Page 34 of Bite Your Tongue

“You’re gross,” she says, rolling her eyes and trying to pretend like she isn’t suddenly thinking about me stroking my dick. “Anyway, I’m sorry that I didn’t respond—even though, wow, obsessed much? Four messages, Pretty Boy?” She laughs.

“Oh, no big deal.” I sigh. “I only cried my eyes out, thinking you hated my postcard.” I tell her this as a joke, but let’s be real—I’ve been fucking distraught with her ignoring me.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.” She giggles. “The postcard was cute. I mean, do I think you share some characteristics with an obsessive Lifetime movie dude? Sure. But, hey, that’s okay.” She grins wider, showing me she’s kidding, before she suddenly inhales, and her expression grows serious.

She lays her head back on her pillow, holding the phone above her head. “Right after I sent that message, there was a bit of a … situation.” She sighs. “An older man had a stroke, walking into the post office. I gave his wife a ride to the hospital and then kind of … hung out there with her until he was stable.”

“Is he okay?”

She nods slightly. “Yeah, I mean, he’s conscious, but they have to run a lot more tests on him to see what damage the stroke caused.” She looks down. “His wife though … Ryder, it was so sad. She was a wreck. They’ve been married for sixty-three years. They have no children, just each other.”

She holds so much emotion in her eyes right now. And all for a man and a woman she didn’t know before today. She has the biggest heart I’ve ever known.

“I’m glad he’s okay, and I hope everything works out,” I tell her. “You know, Saylor Sawyer … the world’s pretty lucky to have you.”

She frowns. “I don’t know about that. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. Anyone would have done the same.”

“No, they wouldn’t have,” I say honestly. “Sure, maybe some would have. But they probably wouldn’t have spent their day off in the hospital with a stranger.” I smile. “You’re a good one, Brat.”

Her eyes grow glassy, and she seems almost frozen from my words before shaking it off. “Okay, enough ass-kissing, Pretty Boy. It won’t get you into my panties, you know.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Guess I’ll just have to keep taking those long showers then.”

I watch her mouth hang open.

“You’re a perv!” She scolds me. “No thinking about me in the shower, Ryder Cambridge.”

“Babe, I can whack off anywhere.” I shrug. “No skin off my back.”

Her eyes narrow as she fights a laugh. “Okay, I’m going to hang up now because I need to shower and go to bed. Good night, perv.”

“Night, Brat.” I wink.

After she gives me a peace sign and ends the call, I toss my phone on the nightstand and relax back in my bed, knowing now … I’ll be able to fall asleep.

And that might not be a good thing because that means she has a fuck ton of control over me.

Iwalk down the hospital hallway, taking in the sights of people bringing their loved ones Christmas gifts and special treats that the patients most likely shouldn’t even be eating, and still, I can’t help but smile. It’s Christmas Eve, and though there’s plenty of sadness happening at this very moment in this hospital, there’s also a lot of joy.

Grabbing my complimentary hospital water jug, which I love more than any one of my Stanleys, I take a sip and brush a few strands of hair from my face. I’m only here for another hour, but to be honest, I’m not in any hurry to leave. This season—my favorite season of all—just lightens the heavy stuff somehow. I don’t know if it’s the annoying Christmas music I’ve grown to love so much or the decorated artificial trees scattered throughout the hospital, but it brings me a sense of comfort in the most unlikely place.

Marcia steps out of a patient’s room and heads toward the nurses’ station in front of me. Spinning around, she looks nervous. “Saylor, are you sure you don’t mind working tomorrow? I feel really bad. It’s Christmas.”

Plopping my ass down in one of the computer chairs, I take my glasses from my face and put them on the front of my scrubs. Normally, I’d be wearing my contacts. But little ol’ me forgot to change the auto-delivery to my new address, so now I’ll be without my eyes for a few days.

It’s funny because, as a kid, I wore fake glasses because I loved them so much. Now I actually have to wear them, and I completely hate it.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind a bit,” I tell her genuinely. “You have kids and a husband.” I pause. “And a dog. I don’t even have a houseplant that needs me home.”

I turn toward the computer to log some things, but am surprised by arms wrapping around my shoulders as she leans over me.

“Thank you, Saylor. It truly means so much.” She sniffles. “I didn’t even have to ask you either. That’s the craziest part.” She squeezes me a little tighter. “I worked my baby’s first Christmas because I felt bad, saying no. This year, I won’t need to. And it’s all because of you.”

I may often enjoy being the center of attention when I walk into a room, but I absolutely loathe when someone showers me with kind words or compliments because I never know what to say in return without sounding like a douchebag.

“Honestly, it’s no big deal.” I crane my neck and smile at her. “You should be with your family on Christmas, and I have nothing going on. So, spending it here and making money? That’s a no-brainer.” I wink. “Besides, I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping this week, so hospital food for the win.”

“We’re very lucky to have you here now,” she says softly before releasing me. “Truly.”

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