Page 21 of Night Shift

My mind, generally unplagued by worries over women, had done nothing but hassle the hell out of me over Sam.

I’d been dreaming about her. That was the first significant change I’d noticed after meeting Sam. I never dreamed…hadn’t since I was fifteen. Sam had been in every single one, and these dreams had been…unusual. Unusual in the sense that I was the one who gave up control. No matter the scene, no matter the situation. Control was always…handed…over.

I pulled up to Sam’s apartment, ready for our little getaway. A few minutes earlier, I’d messaged her, in hopes—or more likely expecting—that she’d be ready and waiting outside. To my irritation, she was nowhere in sight. That would be a matter for later discussion.

With a sigh, I texted her again to let her know I was out front and waiting. While my car idled in the parking lot, my gaze was drawn to the door of her apartment on the second floor, reminding me of what a fucking dump she lived in. Garbage littered the sidewalk, and a group of sorry-looking individuals, likely homeless, loitered right outside of the entrance to her apartment. It dawned on me just how desperate her situation in Aberdeen must have been for her to consider this place a refuge. And given what I knew of her father, I shuddered to think of the environment she’d escaped from. It was a good thing she’d gotten out.

My phone buzzed with her response.

On my way down.

My eyes remained fixed on the group of men that stood outside of her apartment. The protective side of me kicked in, so I decided to meet her at the entrance.

Slamming the car door shut, I shoved my keys and phone in my pocket. My long strides ate up the distance to the apartment entryway in seconds. I took the stairs two at a time, swiftly reaching her door.

“Got any spare change, fancy pants?” murmured a man who was leaning against the wall across from Sam’s door.

I turned to him, my irritation flaring. “Fancy pants?” I snarled. “What if I did? What would you do with it?” I leaned toward him in a silent threat. “What if I had a bill of every single denomination, and your answer determined which one you received…if I gave you anything at all?”

The man seemed to ponder my challenge.

“For starters,” he said with a crude frankness, “I wouldn’t have to suck my friend’s dick for my next meal.”

His response left me stunned.

“You know what amazes me?” I asked in all sincerity.

“What’s that?” The man coughed, hawking up phlegm and spitting it on the ground in front of me. From the sound of it, I would bet he had a bacterial infection in his lungs.

“You’re out here shivering in the cold, and I can only assume that you’re homeless, probably hungry, yet you’ve got a sense of humor.” Despite the circumstances, I was genuinely intrigued.

Through a grin marred by several missing teeth, he shot back, “Who said I was kidding? Some people suck dick for drugs…others, well, for companionship and nourishment.”

I almost threw up in my mouth. Why couldn’t I get away from this shit? At a nonprofit hospital like St. John’s, we were required to provide free or discounted care to indigent patients, so I saw lots of people similar to this guy in the ED. It never ceased to surprise me, the stories they told or the things they said.

Just as I was about to hand the man some money, Sam walked out of her apartment. “Do not encourage him!”

“Saaaaaaam…how are ya?!” the man said, greeting her with too much familiarity for my taste.

“Alex…what did I tell you about hassling everybody that walks by?” Sam said sternly.

Pointing an accusing finger at the man, wallet still in hand, I turned to Sam. “You know this guy?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed softly, treating me like a naive child she had to tolerate, which, admittedly, caused a twinge in my groin. “He’s my neighbor. He hangs outside with his friends here and pretends he’s homeless,” she explained.

I faced Alex, tightening my grip on my wallet. “You almost had me fooled,” I admitted grudgingly.

“I mean…you can still give me money if you want. I did make you laugh.”

I shook my head but couldn’t stop myself from smirking at his audacity. “I praised you for maintaining a sense of humor in what I assumed were dire circumstances. Clearly, my assessment was incorrect.”

“Do you always talk like that?” he asked. “You sound like a robot.”

I scoffed at him. “Yeah…you’re definitely not getting any money from me.”

“Okay, enough of this,” Sam said, sounding almost bored with the exchange. “Alex, always nice to see you. Stop harassing people. Atti, are you ready?”

“Atti?” Alex said with a snicker.

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