This was the most overtly sexual video he’d ever posted, and watching him recreate what we’d done this morning made me fucking desperate for round two. What a devious bastard. Sure, take your time, Aly, but I’m going to torture you with my absence until you come to your senses. It made me want to be bratty again, hold out until his patience snapped and he hunted me down.
Oh, fuck, that sounded like a good plan. Yes, I was definitely going to do that. And…wait. His video had another caption.
I nearly dropped the phone when I read it, my laughter so instantaneous that I choked on air. It said: “Mommy and Daddy time.” How? Howww was he able to be so fucking hot and funny at the same time? It didn’t compute. Surely, one should cancel the other out, and I should either be turned on or amused and not both simultaneously.
My eyes skipped down to the comment section. It did not disappoint.
OMG is he married???
This just proves that all the good ones are taken.
I knew I’d been calling him Daddy for a reason.
@aly.aly.oxen.free GIRL, YOU WON.
Okay, but how are you going to tell your wife that this video just got me pregnant?
Are you accepting applications for a third?
If my future husband ain’t like this, I don’t want him.
I didn’t think I wanted kids until I just pictured this man holding a baby.
I all but threw my phone into my locker. No. Nope. I did not need the image that the last comment invoked filling up my head.
Oh, God. Too late. 6’4”, muscle-bound, heavily tattooed, shirtless Josh cradling a baby in his arms. I could feel my ovaries back at it again, opening the floodgates and screaming, “GO, GO, GO,” as they released every single egg in my body. If I had sex with this man in the near future, we’d have to double up on birth control.
My pager went off, and I was glad for the excuse to get out of there before the next kink I developed was a breeding one.
The next several days seemed to both fly by and drag, making me feel like I was in a time warp. Going back to my usual routine was weird, even though I hadn’t been out of it for that long. I half expected Josh not to honor my request for space, but the time stamps on my security cameras didn’t show any gaps indicating he’d hacked them and broken in again, and other than the pining video he posted halfway through my shift Thursday night, complete with a sad 80s hairband soundtrack, he hadn’t tried to contact me.
The comments on the video were priceless, with many wondering if Mommy and Daddy were fighting again. I’d gotten almost ten thousand follow requests since Josh had “claimed” me, which spoke volumes about the kind of pull he had online. No wonder he had such a big ego. All that power had gone to his head.
“Hey,” I said as I joined Tanya, Brinley, and a few other coworkers at the nurses’ station. Usually, I spent my downtime in the breakroom chugging coffee, but I didn’t trust myself near my phone right now.
A chorus of greetings welcomed me into the fold. We were midway through a late-night lull, but we’d pick up soon once the bars let out and all the football fans hit the streets. Our city’s team had made it to the final round of playoffs, and after games ended, we got an influx of shitfaced men who’d hurt themselves trying to flip cars or climb light poles.
The nurse station faced our fast-track area, where we had six narrow, open bay rooms, almost like stalls. It’s where we put patients with minor injuries and illnesses like sprains, fractures, lacerations, and sore throats. Three were occupied, but only two of the patients were being seen. The third bay contained an average-looking white man with light brown hair. He had one of those faces that were ambiguous, like he could have been anywhere from his early 20s to late 30s, and he’d blend in well in a crowd. Still, he looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. His shoulders were broad like he worked out, so maybe he went to my gym?
“What’s up with that guy?” I asked. It looked like he’d gotten into a fight, with one eye quickly swelling shut and a split lip. He held gauze to his forehead, no doubt putting pressure on a cut there. Someone should be helping him with that.
Tanya leaned in close, her voice low. “That’s the rapist from the other night.”
It felt like she’d dumped ice water over my head. I jerked my gaze from the guy, not wanting to make eye contact if he turned our way. “Why isn’t he in jail?” I asked. “Didn’t he get caught in the act?”
It was Deb, a white woman in her mid-50s and the most senior nurse on shift tonight, who answered. “He didn’t even get arrested. Some hotshot lawyer showed up before we could swab him, and he walked out of here scot-free an hour later.” She shook her head in disgust, her shoulder-length gray hair swaying with the motion.
I gripped the edge of the nurses’ desk to steady myself. “How. The fuck?” I couldn’t get any other words out. Felt like I was choking on the anger that threatened to bubble up.
Brinley let out a sound like an angry cat, and I felt better knowing I wasn’t the only one on the brink of going nuclear. “His family is loaded. The lawyer threatened to sue the shit out of the hospital and the cops for trying to coerce a DNA test out of him.”
“But he got caught in the act,” Erica, another junior nurse, said. “Why do they need DNA to arrest him?”
“Maybe because there was no video evidence?” someone said.
“Yeah, but the cops brought him in here,” another answered. “And the victim and a separate witness both identified him.”
We got into a heated whisper-debate about what happened that night, each of us sharing the knowledge we’d gleaned from the cops, hospital admin, and our own late-night Google searches and crime show binges. In the end, none of us had law degrees, so it was all speculation, and by the end of it, we only had more questions than the answers we’d been after.
“Okay, but why is he here?” I asked once we’d calmed down.
Erica clicked the computer mouse and leaned in to read the screen. “One of the victim’s brothers tracked him down in a bar after seeing a Snapchat.”
I shook my head. “No. I mean, why is he still here? The faster we treat him, the faster we can send him back out so the brother can finish him off.”
“No one wants to help him,” Tanya said.
I glanced around the station. All women. Usually, we had several male coworkers on each shift as patients sometimes had preferences for whom they wanted to treat them.
“It’s only Amit on shift right now,” Brinley said, catching my confusion. “Zach called in sick, and Kevin won’t be in for another hour.”
Amit was a squat, barrel-chested Indian-American man in his early 30s who could deadlift twice his body weight. He was great with our “problem patients” because they usually took one look at his straining muscles and thought better of their bad behavior.
Tanya leaned over the station desk to grab a clipboard off it. “We’re waiting for him to get done in room three, and then we’re sending him over.”
I shook my head. That would be a while. The patient in three was barely stable.