When One Night Isn't Enough. Wendy S. Marcus
A beep sounded. Bobby’s sojourn into silence ended. “Ali here is my favorite backseat cowgirl,” he said. “She likes a hard ride. Isn’t that right, Cream Cheese?”
Cream Cheese. Bobby’s high school nickname for her. Because her thighs were so easily spreadable. As a stupid teenage girl she’d found it amusing. As an adult she recognized it for what it was, a shameful and humiliating moniker for a girl so desperate for affection and love she’d tried to find them in the arms of boys who’d doled them out in ten-minute increments. Usually while half dressed, in the backseat of a car, in the woods, or, if she was lucky, in a bed when no grown-ups were around. Good for sex and nothing more.
Ali considered walking out of the room, letting someone else deal with Bobby. But no. She was a trained professional, skilled at handling every type of patient. So she ignored his rude comments and proceeded with her evaluation. The sooner she finished the quicker she could leave, without shirking her duties.
Removing the blood-pressure cuff from the metal basket on the back wall, she fastened it to Bobby’s upper arm. “After I take your blood pressure I’ll get Dr. Padget. He’ll probably want some X-rays.”
Ali tightened the cuff around Bobby’s arm, ignoring a twinge of dread at the thought of Bobby meeting Jared, the two of them discussing her, Bobby reinforcing Jared’s opinion of her. Instead she listened through her stethoscope, focusing on the beats while she watched the mercury in the sphygmomanometer drop. One eighteen over seventy-four. Ali removed the cuff and placed it back in the basket.
In the few seconds it took to reach over the head of the bed, Bobby stood, grabbed her by the waist and ground himself against her butt. “I’ve got another pressure that needs tending before you go.”
Ali swung her upper body around. They were alone—the visitors had left, closing the door to the room behind them. “Stop it, Bobby.”
“Come on, Ali.” He ran a hand up her belly to her chest and squeezed her breast. Hard. “For old times’ sake.”
“No.” She tried to pull away, did not want this. She was a different person now, didn’t sleep around anymore.
He turned her to face him, pushed her back into the wall, forced his body against hers, making it difficult to expand her chest to take a breath. He jammed his erection between her legs. She tried to move. Couldn’t. Alcohol had not affected his strength one bit. When had he gotten so tall? Aggravation turned to fear.
“I know I was one of your favorites,” he said.
Because ten years ago he’d had a car, a fake ID and a never-ending supply of money for beer and cigarettes. For a wayward fifteen-year-old girl looking to escape her life, he had been the perfect date.
“I need you so bad,” he said, moving one of his hands to the back of her head, crushing her mouth to his so hard she tasted blood. His other hand fumbled with the drawstring of her scrub pants.
“Get your hands off of me,” Ali yelled. She tried to twist away, to lift her knee. Neither worked. So she bit his lip. When he jerked back his head she screamed, “Help! Dr. P. Anyone. Help!” She prayed someone would hear her.
“Quiet, Ali.” He clamped his hand over her mouth. “You know you want it. You always wanted it.”
CHAPTER TWO
JARED was on the computer behind the front desk of the E.R., checking a patient’s lab results, when Ali cried out for help. Without hesitation, he closed down the confidential screen, jumped to his feet, his chair rolling into the file cabinet behind him with a loud bang and ran in the direction of her scream.
The door to Exam Room One, where Ali had gone to admit a new patient, was closed. Jared slammed it open. A tall man, the back of his hospital gown flapping open, exposing his red and blue plaid boxer shorts, had Ali pinned to the wall, one arm clamped around her waist, holding her, while his hips jabbed in her direction and a hand behind her head crushing her lips to his while she fought to turn her head and push away.
“Get your hands off my nurse,” Jared said, keeping his voice deadly calm, trying not to escalate the situation.
“Easy, Doc,” the assaulter said with a minimal slur. “Ali and I go way back. We were just getting reacquainted.”
Ali struggled in his hold. “We were not. Let go of me, Bobby.”
“I’d listen to the lady,” Jared said, walking into the room, one careful step at a time, letting the door close behind him. “Or you’re going to find yourself flat on your back on that stretcher, in four-point restraints, with a garbage bag full of ice on your groin.” He walked up next to Bobby, close enough to smell the booze on his breath and see the lust in his bloodshot eyes. “Here in the emergency room, that’s the only treatment we offer for swollen genitalia.”
“Come on. Give me a break,” Bobby said, still holding on to Ali. “I’m getting married in a few hours.”
“Lucky girl to score a winner like you,” Jared said, hoping the patient would come after him, provide justification for him to fight.
It worked. Sort of. The patient turned to Jared, must have loosened his hold because Ali broke free, stumbled toward him, into his waiting arms. Eyes locked with the sexual predator, he held her and murmured, “You’re okay.”
She nodded against his chest and inhaled a shaky breath.
The second she moved to step away from him, Jared released her, not wanting her to feel at all restricted. And as if she hadn’t just been attacked, she gave him her report. “Twenty-five-year-old intoxicated male involved in an altercation with a bouncer at a strip club. Suffering from facial trauma, abdominal and rib pain. Vital signs within normal limits, documented in his chart.”
“I’ll take it from here, Ali. Go take a break.” Jared didn’t want any witnesses when he “helped” his patient onto the stretcher.
“I’m fine,” Ali said. But her voice trembled.
Jared wanted to take her back into his arms, to hold her, comfort her, let her know she was safe, that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. But he needed to deal with the deviate first. “Can you climb on to the stretcher alone, or do you require my assistance?” Jared asked, more than willing to “assist.”
In what was probably his first good decision of the early morning hours, the man climbed on to the stretcher.
Jared walked over to Ali, keeping the man in his sight. “Your lip is bleeding,” he whispered, lifting her chin to get a better look, hating that a remnant from her altercation marred her beautiful face. “Go clean it. You don’t know where his foul mouth has been.”
With a surprised look, Ali reached up to touch her swollen lower lip.
“I’m guessing in your condition …” he looked at the man’s tented hospital gown “… you’ll have a hard time giving me a urine specimen, which means I’m going to have to insert a catheter into your bladder to obtain a urine toxicology screen.”
Nah. He winked at Ali. Let the idiot sweat for a few minutes.
“Like hell you will,” Bobby said. “Where are my clothes? I’m getting out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jared said, channeling composure. “Not until the police get here. You see, I have zero tolerance for men who mistreat women.”
“Let’s not make this into a big deal,” Ali said.
“I’ve treated too many sexual assault victims to let his behavior slide.”
“Sexual-assault victim?” Bobby piped up. “Are you nuts? It’s only Ali. She was playing hard to get. No harm.”
“He’s right, Dr. P.” Ali looked defiant, but he’d seen the flash of hurt at Bobby’s cruel words, the