Page 250 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“God, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

I mean, it really wasn’t fine, but what was I going to say in this situation? Yeah, you should be sorry. You give awful oral, and while fucking me, you managed to toss me into your headboard that just so happens to be made out of glass crystals.

Which, why the fuck was that his headboard? I was lucky I didn’t lose an eye.

I stood up and walked into the bathroom to assess the damage for myself, and Barron didn’t follow me. I looked back just in time to watch him touch the bloody pillow with his hand, move his fingers closer to his face in horror, and faint dead away into the middle of his plush bed.

Jesus Christ.

I shook my head in disgust but stopped nearly immediately. Dizziness took root in the base of my skull and radiated outward, threatening to drop me like the fucker in the other room if I wasn’t careful. After a glance in the mirror, a noticeable and still-bleeding gash on my forehead swelling, I knew I needed stitches.

All I’d wanted was penis. And yet, for my trouble, I was getting a solo trip to the emergency room. No chance in hell I’m waking up Minnie Mouse in there to go with me.

Jesus. It might be time to consider the convent.

“Yo! Scott!” Justin, one of the day nurses, greeted me and I slapped him a high five.

It was the changing of the guards, the switch of the shift, and things in New York City were about to get motherfucking interesting.

Trust me, as a doctor of ten years, and the head of the Emergency Department at St. Luke’s Hospital for the last three and a half, I’d seen just about any injury you could conjure in your depraved mind—and then some.

From stabbings, shootings, and muggings to broken kneecaps from a trip on the crowded sidewalks to sex toys trapped deep within the female genitalia—medicine in an emergent capacity knew no boundaries.

Fortunately for my patients, I didn’t know many either. While work was the most important part of work—always—I didn’t think that meant I couldn’t have fun at the same time.

Most attending physicians would use their station as head of the department to get out of night shifts, but not me. The nights were when you met the most interesting characters, experienced the weirdest of cases, and I’d always been a night owl anyway. I did this shift as often as I could.

“Another day, another dollar,” I shouted back as Justin pushed open the door to the locker room.

He paused with a smirk. “Do they shove them in your G-string, Dr. Erotic?”

I laughed. Not only was I comfortable with the nickname my ever-growing reality show fame had brought me, I lived for it. Nine weeks of being on the air, and I felt like I was on top of the world. Some might call me outgoing—others might call me an attention whore. Either way, I didn’t mind living in the limelight.

“I guess it depends on how good of a job I do,” I teased before signing off with a wave and picking up my pace. I wasn’t necessarily late, but I had shit to do before my shift started.

Around the corner and into the thick of it, I dodged a bed in motion and high-fived the patient, an often-drunk man named Barney who showed up here when he got into more trouble than the actual big purple dinosaur. Believe me, this Barney didn’t spend his days sitting around a campfire singing nursery rhymes. The man made a career out of drunken shenanigans that resulted in injuries I had to fix.

“Suck dick, Dr. Shepard,” he called over his shoulder.

“Only if you pay me, Barn,” I struck back.

We really liked each other.

No, really, we do. He just has a unique way of showing it. As for me… Is your job this entertaining? I didn’t think so.

As soon as I rounded the corner, I made a beeline straight for the desk, teasingly shoving Sherry, a cute little nurse from Tennessee, out of the way on the computer, and logged in to my sign-in. As of now, 10:58 p.m., I was officially on the clock.

Now that the formalities of the facility were out of the way, it was time for my formalities. My routine, my comfort zone, my way to get ready for all of the gruesome things these overnight hours could throw at me.

The warm-up. With questionable vocals and dance moves better than most toddlers, I took to the open airwaves, using my diaphragm to project fully into the space.

“Oh, baby, when you talk like that,” I sang, calling the attention of several nurses around me. I turned up the volume on the computer behind the nurse’s station, and a slow Latin beat thumped an instantly familiar rhythm.

“My hips don’t lie,” I crooned along with Shakira after missing a few lines while I was busy climbing atop the desk chair.

Most of my coworkers smiled. They were used to my routine—I’d been doing it for years, changing out the song every week or so—a musical warm-up for the things to come on the night shift in St. Luke’s Emergency Department. Though, I had to admit, Shakira found her way into the rotation the most. There was something about her that kept me mildly obsessed. Probably all of the tongue control that comes with rolling Rs.