Thanks for the reminder.
“Of course,” I say. “All set.”
She eyes me warily, the look on her face making it clear she finds me lacking in every possible way.
What is her deal? Shouldn’t she be like, I don’t know? Encouraging? I don’t need to be coddled, but a little less fire and brimstone would be nice.
Maybe she’s too jaded to remember her own terrifying nursing clinicals.
An alert sounds and we both look up to see the light flashing above room 1953.
Chase’s room.
“Go check on the patient and see what he needs while I look over this,” she says, gesturing to the med cart.
My palms start to sweat and I wipe them on my pants as I make my way down the hall.
Don’t be such a coward.
I know I’m supposed to look at Chase like any other patient, but from the moment we met, he’s put me off-balance. I like to think of myself as a confident woman, comfortable in her own skin, but the truth is, I have insecurities, just like everyone else. And right now I am terrified he will find out I was responsible for his accident.
I tap gently on the door to his room before pushing it open. It’s not like I’m going to catch him in a compromising position—the guy can’t even get out of bed—but it feels like common courtesy to announce my arrival before busting in.
“What’s up?” I ask, forcing a bright smile even as Chase’s face falls. His jovial smile disappears so quickly it’s possible I imagined it.
Nice to see you too.
Smile frozen in place, I cross the room. My shoes squeak on the tile floor—once, twice, three times—and when I reach his bedside, I reset the call button.
Chase sighs, his broad chest rising and falling beneath the snug hospital gown. “Well, shit. This is embarrassing.”
I snort. “Whatever it is, trust me, you aren’t the first.”
He shoots me a dubious look, but doesn’t elaborate.
“In case you haven’t noticed, this is a hospital,” I say, gesturing to the beige walls and bland tile floor. “It’s the one place in the world where there’s no room for modesty. I swear, whatever it is, we’ve seen it before.”
Well, Nurse Rogers probably has. Me? Not so much. But I’m working on my bedside manner and I doubt he’d find that little gem comforting.
“Maybe you could get the other nurse?” he suggests, glancing hopefully at the door.
Seriously? I know I’m a student nurse, but he had no problem with me providing care this morning when he was in full-on flirt mode. “How about you tell me the problem and then I can decide if we need reinforcements?”
I have no idea what I’m dealing with here, but I do know that Nurse Rogers will be too happy to mention in her weekly write-up that the patient asked for a different nurse.
“I need to…” He gestures vaguely toward the foot of the bed.
“You need to what?” I ask, perplexed.
He rolls his eyes and rakes a hand through his hair. The blond wave immediately flops back down over his forehead, just as stubborn as its owner. “I, uh, need to take a piss.”
My cheeks heat and I curse whatever gene it is that makes me blush at basically everything. I’m a nurse for crying out loud. I’m not supposed to be embarrassed by bodily functions.
Not even when facing a stone-cold hottie.
“I need a urinal,” he explains. “The other nurse forgot to leave it by the bed.”
Nursing 101: Never leave a bedridden patient without a bedpan. Or a urinal.
