Read Online More Than a Kiss by Saxon Bennett, Layce Gardner - Free Book Online Page A

waited for Amy.  The décor left a lot to be desired.  One gurney-type
rolling bed, one rolling stool, and a small desk holding some medical torture
instruments.  The desk was on wheels, too.  What was it with doctors and
rolling devices?
    There
were two doors.  One was the door that she had come in and the other door led
to another room identical to this one.  Jordan knew because she had peeked
earlier.
    She
stopped pacing long enough to study the poster that was taped to the wall.  It
depicted a cartoon boy holding his hands over a sink.  There were bugs and
worms crawling all over his hands.  Cartoon germs.  She moved to the next
poster.  It was a drawing of the male anatomy complete with Latin-esque
labels.  Jordan leaned in close and studied the side view of the phallus.  It
was a sliced open view so you could see what the inside of the penis looked
like.  It looked all spongy.  She reached out and touched it with one finger. 
It just felt like a poster.
    She
wiped her un-bandaged hand on the side of her shorts.  Her palm was sweaty.  It
was a cold sweat.  Nerves.  She didn't like to admit it, but Amy made her
nervous.  Not like she was scared of her, but like she was scared of her.  That didn't make sense unless you were Jordan.  And it made perfect sense
to her.  She was scared of Amy, all right.  Not scared of the physical person
of Amy.  More like scared of how Amy made her feel.
    The
small room was giving her an acute case of claustrophobia.  The walls were
closing in, making her brain play tricks on itself.  She swore the cartoon boy
on the “Always wash your hands!” poster was talking to her. Which was markedly
better than the penis one talking to her. The cartoon boy told her she should
wash her hands.  Sweaty hands were germy hands and sing the Happy Birthday song
because that was the specified length for optimum germ removal.  She didn’t
know whether she should believe him or not but she had an instant driving
desire to rid her hands of sweat and potentially hazardous germs.
    She
went to the sink, and turned on the hot water.  She didn't want to shake hands
with Amy and have a clammy, sweaty palm.  That would be the death knell of any
budding relationship.  Almost as bad as kissing and slobbering on her face. 
She held her hand under the stream of water and sang the Happy Birthday song
all the way through just like the cartoon boy in the poster told her to do.
    When
she turned off the water, she heard a voice.  No, two voices.  They were coming
from the room next door.  One voice sounded like Amy’s.  Jordan pressed her ear
to the door that led to the room next door, closed her eyes and listened. 
There was a man’s voice, and Amy’s voice.
    Here
is what she heard the voices say:
    “No! 
Don’t!”  Amy said.
    “Why
not?  You want it.  You know you do,” a man said.
    “I
do not want it.  Especially while I’m working.”
    “C’mon,
this is the perfect place.  That way if it makes you sick you’re already in a
hospital.”
    “I
don’t have time,” Amy said.  “I have an appointment any minute now.”
    “I’ll
be quick.  Here, open your mouth.”
    “No!”
Amy screeched.  “Put that back where it belongs.  I don’t want to even look at
it.”
    “Aw.
C’mon.  Just put a little bit in your mouth.”
    Amy
screamed.  Metal clanged against metal and fell to the floor.  There was a
giant thud .
    Jordan
immediately morphed into white knight mode.  She bashed open the door and
crashed into the room, hands held high in a karate posture.  She hai-yai’ed and did the whooping crane stance that The Karate Kid made famous.
    The
frozen tableau she saw before her was this:  Amy was in a corner.  Jeremy was
holding a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.  He held the spoon, which
had some type of green sludge in it, only an inch from Amy’s lips.  A bedpan
was on the floor, still spinning from its fall.
    “Unhand
her,” Jordan said