little surprised.
She put her purse down and turned the envelope over. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but that just meant it wasn’t doctor scrawl; there wasn’t all that much handwriting of other sorts that she saw these days. Texts and ringtones, those she could identify at twenty paces. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a card, an actual handwritten card.
There was a smell to it. Something pleasant, something earthy. Pineish. She found herself putting the card to her nose and inhaling deeply, luxuriating in the sheer thickness of the scent, and the way it cut right to the core of her, lighting her on fire in a way that few things ever did.
She’d sat down on the old couch that rested against one wall of the lounge, her legs curled up under her like a girl. She felt her clit, swollen and throbbing, and her mind flashed with memories of last night, memories of coming again and again, fantasizing about Julian leaning down over her, catching her nipples between his teeth and tugging—
Her sharp little gasp made her realize the reality around her. She closed her eyes and forced a ragged breath in and then out again. She was at work. This was no place to play her little games. Although the idea of being secreted away in a closet, clinging to shelves for balance while some faceless man took her from behind, toyed with her ass while he pounded away at her with his thick cock—
Focus, girl. Seriously .
She slid her finger under the flap of the envelope and opened it. There was a card inside, on crisp paper that hadn’t come from the hospital. She pulled it out. The handwriting was crisp, clean. No extra flourishes or fancy curlicues.
Roxanne,
I meant to stay until I could speak to you again, but I have reason to believe that I am being pursued. My wounds are healing well, but I’ve never faced such grievous injuries before. I wonder if I might be able to arrange to have you take a look? I would be happy to repay you with a fee, as well as dinner.
With kind thoughts,
Julian
She stared at the note for a long time, and at the phone number he’d listed at the bottom of the card. There was no way he’d gotten this paper inside the hospital, and he’d come into room 24 naked as a jaybird, so he must have—what, left the hospital, gone and gotten pen and paper to write his missive, and then brought it back? And he’d known which of the empty bank of lockers she would use by, what, smelling for her? The creep factor was incredibly high.
He wasn’t native to Sweetwater. She’d know him if he was. And his parents, and his grandparents, and probably his second cousins. Not knowing him didn’t add any ease to her feelings. But it did add a hint of excitement. Not healthy excitement, she was quite sure of that, but still. Excitement.
“What the hell,” she said out loud, and picked up the phone to call the number. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
His voice was deep and satiny. “Hello. Is this Julian?”
“Yes. Roxanne.” It wasn’t a question, and she was quite sure she heard some relief in his voice. “I’m sorry that I had to leave so quickly.”
“I am too,” she said. “How’s your leg? Any bleeding?”
“None,” he said. “No heat, no seepage. It’s healing well, I’m quite sure.” He paused, and then laughed, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Honestly, crying ‘wound care’ was just to get the nurse side of you on the phone. I truly want to take you out for coffee. Maybe dinner, if you like the coffee.”
This was everything she’d been schooling herself to avoid for years. She’d dated local boys, stayed safe, stayed careful. Dating strangers was asking for trouble.
But if they went to a public place… nursing had given her pretty good radar for when people were a little off or more than a little off. And she’d do all the safe things: let
She put her purse down and turned the envelope over. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but that just meant it wasn’t doctor scrawl; there wasn’t all that much handwriting of other sorts that she saw these days. Texts and ringtones, those she could identify at twenty paces. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a card, an actual handwritten card.
There was a smell to it. Something pleasant, something earthy. Pineish. She found herself putting the card to her nose and inhaling deeply, luxuriating in the sheer thickness of the scent, and the way it cut right to the core of her, lighting her on fire in a way that few things ever did.
She’d sat down on the old couch that rested against one wall of the lounge, her legs curled up under her like a girl. She felt her clit, swollen and throbbing, and her mind flashed with memories of last night, memories of coming again and again, fantasizing about Julian leaning down over her, catching her nipples between his teeth and tugging—
Her sharp little gasp made her realize the reality around her. She closed her eyes and forced a ragged breath in and then out again. She was at work. This was no place to play her little games. Although the idea of being secreted away in a closet, clinging to shelves for balance while some faceless man took her from behind, toyed with her ass while he pounded away at her with his thick cock—
Focus, girl. Seriously .
She slid her finger under the flap of the envelope and opened it. There was a card inside, on crisp paper that hadn’t come from the hospital. She pulled it out. The handwriting was crisp, clean. No extra flourishes or fancy curlicues.
Roxanne,
I meant to stay until I could speak to you again, but I have reason to believe that I am being pursued. My wounds are healing well, but I’ve never faced such grievous injuries before. I wonder if I might be able to arrange to have you take a look? I would be happy to repay you with a fee, as well as dinner.
With kind thoughts,
Julian
She stared at the note for a long time, and at the phone number he’d listed at the bottom of the card. There was no way he’d gotten this paper inside the hospital, and he’d come into room 24 naked as a jaybird, so he must have—what, left the hospital, gone and gotten pen and paper to write his missive, and then brought it back? And he’d known which of the empty bank of lockers she would use by, what, smelling for her? The creep factor was incredibly high.
He wasn’t native to Sweetwater. She’d know him if he was. And his parents, and his grandparents, and probably his second cousins. Not knowing him didn’t add any ease to her feelings. But it did add a hint of excitement. Not healthy excitement, she was quite sure of that, but still. Excitement.
“What the hell,” she said out loud, and picked up the phone to call the number. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
His voice was deep and satiny. “Hello. Is this Julian?”
“Yes. Roxanne.” It wasn’t a question, and she was quite sure she heard some relief in his voice. “I’m sorry that I had to leave so quickly.”
“I am too,” she said. “How’s your leg? Any bleeding?”
“None,” he said. “No heat, no seepage. It’s healing well, I’m quite sure.” He paused, and then laughed, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Honestly, crying ‘wound care’ was just to get the nurse side of you on the phone. I truly want to take you out for coffee. Maybe dinner, if you like the coffee.”
This was everything she’d been schooling herself to avoid for years. She’d dated local boys, stayed safe, stayed careful. Dating strangers was asking for trouble.
But if they went to a public place… nursing had given her pretty good radar for when people were a little off or more than a little off. And she’d do all the safe things: let
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