He shot me an amused look. “I didn’t say you weren’t. You can be a bad bitch and a good girl.”
Good girl. The first time he said it, I could forgive it. The second time? He was like a cat playing with his food. It was just unfair the way those two words made my heart flip and my cunt clench.
I couldn’t stop staring at him.
It wasn’t that he was blindingly, drop-dead handsome. Actually, he was the opposite. Not ugly, but just…average. I clocked him at late forties with graying hair along his head and jaw and thick shoulders and muscled arms above a trim but soft waist. He wore a dark uniform and worn, beat-up sneakers. His only real defining feature was a purple birthmark that curved along his jaw in a crescent moon shape. Other men might try to hide the mark under with a thick beard, but he didn’t seem so afflicted. There was something incredibly attractive about that level of confidence.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Alex. Alexander Casper.”
“Alexander. Greek?”
He shook his head. “English-Irish, mostly.”
I sighed, disappointed. “That’s too bad. My dad wants me to marry a Greek man.”
He chuckled lightly. “We’re married now, huh?”
“We will be. It’s fate.”
“I see.” He pulled out a clipboard and started to make notes. Probably something along the lines ofcrazy woman, definitely concussed.
That, or he was just avoiding eye contact. Did I make my doctor shy?
“You don’t believe me?” I said. “Look.”
I arched my back so I could pull the hem of my pants down just an inch. I revealed the tattoo on my hip; a small, dark inkillustration in the shape of a waxing moon. I watched his gaze fall to the bare patch of skin and stay there.
“See? We match.” I touched two fingers to my jaw, motioning to his moon-shaped birthmark. “Moon boy and moon girl.”
“Hmm,” was all he said. He had this lovely, pronounced Adams’ apple and it bobbed when he swallowed. My eyelids started to feel heavy. I let them fall closed, but then his fingers laced in mine. “Hey. Moon girl.” He squeezed my hand. “Eyes on me.”
That voice. Something about the deep and command of it struck a chord within me. My body wanted to do whatever that voice said. I forced my sleepy eyes open. “I was just resting them.”
He smiled. It was the sweet smile of a man who knew I was lying, but he was going to let me get away with it anyway. “Tell me about your show.”
“It’s a modern retelling of a Greek myth.”
“I love mythology. Give me some lines.”
“You want to hear it?”
“Yeah. I really do.”
So I ran lines all the way to the hospital. He didn’t let go of my hand, not once, and I decided we fit perfectly like this.
The ambulance slowed to a stop. He squeezed my hand and released it. “Alright, Ruby. We’re here.”
I frowned. “Already?‘I have not art to reckon my groans,’good sir.”
He finished the quote:“‘Oh, dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers.’”
Hold on. Did my paramedic know Shakespeare? By heart?
What else did he know?
He opened the back door and hopped out of the ambulance. He winced when his feet hit the ground. I felt the bed pull forward and, slowly, I was lowered to ground level. Together,Casper and the EMT wheeled me over to the hospital bay. Another crew of doctors came to get me, one of them looking me over. “What’ve we got here?”
