Wrong Number [EXCERPT]

Chapter Four

Carson sighed as he approached the vending machine down the hall from his office, still feeling a little shellshocked from everything he'd said to Jane earlier in the evening. He didn't talk about his wife with anyone, only in passing to his coworkers if they ever mentioned his family. And when it happened, he always steered the conversation to his daughters. Lily and Rose were the most important things in the world to him.

But his relationship with Gina...maybe he needed to look into how to scrub these messages from his phone somehow. He couldn't help but admit to himself that he liked talking to this girl, whoever she was, but it was dangerous how easy it was to tell her things.

Realistically, it wasn't as if she knew who he was. Even if she were to tell someone, or leak screenshots or something, there were probably tons of other doctors out there with two kids and wifely issues. It's not like it would be immediately traced back to him.

He scratched the back of his head and pumped some coins into the machine, punching a few buttons. A gold-wrapped candy bar thunked down into the front of the machine and he bent to liberate it.

He couldn't believe he'd talked to Jane about asses. He hadn't made a joke that gross since med school. Their banter had been so natural that he'd felt younger, more carefree again, and it just came out. He didn't really have an excuse for why he'd hit send—it was much easier to think before texting than it was before talking.

He tore open the wrapper and bit into the candy bar, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head at the sweetness on his tongue. He knew he shouldn't eat stuff like this. It was total garbage for his body, but damn if he couldn't indulge in a little pleasure now and then. He'd tried to resist the craving from the talk of chocolate cake earlier, but it was a losing battle.

He folded over the wrapper and shoved the rest of the candy bar into his pocket so he could enjoy it in the privacy of his office. His phone buzzed as he opened the door.

Jane: I can't sleep. I need to know if you pulled something out of an ass.

Carson flattened his palm against his forehead with a deep sigh as he closed the door behind him. He collapsed into his chair and typed back, I should have blocked your number when you told me to. He hovered over the send button, then decided that she probably would think it was funny and not offensive, and pushed it.

As he unwrapped the rest of his treat, he leaned over his phone on his desk to read her reply.

Jane: You totally still should. AFTER you tell me about your night.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a bite. No foreign objects tonight, thankfully. After sending that, he quickly added, And I'm not supposed to discuss my patients.

Jane: Oh come on, you don't have to tell me who it is, goody two shoes!

Jane: Just tellll me! If you don't I won't sleep!

He checked the time. 1:33 am. He was amazed that she was still awake, considering she'd talked about drinking so much at dinner. How hadn't she passed out by now?

Jane: I'll be imagining you elbow deep in someone's ass! Do you want that on your conscience?!?!

He gaped at the phone, shaking his head back and forth slowly. You're a very strange girl, he finally sent back, rubbing his chin in exasperation.

Jane: I've been told that. Don't change the subject.

Carson sighed. There weren't any asses, he sent, wincing at the use of his words. Hadn't he just been thinking about how he should figure out how to scrub their phones of this conversation? Here he was, perpetuating it. But there was a woman who fainted when her boyfriend proposed to her, and accidentally stabbed herself with a fork on the way down, he sent, hoping that would entertain her enough.

It had been a grisly scene, but he couldn't help but find it kind of ridiculous. What a story to tell their future grandchildren.

Jane: OMFG! How does that even happen?!?!

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took another bite of his candy bar. I have no idea, he sent back, but there was a fork wound in her cheek.

Jane: I wish I'd have been at that restaurant instead!!!

"Good lord," he muttered through a mouthful of chocolate, shaking his head, but couldn't get rid of the smile on his face at her excitement—and the fact that he'd caused it. You're morbid, he sent back.

Jane: You're the one telling me about it.

He pursed his lips. You're the one obsessed with asses, he replied.

Jane: Asses are great.

Jane: Prude.

Carson drew his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned back in his chair, staring at his phone. He shook his head and shot back, I think I might be older than you. He popped the last of the candy bar in his mouth, leaving the wrapper sitting on a stack of paperwork that he likely wasn't going to get to tonight.

Jane: Never too old to enjoy asses. You're just a fucking prude.

"Language, Miss Jane," he muttered, raising his gaze to the ceiling as he chewed over the fact that this woman could be closer in age to his daughters than to him. And this conversation wasn't getting any more appropriate than when it had started.

How drunk are you? He hit send and sighed. He was glad that at least she was at home in bed, safe—or at least he assumed so, since it was so late and she'd talked about not being able to sleep.

Jane: Drunk enough to be fantasizing about sexy doctors.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Ooooh, bad Doctor Wessex!" Patricia hissed from the doorway.

Carson dropped his phone with a clatter, guilty eyes flying to the nurse. His heart leapt into his throat. Inappropriate conversations with a woman that wasn't his wife, and now—

"Eating sugar!" Patricia wagged a finger at him, and relief suddenly flooded his veins when his brain finally caught up with the logic of the situation. Of course she didn't know what he'd been doing.

He snatched the wrapper from his desk and shoved it in the garbage can beneath, innocently folding his hands on top of it. "I don't know what you're talking about, Nurse Patricia," he replied sternly, struggling to calm his racing heart. He hoped his guilty and terrified reaction had come off as playful.

She rolled her eyes. "Hon, if you saw what I eat at home you would probably die inside. And force me to see a dietician." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "We've got a patient triaged back here for you, if you're finished in here."

"Yes, yes of course," he stammered, and quickly clicked his phone to sleep, shoving it in his pocket before following her out of his office.