Free Promise by Dani Wyatt

sound of her voice wash over me. She could be reading a grocery list. Her voice is damn beautiful; she's beautiful. And inside, all the predator keeps saying is, that’s all mine.

    An hour and forty minutes later, I step inside the room again. “Thank you.” I take a deep breath as I look at her. “I think that was good for him.” I look at the wonder of her face as I talk, barely able to think of anything but my lips on hers.
    I seem to have found my balls and the ability to have a decent conversation without seizing up like a bitch when I come within three feet of her.
    “I’m not sure. He fell asleep twice. But, he did also smile a couple times.” Promise is fidgeting with the money in her pocket as she pulls her lips to one side, then the other.
    “Eighth wonder of the world. You’re a miracle worker. So tomorrow, same time?”
    She’s looked at the clock on the wall six times since we’ve been standing here.
    “You need to go?”
    I don’t want her to go. Anywhere. Ever.
    “Yeah, sorry. I have another job. I need to get the bus.”
    How does she have the energy for another job after taking care of so many people all day? She doesn’t just do a job. I can feel it, hear it , see it. She cares. It has to be exhausting.
    “I’m heading out. Let me give you a lift. You stayed longer with Dad than you should have. I don’t want you to be late.”
    I see the panic in her eyes. She was mid-inhale, and now she’s not breathing. She sets her teeth into her bottom lip.
    Holy fuck, that’s beautiful. I want to see her do that again, only for a very different reason.
    “No, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” That melodic voice turns hard, and there’s an edge there that’s new.
    Her curt reply is joined by a disagreeable sigh as she heads out the door and picks up a soft jog down the hall.
    I hate to say it but my eyes focus on her ass as she goes, and that part of me that wants to claw those blue scrubs into shreds, comes roaring back to life.

Promise
    Bruce is packing up his messenger bag when I drag my tired butt in the door to his— I mean our —apartment at almost one o’clock in the morning.
    “Where are you going?” I ask, but I know the answer already. Poor guy.
    “ Mr. Fitzgerald is on the warpath. He managed to get out the front doors and halfway to the liquor store before anyone noticed he was gone. Someone called the cops when they saw him wheeling himself down the middle of Leonard Ave. So, now I have to go deal with the state investigation. You know how corporate is. They don’t like our patients eloping, and they sure as shit don’t like the State of Ohio filing a report on our building. So, the buck stops here, babe.”
    “Dang, okay. Sorry.”
    “Get some sleep. Oh, by the way, McSexdream Fitzgerald stopped by my office after you left. It seems he was very pleased with your private duty. ” Bruce cracks himself up with a snort and a stomp of his foot.
    “ Shut up . I just read to the guy’s dad—”
    “Maybe. When was the last time you had a date? Let alone a little something else.” He bobs one eyebrow up and down and gives me another of his snorting laughs as he tucks in his polo shirt. “Don’t you ever just want some dick? I mean, I can’t help you. I mean, I could but I won’t . But really, just quit thinking so much and get laid.”
    “Jesus, what the hell? Why are you all about my business all of the sudden?” I dump my backpack on the floor next to the sofa and then dump myself onto the center cushion.
    My exhaustion covers me like a lead blanket. I fight the weight of my eyelids as I listen to Bruce shuffle around the kitchen.
    One of the many reasons our little roommate arrangement works so well is we stay far away from the other person’s business. With his schedule of servitude at Windfield, my other night job, and my aversion to conversation of almost any kind, we’ve managed to spend two years together without sharing much of anything significant