Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I should try . . . but maybe I should wait a little longer first. Maybe I’m taking this too fast.
Shit. I don’t fucking know.
I’m not ready for this.
With Sara, it was so easy, I just knew right away. She had just transferred to our school, and I practically bombarded her until she’d agreed to go out with me, but this woman . . . She’s not Sara.
Nobody is.
Chapter 4
GIGI
I rush around the busy emergency room, absolutely exhausted. I’ve been put on a double shift, and it’s killing me. I spent the day up on the maternity ward, doing what I do best, only to be asked to cover the night shift in the ER. Due to my inability to say no, here I am, practically dead on my feet. The only good thing is that this means I can take tomorrow off.
My only saving grace is that the ER is crazy busy, which is making the time fly past. So far, I’ve had a woman with a broken leg who decided to try snowboarding in the middle of the night, a man with a fractured eye socket who was in a bar fight, and a little girl whose mother thought she had a snake bite. Turned out to be two little red pen marks that came right off with alcohol wipes. I mean, it’s none of my business how the pen marks got there, but judging by the shit-eating grin on the little girl’s face, I have my suspicions.
Shit got exciting ten minutes ago when a man came in with stab wounds. I desperately wanted to work on him, but I just missed out. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a total travesty, but at the same time, it would have been awesome. I, however, got stuck on clean-up duty after the stab victim left a trail of blood from one end of the ER to the other. Someone’s got to do the dirty jobs, and tonight, it’s me. As if getting the piss bag spilled all over me last week wasn’t enough.
I’m five hours into the second shift and it’s well past midnight. I’m exhausted, but thankfully things have finally started to slow down. Taking a short break, I move around the reception desk and flop down in the desk chair as I let out a heavy sigh, desperately wishing for a quick power nap to keep me going.
With the quick downtime, I can’t help but check my phone, glancing at my Tinder app for the hundredth time for tonight, just in case I missed the notification, but let’s be honest, there was no notification. I’ve been holding out hope for something that’s never going to happen.
The guy clearly isn’t interested, or maybe he hasn’t checked his Tinder account. Who knows. Maybe he accidentally went and dropped his phone down a storm drain, and in this cold Denver weather, it’s stuck in a block of ice and he’s just waiting for it to thaw before he can finally respond. Yeah, that’s definitely it. Let’s go with that.
Trying to maintain some level of professionalism, I put my phone away and grab a stack of paperwork to get a head start on patient reports. I’m halfway through when Sue, my supervisor, sticks her head around the corner and gives me a tight smile. “Oh, here you are,” she says.
Glancing up, I meet her stare. “Do you need something?” I question. “I’m free for the time being.”
“Oh, it’s nothing important,” she says. “Just checking if you wanted to go and have your break while we’re quiet?”
“Oh, sure,” I say, putting the paperwork into a neat pile and getting to my feet. I make my way out from around the reception desk as Sue scurries away, and just as my stomach starts to grumble with the promise of food, a commotion sounds at the door. “Perhaps not,” I grumble before hurrying to investigate what the hell is going on.
A man barges through the ER doors with a child limp in his arms. “HELP,” he roars, the agony in his tone almost bringing me to my knees. “She can’t breathe.”
Fuck.
Instincts and training have me springing into action, and I race toward the man, immediately scooping her out of his arms and onto a gurney. “What’s wrong with her?” I question as my skilled gaze starts assessing, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
I hear shallow breaths, and my first thought is choking. There’s no sign of trauma, so I rule out a crushed windpipe and prepare to remove the blockage, my brain going a million miles an hour as I come up with other likely scenarios.
“Severe asthma,” the man rushes out, putting my mind at ease and giving me the information to be able to treat his little girl. “She’s already had a few doses of her Ventolin tonight.”