Free Red Light by J. D. Glass Page A

she read it off the clipboard in front of her. “It’s over there.”
    “Scotty’s fine,” I assured her as she waved me in the direction of the staff lounge.
    I walked into a room the size of a closet, but at least it held a small counter with a coffeepot, a sink with a cabinet over it, and a tiny refrigerator.
    I found a cup, then poured some coffee and almost spit the shit out. It was black, bitter, burnt rocket fuel—thick enough to walk on, and it smelled like gasoline.
    I dumped the cup and rinsed my mouth in the sink, then tossed the rest of the poison down there too—no clog would survive that.
    After searching the cabinets I found the makings for a fresh pot, so I set it up while I waited, and when it was brewed, a woman walked in, blue scrubs and gray eyes—and a charcoal gray Sprague slung over her shoulder, the bell tucked into the pocket of her shirt.
    She was slender, sharp, angular: beautiful. The couple of gray streaks that streamed through her wavy black hair did nothing to detract from how very attractive she was—in fact, they added, because those streaks perfectly reflected the color of her eyes.
    “Hey,” she smiled at me as she walked over to the counter, “you make this?” She poured herself a fresh cup of java, then reached into the little fridge next to it for some milk.
    “Yeah,” I answered as she doctored her cup, “that other stuff was for shit.”
    She closed her eyes as she inhaled the steam that rose from her mug. “Smells great,” she said finally, then took a sip and opened her eyes in surprise. “Nice!” She took another swallow. “Very nice. Oh, I’m Trace, by the way.” She held out her hand.
    “Glad you like the brew,” I answered and reached for her hand. “I’m Tori.”
    She had a nice firm handshake and her skin was soft; her hand felt just the slightest bit cool in mine.
    “Nice to meet you, Tori.” She held the mug up in salute. “We’ll have to keep you around here if you’re going to keep making coffee like this.”
    I laughed and shrugged. “Actually, I’m supposed to be doing a rotation tonight, only no one seems to know what to do with me.”
    Trace leaned her hip back on the counter and frankly examined me. For one naked second, I could see the flash of appraisal, approval, and even attraction in her eyes, and I grinned to let her know that I’d seen it, and it was fine by me.
    The look she gave in return let me know that whatever came next from either one of us would be totally okay.
    “Well,” she drawled, “you let me know if no one can figure out what to do with you—page me in respiratory therapy.”
    “Will do,” I agreed. Nice. Very nice. An open door with a pretty woman. Every nerve in my body snapped to attention. The game was on.
    Trace took another sip of her coffee, then put the cup in the sink. “You really do make good coffee,” she said as she grabbed for the doorknob. “Oh, hey, when’s your shift over?”
    “I’m supposed to do eight hours, so I guess I’m here until three.”
    “Hmm, why don’t you page me when you’re done, and I’ll treat you for coffee while you tell me all about your first time,” she grinned, a sharp flash of teeth I instantly liked, “in the ER.”
    “Okay.” I nodded. “I’ll do that.” Set.
    “Cool. See you later, then?”
    “Definitely.” Match.
    Well, that was cool, I mused as I sat there and played with my mug. It had been about four weeks since Kerry and I had—ah, enough of that, and enough sitting there. I checked my watch, the required one with the sweep hand, as I walked back to the nurses’ station. Huh. I’d already been on duty for half an hour. Surely I could do something besides make a better supply of caffeine.

    *

    “Hey, Debbie,” I said, reading the tag of the woman who’d sent me to the lounge, “give me something to do. I’m supposed to practice stuff.” I grinned. “And as much fun as the coffee room is, I’d really like to make myself