Coming In Hot Box Set

by Gina Kincade

  I wish I could say it was the eight years as an Army medic that changed me, hardened me. But even before my time in the military, I wouldn’t have been good enough for a woman like Dr. Whitetail. The Army saved me from a criminal life, and I’m a better man now than before. After the military, I went to school, got my nursing degree—to all those who think male nurses are pussies, I’ll gladly take them to a dark alley to discuss it—and am here, in Laramie, Wyoming, getting caught smoking by the pretty doctor who I have an insane crush on.

  I didn’t have crushes in high school.

  I’ve never had a crush.

  I’ve never felt like this—sucker punched right in the gut yet my idiotic cock is happy as all get out around her.

  It’s not because I’m a nurse that’s stopping me from taking her. I’ve never seen a soap opera, but I think a hospital is comparable. Everyone is fucking everyone else. Admins with janitors. Nurses and doctors. No one cares about a career hierarchy when it comes to sex. When it comes to the job itself, that’s another matter.

  But there was a reason why guys like me, enlisted, never fraternized with commanding officers. Not just to keep order within the Army. But because we come from different worlds. I’ll never forget a snotty lieutenant who complained about his parents not paying for his last semester of university. He was in the hole for six thousand dollars. Most of the troops around me didn’t feel comfortable to tell him that they didn’t have the financial opportunities to attend college, let alone get in the hole for it. We resented the hell out of the ass for whining about his life, while he never bothered to ask where we’d come from.

  Yeah…different worlds.

  Although I don’t know which world Asha Whitetail comes from, I know it’s different from mine.

  Almost to the back entrance of the Laramie Hospital emergency department, and the pretty little doctor pivots her gorgeous head. Right at me. Catching me suck on my coffin nail. She’s wearing her black framed glasses tonight. Fuck, she’s hot in her little glasses. She has a red pair she’s worn only once, and I wanted to pin her against the wall when I saw her in those. Before she walks into the hospital, her dark gaze studies me. She sees right through me and I know she does. She sees the mess that I am. She knows I’m not good enough for her.

  But her lips quirk up. Just one side of her full, sensual pink lips, lips I’ve worshipped for the last two months, tilt upwards, giving me almost a smile. Then she rushes through the door.

  When I can’t see her any longer, I let out a shaky breath, my knees feeling weak. And unbelievably my stupid cock is awake. Not hard. But it’s there, wondering how to get close to the pretty doctor.

  Well, shit.

  Tonight, working together, should be awkward as fuck.

  Asha

  Keep your game face on, I tell myself as I find my way to the staff room. Yeah, keep your game face. Why am I using football terms to avoid looking like a buffoon?

  Because I just saw Nurse Ryder. Ian Ryder. His name is even cool. Like him. He’s always calm and collected. Wordless, except to give me or other doctors orders. I swear to god the man is omniscient. I’m the one with the MD, but he knows how to handle every accident, every trauma, everything.

  But it’s not just his quiet intelligence that has me feeling off kilter as I make my way to the locker room where I store my giant hoodie and other personal items. The fact is, I’m infatuated with the man. He came to the Laramie Hospital two months ago with his penetrating silence and caramel brown hair—a little long on the top, his honey brown eyes, and a dark whiskered square jawline that only men on the cover of GQ can claim. Every single female, and a few men, in the hospital were talking about him, even the eighty-nine-year-old volunteer who gets lost in the hallways. He’s got a few small scars on his face I want to ask him about and touch. Also, he’s got tattoos he tries to cover with his black long-sleeve t-shirts he wears under his black scrubs. That’s right, he only wears black. He doesn’t smile. He’s huge. All muscle too. And everyone in the hospital is infatuated with him.

  I’m very aware how I’m not alone regarding this crush.

  So there’s no way he’d notice me.

  Besides, we work together. Although there’s a rotating door of interoffice romances in the hospital, that doesn’t mean I want to do anything about my infatuation. Not that I could. Out of all the women who are a little in love with Ryder, he wouldn’t pay attention to me. I’m no Barbie—not even one of the newest, more accurate depictions of women Mattel is offering. I’m a nerd through and through. Always bone skinny throughout my life, I thought I’d have a hard time with the weight I gained in medical school. But, I finally have boobs. And hips. My belly’s soft, but parts of me kind of look…goddess-y, so I’m not going to complain. But you want to know the main reason I’m not like anything a toy manufacturer makes? I’m Cheyenne. I’m Native. It’s a weird irony that I’m called Native American, as in my people were the first here, but there’s so little that represents me.

  I sigh as I turn off my iPhone, playing Bea Miller loudly, and I hadn’t even noticed. Wincing, I check the locker room. No one around. I sigh again. It’s not like anyone picks on me. Since the first night I worked in the emergency department, Tina Landing, an older RN who took me under her wing, has ensured that no one say anything about me. I’m not sure how I came to be under Tina’s protection. Well, I cracked a joke about the Attending’s nasal hair, and from there on out I was her doctor, the one she ensures never gets made fun of, at least to my face.

  Usually, there’s a weird dynamic between nurses and doctors. Especially female doctors. It’s kind of a competitive feeling. And I’ve never been good at competition. But there’s an even weirder dynamic between the male doctors and me. Luckily, there are enough women doctors here that we gang up together, eating our lunch in the cafeteria, comparing notes about our latest fascinating cases, trying to out-diagnose each other, testing our knowledge, and, yes, we spend an inordinate amount of time talking about sci/fi books and movies too. We’re all a little nerdy, which makes me happy and feel at home in Laramie.

  I moved here about a year ago, following my sister and brother who had come here for legal opportunities. They’re both lawyers. I’m the odd duck doctor. My brother, Hon—short for Honiahaka, which is Cheyenne for Bear; yeah, I’m really Indian—is my twin and we’d decided since we were kids to be doctors together. But so many things changed in college. My once best friend, the one person who I felt I could communicate with in my mind, is lost to me now. Well, he’s here, living in the same town. But he’s no longer my best friend. I miss him every day in a way that aches like I had my arms torn off.

  “There’s my girl,” Tina interrupts my sad thoughts, and I’m glad. Whenever I think of the chasm between my brother and me, I can’t focus on my job. Can’t focus on much, actually.

  I smile as I glance over my shoulder at one of my favorite RNs. She is one of eight dark-haired sisters who have taken to me, even calling me their pretty little sister who needs to eat more. Not a chance I’d pass up being their friend what with implying I’m still thin, which I’m not. And I’m okay with that. Then again, after years of therapy, my body acceptance is kind of a given.

  “Hey, Tina.” I hug her as she squeezes the dickens out of me. “You work the day shift?”

  She pets an errant dark strand from my glasses, smiling with a tired expression while she nods. “I look like I just worked ten shifts in a row. Jesus, I’m tired, honey.”

  “No, you don’t.” I frown at her. “You’re gorgeous as usual.”

  She rolls her eyes and we keep smiling at each other. Right now, with her, and her sisters and all the other nurses and the physician assistants and the other ER docs, it feels like I belong, like I’m her family. This is why I went into trauma medicine, even if it is harder than anything else I’ve ever done, even if other doctors call me a blue-collar worker. I don’t care. No other medical department can make me feel this included.

  Since c
ollege, my family has been broken to the winds. Oh sure, we all live close now. My mom and pop are still up at Lame Deer, Montana, but that’s only a few hours’ drive away. However, between my siblings and me, we only see each other when we see our folks. That’s it. We live in the same town but never visit. I came here hoping that would change. But I can’t make it. And truth be told, I haven’t done much to reach out to my brother or sister.

  So that’s why the emergency department is so vital to me now. This is my family.

  Tina grips my cheeks with one of her hands, squeezing hard enough to make my lips pucker and probably look fish-like.

  “You are too adorable, little Dr. Whitetail.” She squeezes even harder. “Just too adorable. And so fucking young looking.”

  I scoff as I somehow escape her fingers on my cheek. “I’m a whopping twenty-five and-a-half now, I’ll have you know.”

  She laughs hard at me, making fun of myself. I know I’m young. Graduating high school early and college means I’m young for a doctor and get reminded by almost every patient who looks at me with narrowed eyes and asks, “Are you sure you’re my doctor?” At first I wondered if patients asked that because I’m a woman, but there are now more women in medical school than men. Then I wondered if it was because I’m American Indian. But while working through my residency in the LA County Hospital, most people assumed I was Hispanic and had no problems with anyone non-white being a physician. No, it’s my age that most people have a problem with. I still get carded. At the movies. I don’t look twenty-five. Maybe twenty? Which should be great when I’m sixty and can pass for fifty, but at this age I feel like I have to prove myself more often than not.

  Except I don’t have to with Tina. Which is awe-so-freaking-some. Or should that be awe-freaking-some? But I like the former. So I’m sticking with it.

  “You’re with Tanya tonight,” Tina says. Tanya is her sister, another supervising RN. She’s also a tad intimidating with her mohawk and tattoos. But once I proved I could handle my weight with the tough cases, Tanya does nothing but glow when I work with her. Her preferential treatment is noticeable and other doctors wonder what I did to earn her adoration.

  The answer is, I’m unfathomably me. I’m a geek and own it. I’m a little curvy now and kind of like it. I’m bookish and silly and love my glasses. In movies, I’d be the sidekick and I know that. I own that too. My sister was and still is ravishing gorgeous. Most of my other friends have always been beautiful, while me…my glasses are usually smudged and between the ages of four to almost now I had dirt permanently ingrained in my jeans because I’m not exactly klutzy but I’m not known for my grace either. I’m the comic relief. I’m the one everyone likes in movies, but no one watches. And I’m fine with that.

  Just fine. Thank you for asking.

  Yep, fine.

  Okay, some days it is a bitter pill to swallow, but I do my best to push beyond it because, honestly, I’m not sure if I’d like the attention a leading lady gets. I’m not sure if I could handle it.

  Tina blinks languidly.

  “Tired?”

  She nods slowly.

  “Tough day?”

  “No, boring as shit.” She smiles. “Your night should be boring too.”

  I fidget with my lips. “That’s okay. I can always catch up on my sleep if it is.”

  “I’m going home to force my husband to have sex with me.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “TMI. TMI.”

  She laughs really hard. I love her laugh. It’s like a smoker’s, although I don’t think she has that filthy habit. Talking about a filthy habit, I didn’t know Ryder smoked. On him, smoking looked…god, I’m a doctor and I’ll never admit this out loud…but he looked sexy. My crush is so pathetic I think a smoker is sexy. Don’t tell.

  Tina waggles her dark, plucked-almost-to-death brows. “When was the last time you forced someone to have sex with you?”

  “Is it politically correct to say that?” I shake my head.

  Tina rolls her eyes. “Okay, Miss Smarty Pants—”

  “That’s Dr. Smarty Pants.”

  She smiles. “Let me rephrase, Dr. Smarty Pants: When was the last time you rode a cowboy hard and put him away wet?”

  Laughing, I shake my head, not about to answer, and try to hide at least my upper torso in my locker.

  “In that case, it’s been too long,” Tina says, and I can tell from her laughter she’s stepping away from me. God, what would she think if she knew I’m a virgin? See, that’s what comes from being the sidekick. No action. That, and for a long time I had a pretty serious chip on my shoulder about men. Not that the chip is really removed. But I manage to hide it better now.

  “Much too long, Dr. Smarty Pants,” she yells from somewhere in the staff room. “Maybe I’ll rustle up a cowboy for you.”

  God, I love her, but she’s got to stop screaming these things. I’m sure my face is hot enough to melt iron. I’m hotter than that, actually. Astrophysicists will think I’m star-like with how hot I am.

  But I’ve got to get a zinger in.

  Yelling with my head still in the locker, I slowly emerge as I’m saying, “Maybe I don’t want a cowboy.”

  And there, right in front of me, less than six inches, is Ryder. He’s staring down at me like the weirdo I am.

  “Hi, I was yelling at Tina.”

  He nods. Once. That’s it.

  “She must’ve left. I didn’t notice she left.”

  I know he’s a man of few words, but I’m kind of dying right now and wish he’d at least smile.

  Nope. Not even a twitch from the general vicinity of his luscious lips. They’re kind of perfect man lips. The bottom one is fuller than the top, and I’ve imagined biting it, like I am now, which I shouldn’t do while he’s standing so close to me.

  I swallow, sure the humiliation on my face is heating the whole hospital, trying for a casual smile. “I—Tina and I were just joking around.”

  A nod. Just once. Again.

  He smells so good. My senses are consumed with the way he smells. Not a whiff of smoke is mixed with his scent which is pure…blue. I know that sounds weird, but his scent reminds me of a river cutting through a forest. He smells clean and outdoorsy. And so like a man.

  My heartbeat is racing faster than it should.

  His warm brown eyes narrow for half a second, and I hold my breath, wondering if The Ryder will talk to me. Yes, he’s famous in the hospital, like a local celebrity. But he turns and opens the locker next to mine, shrugging out of a black backpack. Why’d he pick the locker next to mine? Not that I’m complaining. Just curious.

  “So, I guess, we work together tonight,” I say as I make sure my phone and hoodie are where I put them. The only reason I’m still in this room is because of him. I have this odd fascination with him where I long to be close, but if he ever paid me the least amount of attention I’m sure I’d run screaming.

  Oh, did I forget to mention I’m a wee bit of a chicken?

  But it’s not like I ever have to be anything else concerning him. He’d never catch me in his huge, strong arms and say, “Asha, you’re the one. The one for me. I’ve looked for a woman like you all over the world, but here you are. And I’m going to make you mine.”

  I might read too many romances.

  I stop checking on my things that haven’t moved for the last couple minutes and close my locker, looking up at Ryder who’s already closed his locker and is staring at me, his dark gaze intense. Really intense. Like I missed something.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Did you say something?”

  He shakes his head.

  I smile, trying to calm my fluttering stomach. I might vomit if he stares at me like this much longer. God, he’s pretty. He has a scar that runs through his left jawline and up his cheek. I like that scar. The physician who stitched him must have been in a hurry. It could have been a smaller scar with more stitches, and everything in me wants to know how he came to have the wound, but I refrain from asking.
r />   Oh what the hell.

  I reach out, but stop myself from touching him. His eyes seem to grow darker as he watches me.

  “How did—how did you get that scar?”

  “Shrapnel.”

  I wince. But for some ungodly reason I actually touch him, because I can’t seem to stop myself. “Must have hurt.”

  He doesn’t answer as I finger the scar. He might have shaved a day ago or so. I like his dark whiskers that have a few gold ones, glinting from the florescent light. I like his hollowed cheeks, the blade of his nose, and his gorgeous lips.

  He lets me inspect his healed wound. “The physician should have used about six more stitches on this.”

  Something magical happens. One side of Ryder’s perfect lips curls up. Oh my god, I made him smile. Well, almost.

  “He was busy, the doc who stitched me up.” Ryder’s voice is deep and dark and twists into my body, making me feel every word he utters. “Had other men to deal with. Worse off than me.”

  I nod. “You were in the war, right? A medic?”

  He nods. He doesn’t ask how I know that about him.

  Stalk much?

  I don’t mean to know so much about him, but when he arrived, even the grandma volunteers were fighting to find out tidbits about him. And they’re more than happy to talk about what they discovered when I bring them homemade peanut brittle.

  “I’m sorry. Must have been…hard.”

  He shrugs. “Paid for college. It’s okay.”

  I finally settle my hand back where it should be. Not touching Ryder. Slowly, I smile up at him. It’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk other than when he’s barking out orders for a bad case.

  He sucks in a slow breath. “So we’re working together tonight.”

  I nod. “Looks like it.”

  His face does the most adorable thing. It kind of scrunches as if he’s wincing in a sheepish manner. After licking his bottom lip, he says, “You want to—”