Where Nerves End by L. A. Witt Read Free Book Online Page A

the patients who come through here are on their lunch break or running off to get their kids. Theyre always in a hurry, but they sure dont mind staying a little longer with Michael.”
“I cant blame them,” I said. “Well, I dont work until seven tonight. Whenever hes ready for me.”
“Shouldnt be too long. Hes usually—” Nathan paused, doing a double take at something on his desk. Then he looked up, eyes wide. “Oh my God. You seriously own Lights Out?”
“I do, yes.”
“Oh, I love that place. Answer me one thing.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That one bartender with all the tattoos and the earrings. You know, the one who looks like he just got out ofprison?”
“Caden?”
“Is that his name? Anyway, is”—he dropped his voice a little more—“is he single?”
I shook my head. “Im afraid hes spoken for.”
Nathan clicked his tongue. “Damn it. All the good ones are taken.”
“Truth, isnt it?”
As a door opened at the end of the hall, a voice in my head added, “ And if they’re not taken, they’re straight. ”
A patient came down the hall, and another door opened, then closed, at the other end. Michael must have been working with a few patients at once.
I took a seat while the patient paid her bill and left. Another patient emerged a few minutes later. About ten minutes after that, a third came down the hall, and Michael was right behind her.
He glanced at me, and maybe I imagined it, but I was sure he tensed a little. He smiled though, and nodded to acknowledge me, turning away just before I could be absolutely certain if his cheeks had colored.
I shifted in my chair, turning my attention to the bonsai tree on top of the jade fountain in front of me. Id definitely imagined it. Just wishful thinking, nothing more. The man was a medical professional, and he was straight, no matter how much I wished he was just a little curious and a lot unprofessional.
“Jason?”
At the sound of my name, I looked up, and he gestured with my chart. As I stood, he said, “How is your shoulder feeling?”
“Better,” I said. “I mean, better than before I came to see you the first time. The treatment helped. A lot.” Aware that I was rambling, I nodded toward my shoulder and said, “But its been hurting again. Kept me up most of last night.”
Michael pursed his lips, looking at my shoulder like it might offer up an explanation as to why it hadnt done his bidding. Then he pointed down the hall. “Come on back.”
I followed him into one of the rooms. Not the same one as last time, but similarly appointed: dim lights, what looked like a massage table, and a few small cabinets and a chest of drawers pushed up against the walls.
“Im glad to hear your last treatment helped.” Michael closed the door behind us, sealing us into this tiny room. Or, rather, sealing out the rest of the world. Oblivious to my steadily rising heart rate, he said, “Was last night better, worse, or about the same as what you were experiencing before?”
“It was—” I stopped abruptly when he picked up my wrist and pressed two fingertips against it. I gulped, forcing myself not to look at his hand. “It wasnt as bad as its been the last few months.”
“Mm-hmm. Did you take anything?”
I hoped the rooms dim light masked whatever color might have darkened my cheeks just then. “I, um…” Really, what did it matter if I blushed? He had his damned finger on my pulse. “I took some Percocet.”
“Did it help?”
I shrugged with my good shoulder. “As much as it ever does.”
“And how much is that?”
“Took the edge off enough I got a little bit of sleep,” I said. “Better that than spending the whole night digging the corner of a wall into my shoulder.”
Michael cocked his head. He released my hand and made a quick note on my chart, and when he was done with that, he said, “Digging a corner into it? What do you mean?”
I wrung my hands in my lap, focusing on them instead