Page 41 of Full Moon Frenzy

But she DID say she wanted to be closer to her family, so not all bad

Then they talked shit about her replacement. They were totally done with you

It pains me to say it, but Gray is right. Who cares?

Anyway, I think it’s all blowing over

Now he was back at work, having barely rested, having barely done anything other than think of her and the moment she’d be climbing into his rig . . . and now she was here.

Do you want her in the back? Or here, right under your nose, distracting you until you accidentally drive this box off a cliff?

“Oleg? Your call.”

The troll chuckled from the bench in the patient bay. “Yeah, no. I’m good.”

Trapp breathed out slowly, attempting to force his pulse to slow. He couldn’t be antagonistic with her. Especially not when everything that happened inside the box was recorded. Not when he was trapped so close to her for so long, her smell invading his senses. And particularly not when he already felt an uncomfortable pressure thickening against his thigh. If he picked a fight with her now, here, in such close confines, this close to the moon, his cock would be in control. He would blow a hot, sticky load in his pants and be trapped with it, cooling against his skin as she inevitably noticed the dark stain against the blue fabric, probably smug in the knowledge of what her nearness had done. It’s going to be a long fucking shift.

“Alright then. Mornings are usually busy. Buckle up, Doc.”

***

“Is there going to be an actual patient at any point?” she asked at length, annoyance coloring her voice. She wasn’t sitting as stiffly anymore, although her hand still rested over the trauma pack like it was a comfort stuffie she was afraid to let go of.

Trapp gave her another sidelong look, his mouth wanting to twitch, forcing his face to remain impassive. It had been several hours since their mutual prison sentence had begun, several hours of bullshit calls, which, she was learning, were the vast majority of the calls made to emergency services.

“We don’t actually wish for that,” he said shortly, just before the next tone came through.

Medical required, to an address that had him rolling his eyes with its familiarity.

“This guy, again,” Oleg huffed from the back as Trapp relayed his copy to dispatch. “What is this, the third time this month?”

“Frequent flyer,” Trapp said shortly, addressing her furrowed brow. “There’s more than a few of them.”

She straightened in her seat, spine lengthening, her dark brows remaining together. Trapp recognized the look on her face. She was about to correct him, correct him with the confidence of someone who had already studied the test material front to back, entirely certain she was right. That was another reason he had pursued her in school. When she thought she was right, which was always, her confidence was unshakable. There was nothing that could make her falter from her course, with a dogged steadfastness that made sense for a coyote, and there were few things in the world more attractive.

“We shouldn’t be forming preconceived notions about our patients before arrival. How can you give the same quality of care if you’re already disparaging them for calling?”

Trapp chuckled, shaking his head, but said nothing.

From the back, Oleg snorted. “You’ll see, Doc.”

The house was in the flex developments. The patient was standing at his front door, as they knew he would be, as he was every single time he called EMS, several times a month, always claiming some grievous injury.

“Five dollars he stubbed his toe this time,” Trapp muttered, leaning over his shoulder to the back of the ambulance where Oleg was already climbing down. “You got this one. Shout if he’s actually hurt.”

From the passenger seat, Adriana glowered, shaking her head in disgust before shoving open the heavy door, sliding from the rig determinedly, hand curled around her trauma pack. He snorted. Fine. Have fun playing doctor.

Only a minute or two passed before he heard raised voices, his head snapping up. Seriously? Trapp stepped from the ambulance to find the familiar mothman on his porch clutching his elbow with one hand and jabbing a long finger in Adriana and Oleg’s direction with the other.

“I want her off my property immediately! She’s the one who told me there was nothing wrong with me! I’m probably going to lose my arm now!” The moth was gesticulating wildly with the same arm he would allegedly be losing, momentarily forgetting to hold it. “Gone! I want her gone!”

“You bumped your funny bone!” Her voice was incredulous and indignant. “There was no clinical diagnosis for—”

“Back in the rig, Doctor,” Trapp interrupted, keeping his voice stern, swallowing his laughter. “Oleg, why don’t you finish up with the patient?”

She was fuming by the time he climbed back into the driver’s seat. “There was nothing wrong with his arm! And if there is now, it’s a completely new injury that he obtained after—”

“There’s nothing wrong with his arm now. Just like there was nothing wrong with his hip last month, or his eye the month before that,” Trapp cut in. “But we can’t deny him care. If we were to stop coming out every time he bumps his elbow on the door and thinks he’s dying, we’d be liable when eventually something is wrong. Like I said — a frequent flyer. I know this might be hard for you to believe, Adi, but patient care actually is my priority.”