Page 2 of Can't Help Growling in Love
“Oh, man, thedrama,” Peter sighs, his chin propped up on his hand.
I wave a hand at him to shush him and focus back on the raspy, low voice of Asher Summers, the host of the late-night radio show on the local Monster Tunes station. He’s been reading Jane Austen’sSense and Sensibilityon air for several weeks now, doing a chapter a night, and I lovelistening to him so much.
So do all the other night nurses at the Harmony Glen Hospital’s ER. It’s a slow night, and apart from a drunken eighteen-year-old who came in, his arm broken because he and his friends thought drinking and skateboarding was a fantasticidea, we’ve had very little work. It’s that time just before Halloween that we all enjoy because the holiday madness hasn’t started yet. The moon is waxing but not close to full yet, which means fewer accidents, and I’d be trying to catch some sleep if it wasn’t for our favorite radio host crooning at us over the portable speaker at the nurses’ station.
“Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease.”
“This is against regulations, you do understand,” Tia remarks, her pearly-white fangs glimmering, but she makes no move to turn down the volume. The gorgeous vampire is just as hooked on the program as I am, even though she’d never admit it.
“I’ve been here for nine hours,” I murmur. “Give me this tiny bit of joy.”
Asher Summers wraps up the chapter and pauses for a moment to give everyone a chance to digest what we’ve just witnessed. This story isn’t my favorite of Austen’s, but I voted for it in the Monster Tunes online poll because the other option was Melville’sMoby Dick, and I didn’t want to spend weeks listening to a story about a man’s whale obsession.
The truth is, I still would have listened to it. I’d listen to Asher Summers if he was reading out shopping lists. Washing machine instruction manuals. Law textbooks.
I may have developed a slight obsession with the man’s voice—but then so have my colleagues, so I didn’t feel too bad about it most days.
“Well, dear listener, this is it for tonight’s chapter ofSense and Sensibility. I’ll be back tomorrow night at one a.m. for more, but in the meantime, I have a great selection of tunes for you, followed by the Nightly News in an hour. Followus @monstertunesradio and let us know about your favorite quote from this month’s reading selection!”
The commercial break starts, and the tension around the nurses’ station deflates. Tia pushes away from the desk on her rolling chair and goes back to typing up a report, Peter disappears around the corner toward the break room, no doubt to catch a nap, and I glance over at the kid waiting to sober up with his arm immobilized on his front.
Two of his skateboarding buddies are there with him, all three of them looking pale and terrified. He’s not a minor, but he shouldn’t have been drinking, so this will be a life lesson for him. I asked him if there was someone we should call for him, and he blurted out his mom’s number, which was kind of sweet. His bros didn’t even laugh at him, nor did they abandon him like I thought they might.
I pour two paper cups of coffee in the break room and carry it over to the boys. “Here, you two can have some of this.” I point at the patient. “None for you, though. Your X-ray will be back soon, and the doctor will decide if you need surgery.”
It’s a nasty fracture, I can already tell, but the kid was lucky because he was wearing a helmet and didn’t crack his head open. This night could have ended much worse for him, and I think both he and his buddies know it.
I return to the nurses’ station and start on my paperwork. The kid’s parents rush into the ER, but luckily for me, Dr. Mishra arrives to intercept them and explains what happened and the plan for the surgery, which will proceed once the boy’s stomach is sufficiently empty and he sobers up.
I won’t be here to assist with the procedure, though. My shift ends in a couple of hours, and I’ll go home to grab some much-needed rest.
Or…to listen to an audiobook, maybe.
I bite my lip as heat surges into my face. I glance around, hoping no one is witnessing my visceral reaction to a merememoryof the werewolf romance I was listening to last night. Ever since the Great Revelation, monster romance and erotica have become more and more popular, and I’ve been listening to several of my favorite authors for years. I’m on a holiday romance kick right now, gobbling up anything with snow and twinkle lights, and the narrator of this particular book is excellent.
Damon Holt. A pseudonym, I’m almost certain, but his bio on the audiobook retailer site says he’s a werewolf, like the hero, and I think he’s perfect for the job. His voice is low and raspy, and every time he voices the romance hero’s filthy inner monologue, Imelt.
I know the narrator and the character aren’t the same, but when the fantasy kicks in, it’s easy to imagine him growling in my ear.
There’s something I haven’t told anyone at the hospital, though. The voice that has my panties getting damp wherever I am—at the gym, power walking on a treadmill, or at home, folding laundry on my couch—is strangely familiar. I wasn’t sure at first because his accent is slightly different, and he growls a lot more in the audiobook, but I’m ninety-seven percent certain now.
Damon Holt is Asher Summers, our favorite radio host.
Chapter
Three
ASHER
I return from the bathroom and plop the headphones back on my head. The decade-old rolling chair creaks beneath my ass, and I cringe. This is the kind of shit that has me re-recording clips of audiobooks whenever I discover these ambient sounds in the audio files. I bounce on the chair, but it doesn’t creak again. Damn thing only does that while I’m on air.
Right now, I’m in the zone. I just recorded an hour of my latest project, the second book in a werewolf Mafia romance series that the publisher I work with begged me to take on.
“You’re perfect for the job,” the editor gushed. “And the author requested you, specifically. Even after I told her your rate went up by ten percent.”
It’ll be a tight fit for my schedule, but I took the job to build up my portfolio. Now that Stella has announced that she’s selling the station, I’ll have to replace my radio host income with more narration jobs.
Natalie, one of the four hosts working part-time at Monster Tunes, waves at me through the glass front of the recording room and gives me two thumbs-up. That means she cued upanother hour’s worth of music, as well as a commercial break, that will roll out on the air while I finish recording this chapter.
