evenly and relaxed. She’s so fucking gorgeous.

  Placing the water on the nightstand, I watch her for a few minutes. She’s in my bed. Sleeping. Fuck, that’s awesome. I feel good just because she’s sleeping in my bed.

  Catching the clock, I wince, knowing I have to go soon. I put on a shirt and scrubs and watch her a little more. She sniffs and moves her head slightly. Adorable.

  I have to go, hoping my shift will go by in a blur, because when I come home tonight I will have something to look forward to for once. At least, I hope I do.

  Chapter Eight - Asha

  Something is vibrating against my leg. I snort awake, sitting up from the strange sensation on my thigh, when I realize I’ve been sleeping with my cell in my pocket.

  Where the hell am I?

  I glance around and remember I’m in Ryder’s bedroom. Squealing and smiling, I breathlessly replay everything that happened until I drifted into a coma-like sleep. Holy cow, I slept so hard. Ryder’s clock says it’s…a little after seven. AM. I’ve been asleep for more than twelve hours. I never sleep like this. I can catch six hours in a row sometimes, but usually I wake up with a start or a scream. And I worried I’d do something similar here, but I hadn’t. I’d just slept.

  My leg is vibrating again, and I extract my very warm phone from my scrubs.

  It’s a text. From Ryder!

  Still at my place?

  Like him, the text is concise. And perfect.

  Biting my lip, I write back while I’m goofily smiling.

  Still at your place. Just woke up. I haven’t slept this long in…ever.

  I wait while my screen lets me know he’s writing back. He’s writing back! How exciting is that? I can’t believe I slept in Ryder’s bedroom and we’re texting now.

  :) Be there in 5

  Oh my god, Ryder texted a smiley face. I can’t believe he did that. It’s so cute. Something I wouldn’t expect from the big, rough guy. But I like that he did. Holy hell, how I like that he did. And shit, he said he’d be here in five minutes?

  I scurry out of his bed and try to find a bathroom. He’s got a nice en suite one that’s really clean. Aren’t men usually dirty and gross? He’s not. I wonder if he has OCD. Great, I’m trying to find abnormal diagnoses for the poor man just because his bathroom is clean. Oh! Wait! He does have a smudge of shaving cream with dark whiskers under the faucet. He’s human after all.

  After using the toilet, I wash myself as best I can, hoping I don’t smell horrible. In my purse, which I left in my car, I have lotion that could cover any kind of smell. But I don’t have time to race to my beat up VW and back without getting caught by him, and I want to meet him at his door. I want to clobber the guy because I’m in the best mood. I got the best night’s sleep I’ve had in more than seven years.

  I glance at myself in the mirror. My hair’s a mess. I could do it up, but I opt to finger comb and pray he likes wild hair. My cheeks are pink, and I look better than I have in weeks. Amazing what a little sleep can do. Glancing around the sink’s countertop, I check out his shaving cream, a razor close to his toothbrush. Crap, I bet my breath is nasty. I find his toothpaste and force a dollop in my mouth, swishing it around until my palate feels cleaner, then spitting it out. Just as I peek at my reflection again, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle. I bet that’s Ryder.

  Sprinting across his bedroom, down the hallway, and into the living room, I stand and wait for him. He’s on the second floor, which is also the top level, of a quiet apartment complex. I’ve lived in Laramie for close to a year now and think this part of town is where many elderly live. I’m not exactly sure, but I’d guess I’m right because it’s cricket quiet. For more than twelve hours it’s been as silent as a smooth jazz radio station.

  I hop from one sock-covered foot to the other, waiting for him. I still can’t believe I slept in his bed. I also got to touch his naked chest before I feel asleep. He’s so freaking hard. The man must lift steel bridges for a workout because he’s as hard as steel. But he’s warm, and his skin is smooth.

  My breasts feel full suddenly. Something flitters down through my stomach and lands on my clitoris. God, just the thought of him working out has me all…hot and bothered. Even that is exciting. I never thought I’d be this attracted to a man, where everything he does makes my sex slick and warm. As I’m still juggling from one foot to the other, I can feel my panties getting wetter and wetter.

  Wow. My body’s reacting like a normal body. God, that’s—that’s—that’s so reaffirming. I can be normal.

  I know I just had that talk with Megan, and she’d probably make her disappointed face that I don’t feel normal. But that’s life as a sexual assault survivor. One day, you’re living your life, thinking things are okay, thinking you’re okay and life is okay and this world is a great place full of promise and potential. Then the next, you’re someone else. You’re a person who people tell you what happened while you’d been unconscious. You feel sore and aren’t too sure why. And you don’t want your body any longer. You wish you could put it on a hanger and maybe see to it at another time. But you can’t. It’s your body and you have to live with it every goddamned day, and it’s there to remind you that something horrible happened to you. It makes sure you have panic attacks and that you can’t sleep the same any longer.

  Okay, I don’t want to be thinking these things when Ryder walks through the door. Besides, I had amazing sleep. Alone. In Ryder’s bedroom, sure, but I was alone and slept like a normal person. How fucking awesome is that?

  I hear the clomp, clomp, clomp of heavy footfalls climbing the stairs outside of Ryder’s apartment. I think that’s him. I smile and try to tame an instant giggle. I’m so excited to see him again. Am I too excited? Should I tame my reaction down?

  Ah, fuck it.

  I’m going to do what I want to because I feel normal and that feels so good.

  Dangling keys chime outside the door, and I hold m
y hands to my heart as I hear the key slide home. He unlocks the door and opens it. Then I pounce.

  Well, shit. Ryder had a couple bags of groceries, which he has to let go of before I spring myself into his arms. But he’s there. He’s really here, holding me, chuckling.

  “You’re home!”

  He laughs. “I’m home.”

  “Long shift?”

  He doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t shake his head, either. Under his eyes, he carries a lot of fatigue there. He had a bad day.

  I pull him into his apartment and pick up the bags of groceries, while he’s growling something about doing that himself. One of the bags has orange juice and bread, the other has a six-pack of lager beer that I actually like and a bottle of white and red wine. I’m guessing he doesn’t usually buy wine, and these are purchases for me. My heart bursts from the idea.

  “Let’s have a beer and talk.” I continue to push him into his kitchen while I get a couple ales out.

  “It’s not even eight. In the morning. A little early for beer?”

  I nod. “We could have it with the orange juice. Breakfast of champions, I’m sure. Besides, we’re medical people. Our days and nights get screwed up. It feels like seven at night for me. In fact, I’m sure it is seven at night somewhere on this globe. So we’ll have a beer.”

  He’s silently chuckling while I’m trying to be suave and unscrew the bottles. But they aren’t budging from my efforts. He takes one of the beers, places the edge of the cap against the counter and slams down, effectively removing the lid. He’s so cool. My brother knows how do to things like that, taking the lids off beer bottles, but I could never figure it out. Ryder does the same for the other bottle, handing me one, while he takes a long slug from the one he’s holding.

  “Wow, that’s got to be a really bad day,” I say and take a swig of the alcohol myself.

  “You okay with beer? I got the wine too, but maybe that’s too much for breakfast.” He winks. I almost sigh at that wink. But his smile wanes. He starts looking at me in that somber way he does. I like him better when I met him at the door and he was laughing.

  I nod and take a step closer. “What happened?”

  He keeps watching me with his eyes growing colder and colder. Finally, he sniffs and says, “You’ll be hearing about it in the news. There was some church thing where kids were dropped off for a slumber party. Big slumber party. Some of the little ones wouldn’t go to sleep. Ages three and four. So the lady in charge gives them Benadryl. Six kids came in tonight. Six overdosed.”

  I blink, the wind knocked out of me. “That is bad. How—”

  “They all survived, but one of them might have brain damage.”

  My heart hurts from the news.

  This is why I like Ryder so much. He’s big and scary-looking. Intimidating with the fact that he rarely smiles. But he’s torn up about little kids being forced to take Benadryl. He’s such a good man. And I slept in his bed. We text now and share beers and talk about how his day was.

  I probably shouldn’t think that what’s happening is anything other than a physical attraction, but it’s hard not to when the man looks so beat up about kiddos who have been drugged and hurt.

  He sniffs again. “I think Tina and Tanya are planning a hit on the Benadryl lady; although, she’s already in custody.”

  I smile. “I hope so. Do they need funds for the hit? I’d be willing to contribute.”

  He finally smiles and I feel like singing I’m so happy to see him grin. “I’ll tell them.” He tilts his head. “Then again, I’m not working for the next five days. You might see them before I do. You could tell them I’d be willing to contribute too. Hell, I have a buddy who was a sniper. He could come up and help.”

  “Nah, we should get inventive for Benadryl Lady. Maybe tie her up somewhere terrible, like Fukushima Daiichi, where the nuclear disaster was.”

  His smile grows after he takes another slug of his beer. “Remind me never to fuck you over.”

  “Just never fuck me over and we’ll be pals for life.”

  He silently chuckles. “You’re adorable when you’re threatening. And I’m really never going to fuck you over. Ever.”

  “Good.” I smile sweetly. I didn’t think it was possible, but I like Ryder even more. I didn’t know he was so…quick with his wit. He’s funny and charming me senseless. So this is where the expression, “Charming the pants off me,” comes from. Men like Ryder, who, if he asked me to take off my clothes, I probably would right now.

  Then I think of what more he said. “You have the next five days off?”

  He nods.

  “So do I. I’ve never gotten so many days off in a row, so I asked about it, but, yeah, I have the next five days off too.”

  He’s drinking his beer, his dark brows arching up. Slowly, he puts his beer on the little wooden table with matching chairs and crosses his big arms.

  “Five days off, hmm?”

  I nod, sipping my beer, suddenly nervous from the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s thinking about eating me. This is such a good nervous though because as much as my heart is beating wildly, my sex is warm and quite excited about this conversation.

  He takes my beer from me and gruffly holds me by my hips, angling me so I’m in front of him. He parks his backside against the table and spreads his legs, me in between them. We’re close. He’s leaning down, at my face level.

  His smile is small but still there. “Whatever could we do for the next five days?”

  Oh boy. This is it. This is where we’re going to have the sex. This is where I become a normal girl, like Pinocchio might say had he been a girl. Who had sexual dysfunctions. But, you know, just like Pinocchio.

  I swallow, telling myself I can do this. But I’m starting to shake.

  I shrug. “What do you want to do for the next five days?”

  He pulls me even closer as I place my hands on his firm shoulders. My sex is so close to his I can feel his warmth penetrate, and I’m so fucking nervous. Do I tell him I’m a virgin? Will he be gentle even if I don’t tell him? In my romance books, all the guys say they’d be more gentle if they’d known the heroine was a virgin. Which, honestly, I think is really shitty. Why aren’t they gentle the first time, no matter what? Do guys really operate that way? I wish I could talk to my brother about this.

  Ryder gently catches some of my hair that’s laying on my shoulder. He’s fingering a long strand, twirling it around his thick finger. This side of him totally surprises me. Like the smiley face emoji and eating cherry cupcakes, I can’t believe there’s a side of him that’s gentle and adorable. But there is, and I might fall for him if I’m not careful.

  So I have to be careful.

  I don’t know much about men, modern men, real men who aren’t in my romance novels, because I’ve always been either the sidekick to a friend who moans about her boyfriend and tries to analyze every little thing the man does. Or I’ve never been attracted enough to a man to care. I don’t know if Ryder is acting gentle, if he’s seducing me, or if this is really him. It feels real, which makes me all the more worried about my heart and how much it might be affected by this experiment of mine I’m currently dubbing the Pinocchio Project, where I hope to say at the end of it, “Now I’m a normal girl,” rather than, “Now I’m heartbroken.”

  “You like movies?” His voice is rough, and I’m not sure why he’s asking about movies. Shouldn’t he say something seductive like, “We could take this into the bedroom and think about what to do for the next five days”?

  I nod, swallowing. “I love movies.”

  “Yeah? What do you like watching?”

  “Um, just about anything.”

  He clutches onto my hips a little harder. I like the way he’s touching me, keeping me close, but I wish he’d kiss me already and we could get the sex done and over with. God, aren’t I romantic?

  “Anything, huh?” His brows become animated and he keeps a tiny smile at the corner of his lips. “So at the m
ovie theater, there’s a big action-flick with robots trying to save the universe for the fifth time or one of those feel-good romantic things. I’m guessing you would like the feel-good romantic thing.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you assuming that just because I’m female I’d prefer the romcom?”

  He cockily nods with a wider smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. Wanna call me a sexist pig?”

  I roll my eyes. “I think you’re getting to know me better than that. I’d never call you anything that unimaginative.”

  He laughs and holds me even closer. I’m millimeters from his crotch, and I wonder when he’s going to press me against that sweet spot.

  “You wanna see a movie with me, Asha?”

  I nod without thinking.

  “Since matinees don’t start for a while, we’ll eat before we see the movie, okay?”

  I nod again, and it suddenly hits me that Ryder’s asking me out on a date. Is that normal for sex buddies? Is this part of Ryder trying to seduce me? Does it mean anything? Why don’t I know enough of social protocol to figure out what the hell is going on here?

  “I can take you back to your place to change before we go out. Or you wanna keep wearing your scrubs?”

  I look down at my wrinkly wear. “Well, I do look so gorgeous in these.”

  “Yes, you do.” He squeezes my hips even more, and I’m pretty sure he’s not kidding.

  I roll my eyes. “But I think I’d like to change.”

  He straightens and in the process pushes me away from his big beautiful body. “Okay.” He smiles down at me. “I’ll change too. Be back in a sec.”

  And he leaves. No kiss. No cheap innuendo about making love. No pushing me against a wall with his body. Nothing.

  Did we just take a few steps backwards? Why are we going on a date when I thought he wanted sex? Does he want sex from me?

  Maybe he changed his mind and wants to be my friend now. But would a friend hold the other by the hips the way he was holding me? No.