AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The cat relocates so she’s right next to my face, so I scoot closer to Lyra, taking the role of big spoon and splaying my fingers across her soft belly. My mouth is right by her ear as I whisper, “Next year, we can go to my place. I have Wii bowling. No socks required.”
Lyra squirms under my touch, rubbing her butt along my front in ways that make me forget all about the fireworks outside. She rolls in my arms so she’s facing me again, a wicked gleam in her eye. “It’s a date.”
* * *
Ray and Lyra will get a longer love story in 2023, but if you want to see more of them in the meantime:
Ray first appears in Foundation: A Grouchy Geek Romance
Lyra shows up in Fireball: An Enemies to Lovers Romance
CH-CH-CH-CH-CHANGES
KAREN GREY
ABOUT KAREN GREY
KAREN GREY is a USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of vintage romantic comedies with smart heroines and hunky heroes. Drawing on a long career as a performer, her retro 80’s and 90’s romances often feature characters working on- and off-stage in TV, film and theater. To keep up with the latest news, join her VIP club at followkarengrey.com.
1
December 31,2005
“I resolve to get that girl to marry me.”
SAM
Moments after I dial down the propofol drip—the drug we nurse anesthetists jokingly call “milk of amnesia” for its color and the way it disassociates the brain from what is happening to the body—my patient’s eyes flutter open.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Stone?”
The forty-four-year-old mother of three, pulse ox an acceptable 97% and blood pressure 120/80, furrows her brow in confusion. “When are you going to put me to sleep?”
Ahh, the nurse anesthetist’s favorite question. One I’m always happy to contradict.
“All done already,” I assure her. “You did great. We’re just going to wheel you into recovery and let you rest there for a bit.”
She winces and places a hand on her belly. “And it, um… I’m not pregnant anymore?”
“You are not. Everything went like clockwork.”
After I ask her about her pain levels and determine that she’s not suffering any side effects from the anesthesia, I reassure her that a nurse will be available in the recovery room to go over aftercare and answer any questions.
She sighs in obvious relief. Number two on my list of favorite reactions. “Thank you. Thank you for being so kind.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
Or one of my jobs.
There’s nothing like helping a mother bring a baby into the world, and I make a hell of a lot more money doing an OB shift at the hospital. Some CRNAs who specialize in obstetrics won’t work elective termination of pregnancies, but I find it’s a nice balance to the roller coaster of delivering babies, where you’re present for what could be the best day in a person’s life or the very worst. An abortion can be lifesaving, or just a necessary solution, and I’m proud to be a vital part of the team providing this service, even if it’s only one day a week and I’m working for pennies.
My parents aren’t so keen on my choice to work for Planned Parenthood, but they’ve been unhappy with me since the moment I chose nursing school instead of med school, mortified that the son they sent to the best private schools would “waste his education” on so-called “women’s work.”
At least they don’t think I’m murdering babies, like the protesters outside.
My job is making people comfortable—both physically and, I hope, emotionally—so they can get the healthcare they need no matter their circumstances. I can’t exactly empathize since I don’t have a uterus myself, but I hope my care helps make up for the legions of men who’ve helped get my patients into this situation without sticking around to pick up the pieces.
A shift at this clinic usually runs like clockwork, but when I step out to meet my next patient, the office coordinator intercepts me. “No rush. We’ve had a cancellation.”
