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Authors: Nicole Christie
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bed.”
“Bed already?” He raises an eyebrow and checks the time on the microwave. “It’s nine o’ clock on a Friday night.”
“Yeah, well, I work tomorrow,” I explain. When I notice his gaze drop down, I suddenly remember I’m not wearing a bra. I cross my arms over my chest as casually as possible, and clear my throat self-consciously.
I love that half-smile of his. It slowly lifts a corner of his mouth up. “Where do you work?”
I tell him about my weekend job at Sunset Park, and he listens attentively. I even find myself going on about Helize, my favorite resident.
"She used to be an accountant for some big Hollywood studio, and she's traveled all over the world. She's g ot some great stories—y ou should hear the one where she spent the week in a Mexican prison."
"Yeah? Sounds interesting. I’d love to hear about it ," he says, his dark eyes shining with interest.
"I'm not sure you want to. It involves a wooden puppet, body cavity searches, and a--um-- butt load of cocaine."
"You're right, I think I'll pass," he says with a laugh. "Besides, I think I heard versions of this story one time too many."
I s mile at him. I can't help it—h e's just so, so cute!
Suddenly, I can't think of anything to say. I stand there with my arms crossed, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I hope he doesn't think I have to pee.
After a minute of total silence, we speak at the same time.
"I guess I'd better— "
"Maybe one day you— "
We both start laughing. "What were you going to say?" I ask him shyly.
But he just shakes his head. " Nothing important. You'd better get some rest, huh? Goodnight, Violet."
I watch as he stretches slowly, the hem of his shirt lifting up slightly to reveal his flat stomach. My mouth goes dry. All I can manage is a stiff nod before he goes to his room.
I suck! When he's gone, I let my head fall onto the counter with a thud.
Ow. I'm pretty sure I just gave myself a concussion.
Oh, Violet, you are a prize.
******
Chapter 9
The next morning, I wake up feeling hung over. N ot that I know what that feels like, since I don't drink. Or smoke, or do drugs. I'm a good little virgin, all right.
I wish I could take a quick shower to wake up, but Zane's home, so there's no way I'm going in his room.
I settle for splashing my face with cold water. I move like a zombie as I dress in my blue work scrubs and win d my long hair into a tight bun. On the way out, I grab a sports drink from the fridge, hoping it will give me some much needed energy .
It's still dark out, which makes me feel vaguely depressed that I'm not lying snug in my bed. Yawning, I climb into the car and start the fif teen minute drive to work .
Sunset Park is a grand two story white clapboard building, surrounded by trees and colorful flowers. As far as facilities go, you could do worse. At least they make an effort to make it a cheerful and classy environment.
I park in the back, in the employee section. I'm happy to go th rough those glass doors again—I just hope not too much has changed since I was last here.
I run into Liz while I'm clocking in. She greets me with a hug, and immediately starts filling me in. Both the Freemans have passed, wi thin a week of each other. That is sad, but not surprising —and I’m glad they went around the same time . I learn Ginnie had a stroke, which I'm shocked to hear. Ginni e was in better shape than me—s he went swimming at the Y every day.
"We got two new people dow nstairs, but they're pretty self -sufficient," Liz is saying. "Oh, and Helize was asking yesterday when is her 'flower' coming back."
" Aww ," I say. "How is she?"
"The same," she replies, pulling her dark hair back into a ponytail. "But Irma broke her right hip a month ago, so now she's a full assist."
"Poor Irma."
We head over to the office for a meeting. Everyone there welcomes me back with
“Bed already?” He raises an eyebrow and checks the time on the microwave. “It’s nine o’ clock on a Friday night.”
“Yeah, well, I work tomorrow,” I explain. When I notice his gaze drop down, I suddenly remember I’m not wearing a bra. I cross my arms over my chest as casually as possible, and clear my throat self-consciously.
I love that half-smile of his. It slowly lifts a corner of his mouth up. “Where do you work?”
I tell him about my weekend job at Sunset Park, and he listens attentively. I even find myself going on about Helize, my favorite resident.
"She used to be an accountant for some big Hollywood studio, and she's traveled all over the world. She's g ot some great stories—y ou should hear the one where she spent the week in a Mexican prison."
"Yeah? Sounds interesting. I’d love to hear about it ," he says, his dark eyes shining with interest.
"I'm not sure you want to. It involves a wooden puppet, body cavity searches, and a--um-- butt load of cocaine."
"You're right, I think I'll pass," he says with a laugh. "Besides, I think I heard versions of this story one time too many."
I s mile at him. I can't help it—h e's just so, so cute!
Suddenly, I can't think of anything to say. I stand there with my arms crossed, shifting my weight from foot to foot. I hope he doesn't think I have to pee.
After a minute of total silence, we speak at the same time.
"I guess I'd better— "
"Maybe one day you— "
We both start laughing. "What were you going to say?" I ask him shyly.
But he just shakes his head. " Nothing important. You'd better get some rest, huh? Goodnight, Violet."
I watch as he stretches slowly, the hem of his shirt lifting up slightly to reveal his flat stomach. My mouth goes dry. All I can manage is a stiff nod before he goes to his room.
I suck! When he's gone, I let my head fall onto the counter with a thud.
Ow. I'm pretty sure I just gave myself a concussion.
Oh, Violet, you are a prize.
******
Chapter 9
The next morning, I wake up feeling hung over. N ot that I know what that feels like, since I don't drink. Or smoke, or do drugs. I'm a good little virgin, all right.
I wish I could take a quick shower to wake up, but Zane's home, so there's no way I'm going in his room.
I settle for splashing my face with cold water. I move like a zombie as I dress in my blue work scrubs and win d my long hair into a tight bun. On the way out, I grab a sports drink from the fridge, hoping it will give me some much needed energy .
It's still dark out, which makes me feel vaguely depressed that I'm not lying snug in my bed. Yawning, I climb into the car and start the fif teen minute drive to work .
Sunset Park is a grand two story white clapboard building, surrounded by trees and colorful flowers. As far as facilities go, you could do worse. At least they make an effort to make it a cheerful and classy environment.
I park in the back, in the employee section. I'm happy to go th rough those glass doors again—I just hope not too much has changed since I was last here.
I run into Liz while I'm clocking in. She greets me with a hug, and immediately starts filling me in. Both the Freemans have passed, wi thin a week of each other. That is sad, but not surprising —and I’m glad they went around the same time . I learn Ginnie had a stroke, which I'm shocked to hear. Ginni e was in better shape than me—s he went swimming at the Y every day.
"We got two new people dow nstairs, but they're pretty self -sufficient," Liz is saying. "Oh, and Helize was asking yesterday when is her 'flower' coming back."
" Aww ," I say. "How is she?"
"The same," she replies, pulling her dark hair back into a ponytail. "But Irma broke her right hip a month ago, so now she's a full assist."
"Poor Irma."
We head over to the office for a meeting. Everyone there welcomes me back with
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