My best friends ex, p.1
My Best Friend's Ex, p.1Meghan Quinn
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
My Best Friend’s Ex
Published by Hot-Lanta Publishing
Cover design by Meghan Quinn
Photo credit: Neil Danvers
Formatting by CP Smith
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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Copyright © 2017 Meghan Quinn
All rights reserved.
“Just stick it in. Stop stalling and get it over with.”
“Emma, it’s not going to go in itself.”
I twist my hands in front of me and say, “Maybe it will.”
Logan gives me a pointed look. “Catheters don’t insert themselves. Just do it.”
“But,” I bite the inside of my cheek and look behind me at Mr. Freeland, “it’s so wrinkly.”
Logan runs his hand over his face and exhales. “He’s old. It’s not the first ancient dick you’ve seen.”
I swallow hard and lean forward. “It’s the first ancient dick I’ve seen wearing a turtleneck.”
“A turtle—” Logan, my best guy friend and fellow nursing student pauses and tilts his head. “He’s not circumcised?”
“No. And I’m not sure how to handle it. Do I just go in there, pull the turtleneck down, and resume business?”
“I think so.” Logan thinks about it for a second and says, “Should I ask Dr. Thompkins?”
“No,” I say quickly. “We don’t want him judging us on our inability to handle a wrinkly old penis with a flap. We can do this.”
“Why do you keep saying words like we and us? This is your patient; you’ve been assigned to him. There is no we or us in this scenario.”
I cross my arms over my chest and stare at my friend. “There was no we and us when little eight-year-old Donovan came in with a nail sticking out of his kneecap. And when you couldn’t stop dry heaving, I stepped in.”
“That was different. It was a nail in a kneecap. Nails should never be stuck in kneecaps,” he stresses. “This is just an old man’s dick. You’ve done this a million times. You’re just being lazy.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Lazy? You’re calling me lazy?”
He cringes. “Bad choice of words. Not lazy per say more . . .” he thinks for a second and then shakes his head. “No, you’re being lazy. What are you going to do when we aren’t working together anymore? Ask someone else to play with the turtleneck?”
Logan and I have known each other since our first year in nursing school. Both wide-eyed and scared shitless from the amount of crap we had to clean during our first clinical, we stuck together. Now we’re in our fourth year, just around the corner from graduating, he’s still by my side, but now he’s no longer helping me, but pushing me to be better. He’s been quite aggressive in his approach this year and I know it’s because when we graduate, we’ll most likely go our separate ways.
“Today isn’t a good day for me.” I pause and twist my long brown hair between my fingers.
“Yeah, why’s that?” There is a smirk on his lips. He’s calling my bullshit.
“Uh, period.” I nod my head, liking this idea. “Yeah. Got the period. Not only do I shed my uterine walls during this three to five day stint of living hell, but I also become very unpredictable. You never know what I’ll end up doing.” I clasp my index finger and thumb together and start making jabby motions. “See, very unpredictable.”
With his giant man-fist, Logan palms my hand, halting all jabbing. “First of all, don’t try to scare me with your shedding uterus. You fail to remember I had to assist a doctor in removing a double-tampon pileup from Vagina Veronica my second year. I’ve been conditioned by the female menstruation since then. And second of all, do you really think your little erratic jabs will deter me? I kick-box for a hobby against men two times your size.”
Damn it, I forgot both those things.
I cross my arms over my chest and look him up and down. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
“Just looking out for my girl. Now, go in there, say hi to Mr. Freeland, and get the job done.”
Huffing out my frustration, I walk toward Mr. Freeland’s room just as my phone rings. “Oh, I have to get that,” I say rather desperately, appreciating the surprise distraction.
“You don’t have to—”
I hold up my finger. “Uh I’m on the phone.” I catch his smirk as I turn around and answer the call. “Hello?”
“Emma? It’s Adalyn.” Even though I’m thankful for the distraction, it’s rare for my roommate to call during the day when I’m on clinical.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Uh, you might want to come home.” The wariness in her voice sends prickles of fear up my back.
“Is everything okay?” Logan gives me a get-real look, probably assuming I’m making up this entire phone call.
“Not really, just come home as quickly as you can.”
“Okay.” Confused, I hang up and look at Logan. “That was Adalyn. I need to get home now.”
Sitting back on his heels, Logan starts to slow clap for me. “Wow, well played, Em. Didn’t think you had such trickery in your back pocket but you proved me wrong.”
“I’m not kidding. I didn’t make this up.”
“Awfully convenient.” His mouth twists.
Logan thinks about it for a second and then says, “Telepathically. Women always sync together when they get their periods. I wouldn’t be surprised if one uterus shouted to the other an SOS.”
I roll my eyes and head toward the locker room; our shift is almost over so this is perfect timing. “And here I thought you were different than other guys, Logan. Can you please just do the catheter? Adalyn sounded really nervous.”
“This is such crap.” He points at me and says, “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Come with me then if you don’t believe me. Of course, after you do the catheter. I’ll grab your things for you.”
He rolls his eyes and heads into Mr. Freeland’s room. Thank God! Logan is so much more adept at catheters than I am anyway, so he would be more gentle, just what Mr. Freeland needs. I take my time tying up loose ends for us, grab our stuff, and then meet him in the lobby. He’s shaking his head at me as he approaches. “You’re lucky I like you.”
I give him a quick side hug. “Thank you.”
Together, we ride the city bus to the stop near the townhouse I’ve been sharing with Adalyn since the beginning of this year. Logan teases me, accusing me of making something up to get out of touching Mr. Freeland’s penis. Naturally, I deny every accusation while feeling very lucky I was able to avoid the touching of old dick today.
That is until I show up at our little house.
When we walk up to the house, a duplex, Adalyn is sitting on the steps, a paper in her hand. What is going on? Adalyn doesn’t sit outside. She’s afraid of the sun, not really, but she’s usually in the house, her nose buried in a book preparing for our upcoming nursing exams.
“Adalyn, is everything okay?” I close the space between us just as she holds up the piece of paper in her hand.
“We’re being evicted.”
“What?” I shout as I take the paper. Logan hovers over my shoulder, reading the notice at the same time. At least he knows I wasn’t lying now.
It takes me a few tries to process the words on the bright red paper. “We’re being evicted,” I whisper in shock. “How can that be? We’ve been paying our rent on time. We haven’t done anything to the property that would get us evicted. We forgot trash day that one time, but I don’t think that would be cause for eviction.”
From over my shoulder, Logan points at a sentence and says, “Your landlord hasn’t been paying the mortgage. You have one week to find a new place.”
“A week?” How did I miss that? I scan the paper again, but nothing is making sense. “So because our landlord is an irresponsible idiot, we get punished? How is that fair?”
Logan pulls me into a hug, taking the paper from me to read some more. “Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Banks don’t care about the people living in the house, they just care about the bottom line.”
I snuggle into his warmth. “But a week? That seems short to me.”
“Yeah, how can we possibly find a place to stay in a week in the middle of the semester? All the student housing is full by now,” Adalyn adds.
“There is a buyer already interested in the space,” Logan says. “The bank is probably opting for a short sale in the hopes to get the money off their hands.”
“Can’t we talk to the bank? Maybe they want to rent it to us.”
Logan shakes his head. “Sorry, sweetheart, banks aren’t really into the landlord business.” He hands the paper back to Adalyn. “You two need to start searching for another place to stay because in a week, you won’t be living here anymore.”
Adalyn lies back on the porch, the warm winter’s day not affecting her need to retreat back inside. “This is crap.”
“Who can I send a nasty gram to?” I ask, my mind already starting to type out the letter. It would start with something like, “You piece of crap son of a bitch asshole . . .” Yeah, that sounds about right.
“You can send one to me,” Logan jokes as he releases me and sits down on the porch next to Adalyn.
“That’s not helpful.” I run my hands over my face and think. “I don’t have time to search for a new place right now. I have clinicals all week, and I have to study. Plus, I have volunteering hours at the animal shelter. I can’t cancel on them again.”
“You can stay with me until you find a place,” Logan suggests.
I put my hand on my hip, ready to disagree. “You live in a three-bedroom apartment with six men. You sleep in bunk beds. I’m not staying with you.”
He shrugs. “Don’t judge my living situation. Rent is cheap as fuck.” It’s true, he pays two hundred dollars a month for everything. EVERYTHING. It’s not fair. Although, I don’t think I would ever shack up with that many people in such a small space.
“Ugh.” I sit on the sidewalk, not minding the cold cement against my scrub-covered ass. “Looks like I’ll be staying up late, looking for a place.”
“You’re good at stuff like this, Em, you’ll find a place. I have no doubt about it.” Logan winks at me.
I can’t help but agree with him. I’m good at stuff like this, but for others, not for me. I’ve always been the nurturing one in my group of friends, making sure everyone is taken care of. But when it comes to me, when it comes to putting myself first, I’m freaking terrible at it. I’m more likely to by a cup of coffee for a friend so they can stay awake in class, than myself. Perhaps it’s a major flaw that I never do anything for myself.
But hey, I guess that will make me a good nurse, right? Always taking care of others?
My last name rings through the bare bones of the house I’ve been constructing on for the past month. My first managing project and I can already feel my boss breathing down my neck about the timeline and when we’re supposed to finish.
Rolling up the plans to the house, I turn to see Julius, the beer-belly dickhead, my boss, waddling toward me. It should be comical watching the veins popping angrily in his neck. Should.
Fuck, this isn’t going to be good.
“Why the hell are we spending an extra two thousand dollars on an outside electrician when we have one in-house?”
Julius Parsnip. Yup, that’s his name. I’ve been working for him since I was a teenager. Think of your worst nightmare when it comes to a contractor and times it by ten. That’s Julius. He has zero credibility when it comes to his business and the only reason he keeps getting hired for job after job is because of the people—like myself—holding his company together.
Julius is one of those managers who sits back, drinks beers, and dabbles in plans every once in a while, making a big fucking deal about things when the mood strikes him.
Looks like it’s one of those moments.
“Manny is on paternity leave,” I answer, keeping my voice calm. Julius has no idea about his day-to-day operations, so his lack of knowledge regarding Manny doesn’t surprise me.
“Fucking fathers,” he mutters to himself and shakes his head. Boss of the year right here. “You could have waited for him to come back.”
I put my hands in my pockets, trying to calm the flex in my chest, the tension building in my shoulders. “Not possible. If I waited for Manny, the entire timeline would have been thrown off and we would be behind. I had counters coming in and the electricity had to be done before I could install them. I didn’t have a choice.”
Fuming now, his face looking like an ugly shade of purple, he spits at me, “These are things you need to bring to my attention. I could have thrown Danny in there to do the electricals.”
“Danny is still an apprentice, and that goes against code.”
“Fuck code. We’d have Manny sign off on it.”
I run my hand over my face, knowing I won’t get anywhere with this man, so I concede, my jaw tight as I say, “Yeah, next time I’ll check with you.”
“Fucking right you will. Just bec
I try not to laugh at that comment because last time Julius tried to charge a project manager for something “gone wrong”, HR backed up the employee, ensuring Julius understood how that was not possible.
But hey, empty threats are one of the cornerstones of the perfect manager, right?
Not wanting to indulge in any more conversation with this man, especially since he’s drunk and stumbling over his own two feet, I ask, “Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”
Standing tall, well as tall as he can—I still tower over him with my six-foot-three height—he says, “No, that’s it. Check with me before you do something like that again. Got it?”
I tap my head, and say with sarcasm—which I know he won’t pick up on—, “Lock and loaded, boss man.”
“Good.” Turning around, he trips over a two-by-four which he kicks out of his way once he gains balance and strides toward the management trailer. The house we’re building is an entire housing development, new for the area, but in high demand.
When the trailer door slams shut, I sigh in frustration and remove my hard hat to run my hand through my hair, lightly pulling on the strands. Fuck, if this wasn’t such a damn good opportunity and well-paying job, I would quit. It would be cool to not have to deal with that dickhead anymore but jobs don’t come easy in this area, especially jobs like mine. Upstate New York is a tough place to find work and I’m not about to fine-tune my résumé.
I work hard. I’ve never been a slacker, and even though I may have to work with idiots like Julius, I tell myself repeatedly that it’s not forever. One day, I will be a Julius . . . just not with the alcoholic tendencies and beer belly.
I look down at my Fossil watch with the black face and dark leather wristband. Great. It’s well past quitting time. I walk out to my truck and toss my hard hat in the bed, pop open the tailgate, and snag the cooler I keep there for days like this. I don’t drink at the worksite, but I’m not opposed to having a Mountain Dew after work with a Little Debbie snack.
My Best Friend's Ex by Meghan Quinn / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes