Page 11 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
“Fucking, Sametra,” I murmured to myself. The woman had my mind completely absent. This was all heart, and a little bit of lust. I’d be honest.
My phone buzzed again. This time it was my Mama.
I smiled this time. I had news for my favorite lady.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Malik Jerome Holloway. You sound entirely too pleased with yourself for this time of night. What’s going on? How was work?”
I swirled the Hennessy, my mind drifting back to a woman with tired eyes and perfect lips who still managed to capture my attention completely. I wanted to know more than the basics—I wanted to know everything there was to know about Sametra Andrews. Her favorite scent, what made her laugh until her stomach hurt, the way she took her coffee, all the little details nobody else bothered to ask about. I wanted it all. I wanted her.
“The day was perfect, Ma,” I said, smirking. “Pretty sure I met my wife today.”
The silence on the other end stretched for exactly three seconds before Yolanda’s laughter came through the phone, warm and knowing. I didn’t find shit funny but I laughed with her because I know it sounded crazy but all of a sudden I didn’t give a damn about being ridiculous, I’d be that for her on any day that ended with ay.
“Boy, what are you talking about?”
“I’m serious. Well, half serious.” I found myself smiling, something I’d been doing all day since I laid eyes on Sametra. “I had a new case come in today. Car accident. Seventeen-year-old boy, fractured femur, dislocated shoulder. Gonna need months of PT.”
“That’s rough, baby. But what’s that got to do with meeting your wife?”
“She’s his mother.” I took a sip of my drink, already smiling. “Fine as hell, got an attitude, and loves her son. The kind of woman you bring home. Mark my words I’m bringing her home.”
I thought back to walking into her room and seeing her pretty ass sleeping peacefully. Completely unaware of the night she’d had. Completely unaware that her future husband was on night guard.
She was beautiful. The kind of beauty that didn’t try—it was. Sametra’s skin had a glow that didn’t fade, even under fluorescent lights. Her features were bold, sculpted like somebody worked meticulously over every detail, arched brows, high cheekbones, full lips that looked like they stayed ready to tell somebody about themselves. And would. The soft curls that framed her face were so fly and elegant. No one had come through my side of St. Ambrose and robbed me of my attention and common sense like that.
“All that from one night?”
“One night was all it took.” My voice was lighter than I intended, almost chipper, and it shocked me. I think it shocked my mama too. I had no business looking at that boy's mama the way I was—it was reckless as hell. But she made it too damn easy to forget protocol.
My favorite part of Sametra was her eyes they pulled you in before you even realized what was happening. Brown, soft, bright. Sametra was the full package, and her job was sexy as fuck, I couldn’t lie.
A nigga ain’t never had a firefighter. And now I couldn’t stop wondering what that might be like. All that strength, that command, that stamina, wrapped between soft and toned thighs. She had curves in all the right places. Calves that looked like they could wrap around you and not let go. Could suffocate a man, and he’d be thankful for it.
“Malik,” my mama yelled, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Nah,” I murmured. I tossed the rest of my liquor back because the spots I’d touch on Sametra Jonelle Andrews would ensure she never let another.
“Shit.”
“Huh?”
“My bad, Mama. I keep getting distracted. She’s a firefighter. Lieutenant. I don’t know. I feel like we have a connection. It’s been a while since I said that.”
“Oh, I see.”
I heard her settle into her recliner, the one I’d bought her last Christmas that she’d initially refused because it was “too much”.
“Ma, don’t do that.”
“Jerome, I’m just saying. Don’t you go mixing your professional obligations with your personal feelings. That woman needs a doctor for her boy, not another complication. And son, I love you, but you haven’t been in anything serious in years.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because the way you talking, you’re already picking wedding colors and rings over a woman you just met.” Her voice took on that stern tone that you hated to love. She’d used it to check me for thirty seven years. “Son, she don’t need you adding to her plate. Especially, for you to get bored with her like you do everything else.”
I was quiet for a moment because she wasn’t wrong. But she also didn’t understand. The way Sametra looked at me, fighting to hide her blushing, laughing at my corny jokes, knowing damn well they were corny. She was curious, defiant, and vulnerable all at once. Unsure if I was friend or foe. But the way she’d responded when I touched her shoulder, that little intake of breath she probably didn’t even realize she’d held, I caught that. I was definitely trying to be more than a friend, never a foe. Once you had a woman like Sametra, you held on to her.
