Page 29 of Making Choices

The pager clipped to his belt goes off. Jack screws his eyes shut and drags in a deep breath. I wait for him to come at me again, but he doesn’t. When he lifts his eyelids, all signs of animosity are gone, and in its place is pure professionalism. He’s calm. Collected. Almost zen as a monk when he regards me.

Dude’s a fucking sociopath.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he announces, calm as calm can be, while I continue holding a fistful of his hair. “I have a patient to attend to. We’ll have to pick up this conversation later.”

“You’re a fuckin’ lunatic.”

Shaking himself free of my grip, he turns to the door and, benign smile on his face, quips over his shoulder, “I’m a well-connected lunatic… something you’d do well to remember.”

I don’t bother giving him a response since I employ a strict “don’t engage with crazy fucks” policy. Instead, I make a mental note to ask Cub to check out the doctor. I want to know everything there is to know about Dr. Jack Whatever-the-fuck-his-last-name-is by the time the sun rises in the morning. In addition to that, I decide to fulfil my end of the bargain I struck with Bebe as soon as fucking possible.

Poor Jack is going to be a one-armed bandit within hours if I can get him by himself.

I can only hope he wanks with his right hand.

It’ll serve the motherfucker right.

After I’ve tapped out a text to Cub with my instructions, I take one look at Fret and decide that I’m not in the headspace to spend another night in this room. Unfortunately, I’m even less enthused by the notion of heading back to the compound. Cherub awaits. Temptation personified. Probably pissed off at me.

I can’t face her now.

Or ever.

Another message is sent in record time, this one to Tank so he knows to head up to Fret’s ward to take over from me before the best idea I’ve had all day hits me. I wait for my brother’s confirmation that he’s on the fifth floor before opening a new text.

SLASH: Hey, doll. I have an itch and I need a doc to look at it. Think you can help me out?

As far as booty call requests go, it’s pretty blatant. All I can do now it’s sent is pray like fuck that I didn’t misread her wrong when we bumped into each other.

My prayer is answered when her reply comes through.

BEBE: You’re pretty damn sure of yourself.

BEBE: I like it.

BEBE: Meet me in room thirteen.

My feet are in motion before my head has caught up. I barely have time to think through the repercussions since she’s already opening the door for me. I enter the room. It’s deserted. Dark and a little too cold. The bed is stripped bare and the blind on the window the nurses use to observe their patient has been drawn.

“Were you waitin’ for me?” I ask.

Bebe nods. “I saw Jack enter Everett’s room. Decided to make myself scarce. Your text was timely. I’m on break for the next half hour… barring any emergencies, of course.”

When I run my gaze over her, a sense of wrongness settles in my chest. Her hair isn’t right. Curly not straight. Red instead of blonde. She’s petite rather than willowy. Her handful-sized tits, perky and proud, strain against the top of her scrubs, yet my hands ache to cup a different set.

My dick is non-responsive.

Nothing but my heart is reacting to the offer in Bebe’s eyes, and it’s screaming at me to leave before I make a huge mistake.

It’s ridiculous.

Cherub fucks Venom whenever she pleases.

Like it’s her right… since it is.

So why do I feel like I’d be betraying her if I screwed Bebe?

“How do you want to do this?” Bebe’s voice is sultry. She flips her hair over her shoulder and crooks a finger at me. “I think I’d like to see you on your knees, big boy.” With a smirk, she hops up on the bed and spreads her legs. Pointing to the floor directly in front of her, Bebe adds. “Right here.”

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