Page 21 of Remy

“Why are they so disgusting?” Ivy cocks her hip against Allison’s desk.

“Because most are probably aspiring serial killers?” I hedge.

She nods. “Probably.”

We all fall quiet, sobering with matching sighs that seem to state how pathetic we consider our love lives.

It’s the varying scale of misery that makes my position so pitiful.

Ivy considers a dry spell anything over two weeks. Allison would be around five to ten.

If either of them knew my sex card is yet to have one hole punched they would throw a fit.

But it’s not like I’m clinging to my virginity.

I would’ve happily given it to the unholy deity from the dive bar. No holds barred. I was enthusiastically willing to be ruined.

If only I’d had the sense to ask for his number before he fled.

“Stop thinking about him,” Ivy mutters. “Those googly eyes of yours are pathetic.”

Allison chuckles. “She definitely gets a look about her when she thinks of him.”

“I was not thinking about him.” I turn my back and start across the room, attempting to hide the blatant lie.

But seriously, those dark eyes. The tailored suit. The playfully arrogant smirk…

I’m still exquisitely scorched from his attention.

“He couldn’t have been that good,” Allison grumbles.

“I agree.” Ivy raises her chin. “What could he have possibly done to get near that imprisoned heart of yours?”

I choke on thin air. “Who says I let him near my heart?” My dusty ovaries, on the other hand…

“Don’t go,” Ivy calls after me. “We need to talk about tonight.”

I pause before the entry to the hall. “So you’ve finished making fun of me?”

“Never.” She grins. “Do you need any help before we close up? Alexandra’s family shouldn’t be too much longer, then I’m done for the day.”

“No, I’m fine. But thanks.” I turn my focus to Allison. “If you can switch the after-hours number to my cell before you leave that would be great.”

She nods. “Sure thing.”

“Liv…” Ivy sighs. “Please let me be on-call tonight. You’re already swamped.”

“I can handle it.” More importantly, I want to show my father I’m not a monumental fuck-up after the Hugo fiasco. The least I can do is put in the extra effort to make this place run smoothly while we’re a man down. “But I really appreciate the offer.”

I return to my prep room.

Turn on my playlist.

Dive into work.

The next decedent on my list is Amisha, a young woman who had been heavily pregnant when she passed.

I wheel her from the cool room and unzip the body bag, my throat tightening when I see the tiny child nestled in her arms.

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