Page 18 of I Can't Even

I flushed at a few of them.

In the first one that I’d swiped as ‘no’ this morning, it was a thumbnail photo of a guy’s dick.

The next one was a dick, too.

And every fifth one from there.

“If you swipe down… there,” I said as I got to the guy’s name. “This is him.”

“FarmerJoe122,” he mused. “Did he say his name?”

I opened my mouth to answer, only to close it seconds later. “I assumed it was Benedikt Wells.” I admitted. “Is it not that?”

“Did he get yours?” he asked ignoring my question.

I nodded. “Mine’s in my profile name.”

“Yeah, I see that.” He paused. “Ellodiecandriveatractor?” He chuckled at my username.

That laughter sent tingles down to parts that hadn’t gotten tingles before.

“I can do more than just run a tractor,” I admitted. “I grew up on a farm. I know how to wrangle cows, shoe horses, lift hay bales for hours, and run a grain cart without my father yelling at me.”

He laughed at that, likely knowing it was an accomplishment. Dads were hard to impress. “I grew up holding a flashlight for my dad when he was working on a car. I can assume those are about the same feelings.”

“Probably,” I smiled. “Anyway, back to freak guy. I didn’t ever get his name, but I know he got mine, because he always addressed me as…” I reached over his impressively muscled forearm and scrolled up to a day that he’d messaged. “There. He always said, ‘Hello, my dearest Ellodie.’”

“Gross,” he mumbled. “Do you mind if I scroll through this?”

“Not at all,” I said. “But I have to go back to work because I’ve been off for the last forty-five minutes for lunch. Would you mind bringing it back to me when you’re done?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Do you have a nurses’ lounge I can hang out in for a while?”

I gestured to him to follow me, and he did.

Taking him into the break room, which I figure being a cop he already knew we had, I told him to pick a seat but pointed out my favorite. “If you sit there, you can lean back against the wall. It almost feels like you are reclined.”

His grin was small, but there. “Thanks, Calamity.”

I went back to work for what felt like forever before he finally came back to hand over my phone.

Unfortunately, I was hand deep in a woman’s chest at the time.

He watched me work, and I felt his eyes on me, but with a doctor yelling at me to hold pressure, and the woman staring at me like I was her lifeline, I couldn’t pull away. I did feel all warm and gooey inside, though. Like warm hot chocolate on the coldest day of the year.

It was a very long time later when I felt the hand slide around my hip. I also felt the drop of my phone into my pocket.

And an hour later, I was finally able to pull it out to see it.

On the phone there was a post-it note that read:

Thank you. I programmed my office number into your phone. If you can think of anything more helpful, or anything else you might want me to know, or even want to share a bite of pancake, give me a call.

P.S. Your mom texted. I texted her back because she sounded like she was going to have a coronary if you didn’t reply right then.

Quaid.

I was smiling over the note and thinking about how I got the sexy cop’s phone number, even if it was an office number, while I was waiting for the shuttle that would take me to the employee approved parking area.

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