to sound like youâre insulting me when you say that word .â
She rolled her eyes. âDing dong.â
I shrugged. âAgain, not insulted.â
âPickle-jar-opening show-off.â
I tapped her nose. âBingo.â
âYouâre insulted now?â She pumped a fist. âExcellent.â
I frowned. âYouâre trying to insult me. Iâm so sad,â I said, then I reached into the jar and ate a pickle.
She patted my belly. âPregnant?â
I shuddered. âHorrors.â
âOh, please. Like thatâs the worst thing in the world.â
I gave her a sharp stare. âIt kind of would be.â
Iâd rather be firing the trigger on the baby, not carrying it.
Like I said, I prefer manly tasks.
----
F our
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A fter a long day at the hospital, which pretty much describes every day at Mercy, itâs nice to have someone to come home to. And Iâm not just saying that because Josie makes absolutely killer air-popped popcorn.
But she does. This popcorn is delicious, and we munch on it all the way through a binge fest of Ballers , Vice Principals , and Veep on HBO. When we reach the end, I rattle the bowl then pretend to hunt for more, sniffing the inside of it.
âYouâre like a dog,â she says. âThe dog who licks his food dish when he finishes just in case thereâs a nugget he missed.â
I drop my face into the red bowl and lick.
She grabs it from me and sets it on the coffee table. âIâm cutting you off.â She puts her feet on the coffee table. Then she shifts a little and moves them onto me.
I stare at her feet. Her toenails are painted sapphire blue. Her feet are little and slender. My eyes land on the top of her foot, and they nearly pop out of my head when I spy the bounty. âYou have really beautiful veins in your feet.â
She gives me the biggest side-eye glare in the world. âWhat?â
I stretch forward, grab her foot, and hold it up. âLook at this. Itâs fucking beautiful,â I say, running my finger along the top. The vein there is thick and blue. âI could draw so much blood from here.â
She blinks. âAre you a vampire?â
âNo. Iâm just an aficionado of all the systems in the body. You could give blood from your fucking foot.â I yank it toward my mouth.
She squeals, wriggling as I pretend to gnaw on her arch. âYouâre crazy.â
I let go, dropping it across my thigh. âWhat other glorious life-giving veins are you hiding? Let me see your arms.â
âIs this some kind of doctor porn?â
I nod, and my eyes are surely sparkling. âYou have the cupcake tin and icing smoother. Hell, I saw the way you eyed that rolling pin, too. You had your fun. Let me have mine.â
âFine.â She shrugs off a little flimsy sweater and sticks out her arm.
I wrap my hand around her wrist and roam my eyes up and down her arm. âThis,â I say, tapping a vein in her forearm. âYou could save countries with this limb.â
âAre you really serious?â
âYes. This is a world-class vein, Josie. This is like a diamond mine. Man, if I didnât already think you were the catâs meow, just seeing your veins would seal the deal. Please tell me youâre a blood donor.â
She nods. âOf course. Want to take mine some time?â
I draw a sharp breath and close my eyes. âDonât get me excited.â
When I open my eyes, she kicks me in the belly. âYouâre the worst.â
âI know.â
She sits up and asks, âWhat was the hardest part about being in Africa?â
âBesides missing pizza?â
She smiles. âBesides pizza, though I do understand that kind of empty ache.â
âEspecially for a cheese pie with mushrooms.â
âYour favorite,â she says.
Absently, I rub my hand over her arm as I cycle back to the days in the Central African
Bret Witter, Luis Carlos Montalván