Page 11 of Savage Saint

New couch. Smart fridge. Upgraded TV system and a PlayStation to unwind with.

Then, there’s the star of the room. Two shiny and impressive espresso machines and the kind of extras that would make the café down the street from the hospital whimper.

Flavored syrups. Toppings. Rock sugar for the bougie purist…

I chose the wrong career.

They have actual mugs, not just the to-go we use, and a decent selection of tea, too.

The snack selection is where I think we differ, and they whine when the late-night craving hits. From flavored plantain and cassava crisps to dulce de leche and coconut confections. Not to mention the imported section at the grocery store that feeds my addiction to Lay’s Limón and Taki potato chips.

That, and hazelnut everything.

Any chance I get, I stock my apartment and the nurses’ break room.

They envy that, while I’m giving the side eye to a small seating area tucked against the window with two leather reclinable couches and accompanying chairs. Our couch squeaks in on the left side if you drop too hard…

I love that damn couch. Had great naps on it when working back-to-back shifts and chose sleep over food to survive. And yet, these chairs are nice. The kind you melt into.

Maybe Katia can help me switch them out when no one is looking?

Decisions. Decisions.

Walking to the coffee machine, I press the button and listen as the grinder roars to life, chewing through the beans. The sharp little whir fills the room before I tamp the fresh grounds into the portafilter and lock it into place. It’s a satisfying click, but it’s the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filling the room after I press the start button that pulls a grin to my face. There’s nothing better than this scent after a long, slow night.

“Hello, beautiful,” I whisper, adding creamer and half-and-half to Katia’s cup before making one for myself. Same process, but instead of caramel, I go for the brown sugar syrup. Lids on, I wipe the counter and get rid of the evidence in the trash before taking that much-earned first sip.

Perfect. Heaven. If men were like coffee, I’d give in one day.

This is why they have the fancy setup. There’s just simply no going back after being spoiled—this is my gateway drug. On the counter a few feet from me, I find the cookies Cari, our head nurse, made for the crew.

Not just the doctors.

And yet, they always end up here.

Why? Because Dr. Personality of a Potato is a hoarder. His sweet tooth is the only thing personable about him.

He promises Cari to share but doesn’t. She knows this, and I’m sure she’ll sneak something in for us tomorrow, but…

It’s my day off. I want them now.

The glass pedestal with a glass dome lid is just sitting there. Calling me.

Without thinking twice, I lift the lid and take six of them, setting the cookies on a paper plate. They have those, too. For the treats to go with their fancy coffee.

I really should’ve stayed in school a few extra years.

Also, I can’t help myself and break off a piece of one and pop it into my mouth. Smile as I chew because this feels like I’m flipping Dr. Hoarder off. Stingy jerk.

Savoring the bite, I head for the door and make it halfway down the hall when a voice stops me. Male. Older. Haughty. “Stealing again, Genesis?”

My first instinct is to ignore him and make it back to the nurses’ station with my pilfered stash, but I’m an adult. We don’t run away. So I stop and turn slowly.

No greeting; I just stare.

Dr. Alvin Rodriguez is standing against the doorframe, not inside or out, just there. There’s a tablet in one hand and a file in the other, his expression mocking. Of course it is. He’s still wearing his white coat, sleeves slightly pushed up his forearms, dark thinning hair slightly mussed up.

In his fifties and single—and while I’d never say this to his face—the man is unattractive.