Only Trick (7 page)

He parks the motorcycle and removes my helmet.

I shake out my hair like one of those women in a Garnier haircare commercial. Sadly … I don’t think I hit the sexy mark. It’s tangled and knotted in my face. “Why are we here?” I paw at the hair stuck to my face like a dog with fleas.

He brushes a few stray strands that I miss then smiles. “I thought we could hang out awhile.”

I squint my eyes like he’s talking Chinese.

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the elevator. “Maybe I’ll be your first.”

My grip tightens as the elevator ascends. “My first?”

“Yes, your first friend.”

We step off the elevator and Trick turns on the lights.

“Why?”

He twists his mouth like he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. Maybe I need a friend too.”

Just my luck. My first official friend is a guy, but not just a guy … a
squirrel
, a gay squirrel. I’m not sure if he is a gift or a curse. “So what are you thinking? Battleship or Scrabble?”

Trick gives me the you-just-grew-two-more-heads look. “You’re serious?”

“No?” I cringe at my own awkwardness.
Okay, I’m a little serious.

He chuckles. “You cannot be that socially inept.”

Yes, I can and I am. I have proper social skills when it comes to dinner parties and medical conferences. I’ve dated several men since I graduated college, but the relationships have only been about sex. We didn’t “hang out” much aside from the bedroom and restaurants. Number of slumber parties I’ve attended: 0. Number of girls’ weekends I’ve been on: 0. If Trick doesn’t want a blowjob or a quick roll in the hay, then I’m in foreign territory.

“So what were
you
thinking?”

Trick sits down on the couch and rests his ankle on his knee. “Well, I only have to beat a subpar lay so …”

“Not this again! Steven is a surgeon and his mind is always on his work. It’s not that he doesn’t have
skills
.” I plop down on the couch next to him, leaving just enough room that I don’t get a whiff of his pheromones that seem to make me a bit rabid. If this friendship is going to work, I need to get past my physical craving for him.

“He just has ADD in bed?”

I snicker. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but maybe.”

Trick’s smile could melt the north pole; I don’t know why he’s so reserved with it. “So how’d you meet Subpar Steve?”

I pull off my boots and tuck my feet underneath me. “Our fathers introduced us at a political fundraiser last year. My father is running for his second term in the senate, and Steven’s dad is a wealthy son of a bitch that wants a shitload of favors. So they’re a match made in campaign corruption heaven.”

He chuckles. “Your dad must be proud of your glowing endorsement.”

“My father has never been proud of me for anything.”
Oh God!
Those are cringe-worthy words, the ones I’ve never let myself say aloud.

“Daddy issues? Might that explain why you settle for relationships that are
subpar
?”

“My daddy issues extend way beyond my love life. But yes, guys love that I have no expectations of them. We can mutually benefit from meaningless sex without fear that I’ll go all
Fatal Attraction
on them. And truthfully, I couldn’t care less. Men are cheating, lying pigs.” Trick frowns. “Present company excluded.” I try to smile past the foot in my mouth. “My first two years of college I went through a black, sort of goth phase.”

Trick rubs the back of his fingers across his bristly chin and raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t know why you wear guyliner when you work, but I like the way it reminds me of the two best and worst years of my life. Finding yourself in college is such a cliché, but that’s what I did … Unfortunately, I had to lose myself for two years first. I died my hair black, wore all black makeup and clothing, and experimented with sex, alcohol, and a few
recreational
drugs.” I laugh. “God, my father was so pissed. But what did he expect? I hadn’t had the best role models in my life, except for my nana, she’s amazing.”

“Where does your nana live?”

“Lincoln Park. Not too far from me. She’s the only blood relative I have left on my mom’s side, and she moved in with us after I was born.” My voice fades to just barely above a whisper. “My mom died giving birth to me, so Nana basically raised me.”

Trick gives me a sad smile that I return with a such-is-life shrug. The heavy air suffocates the moment leaving an awkward silence. “Mom died” is the biggest conversation killer.

“So … if you hadn’t taken pity on me and offered dinner and ‘hanging out,’ what would you be doing tonight?”

He wets his lips then rubs them together. “Drawing.”

“Drawing? Drawing what?”

“Whatever my current project happens to be.”

I purse my lips to the side. “Are we talking crayons, markers, chalk?”

“Pencil.”

“Really? Can I see?”

He looks at me with an unexpected frown on his face before diverting his eyes to his lap “No.”

I laugh then try to choke it back when I see his lips pull into a firm line. “Are you serious? You’re not going to let me see them?”

Trick shakes his head with absolution.

“But I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but let’s be honest, if this were a date would you have sex with me tonight?”

If you weren’t gay? Yes! Yeah, that’s so wrong of me.

“No. What’s your point?”

“My point is that some things are personal and require a certain amount of trust.”

I fidget with the frayed hem of my jeans. “So you don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust women.”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I sigh. “I guess I had that one coming. Do you want to talk about it?”

He looks up with tight brows. “Talk about why I don’t trust women?”

I nod.

“No, I don’t.”

My phone rings. We both look at my handbag. “Excuse me.” I dig through everything and find it buried at the bottom. Trick watches with unnerving intensity as I say a few okays and “be right there.”

“Emergency?” he asks as I drop my phone in my purse.

“Yes, a shooting with multiple victims. Sorry, I have to go. Besides, you won’t show me your artwork so we might as well call it a night.” I love the way he tips his chin to hide his grin. He stands and I wave him off. “I can grab a cab.”

“No, I’ll get you there faster.”

I raise an untrusting brow. “I think safer is better than faster.”

“Come,” he yells over his shoulder as I do the one-legged hop, trying to catch up while tugging on my boots.

*

Hair twist. Helmet.
Jacket. Ass grab.
Yes!

Thankfully no one can see the Cheshire cat grin on my face as Trick weaves through traffic to the hospital. The past forty-eight hours have been surreal. After witnessing so many motorcycle injuries and fatalities, I swore I’d never get on the back of one, yet here I am—enjoying every tummy-twisting minute. The idea of having a true friend had fallen off my vision board; now it’s back on, front and center. And capturing the attention of a guy like Trick … well, there are no words.

Wealth doesn’t always equate to popularity. Slipping out of a sleek limo says wealthy. I’ve done that more times than I care to remember since my father married Rachel. Easing my leg over the back of a motorcycle behind a guy that looks like trouble says popular.
At twenty-seven, is it too late to be popular?

I hand Trick my helmet and shrug off his jacket. “Thanks for dinner.” I hug myself, rubbing my arms. It’s the middle of summer. Why am I either freezing or burning up in his presence?

He nods, slipping his jacket on.

“We should hang out again.” In my head it’s a question; in my voice it’s a suggestion.

Another nod. “Come by sometime.”

“I will.” I start to walk away then turn. “Just so you know, I’m not a virgin. So sex on our second date is a good possibility. But since I’m missing the correct anatomy, I’ll settle for a private viewing of your sketches.” If he weren’t gay, I’d still be babbling like the first day we met. But he’s unobtainable, so I have nothing to lose by being myself with him. As much as being with Trick feels like a slow drip of adrenaline, he’s offered me something I need so much more than physical gratification—friendship.

He puts his bike into gear as my eyes focus on his lips. I wait for it … I think a little part of me even prays for it … there it is, the slight twitch of his lips. I read it that he’s pleased, which is perfect because so am I.

*

The switch flips.
I’d love to chomp my gum and twirl my hair, contemplating the endless possibilities of my relationship with Trick, but I can’t. Wasting not another second, I hustle to the ER, get changed, and do what I do best—piece together puzzles.

In spite of the nonstop, grueling hours of the clock ticking one heartbeat at a time, I never question why I’m here doing this. Most days I feel like this is my sole purpose in life—giving more than I take. Even with the nasty smells, which are actually my least favorite part of the job, I still love being here.

“You off?”

I turn to Steven zoned into his cell phone screen. “Just about,” I reply, signing my last chart and yawning.

“Breakfast?”

“No way. Bed.” I yawn again.

He slips his phone back in his pocket and smirks. “I like the sound of that.” He wiggles his brows.

Steven is a lukewarm bath. He has blond curly hair that he normally keeps trimmed short, but today I notice a few wayward curls rebelling around his ears. Blue eyes and dimples, he’s textbook cute. It’s the wow factor he’s missing. Only recently, since I’ve experienced wow, have I come to that conclusion.

“Let me clarify; I
need
sleep. It’s been twenty-four hours and I’m ready to drop.”

“Want me to get you a coffee?”

“I don’t drink coffee, Steven.” He’s known me for almost a year and I’m quite certain we’ve broached this subject before.

“Then black tea, green piss juice, or whatever the hell it is you drink.”

I brush past him to go change my clothes. “I don’t drink tea either, and I don’t want to stay awake so I’ll pass on the ‘green piss juice’ offer too. Bye, Steven.”

After freeing my tangled hair from its ponytail and changing out of my scrubs, I dig through my handbag for my key.

“Crap!” I didn’t drive.

“Something wrong?” Jade asks from around the corner.

“I forgot I didn’t drive in yesterday.”

“Bummer. You might have to resort to public transportation like the other ninety-nine percent of us.”

Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I pin Jade with an unrelenting glare.

Her eyes slip to her locker. “I’m kidding. Don’t look so serious.”

I turn and walk to the door, then stop just as I open it. “You do realize this ‘wealth’ you’re referring to belongs to my father’s wife and it’s securely protected by a mile-long prenup. Aside from the occasional trip I get dragged on or a few designer dresses, I don’t benefit from
her
money.”

Her locker door slams shut. “Darby I’m—”

“It’s fine … I’m used to being judged.”

Her weak voice rips through the brief silence. “Really … I’m sorry.”

Keeping my back to her, I nod once and leave.

*