Bad Boys Don't Make Good Boyfriends: Life Lessons

1

M onday morning can eat a buffet of dicks, I groan, slumping my head onto the cool desktop.

You would know about eating a buffet of dicks. I look up when I hear the voice of Julianna Magnusson, friend, supervisor, tormentor …

With all due respect, fuck off, Jules, I grumble, rubbing my forehead as she passes by with a loaded medical supply cart and a shit-eating grin.

"Oh, come on, it’s not that bad." My best friend, Sasha Suvorin, who is sitting next to me, rubs my back gently with one hand while she finishes pulling patient charts with the other.

Easy for you to say when you probably spent all weekend having orgas— Sasha claps her hand over my mouth.

"Obviously, I need to remind you that we are at work," she hisses.

That’s my darling Sasha. Always such a prude. Like people don’t know that she and Dr. Hottie are getting it on at every opportunity. The nurse and the doctor. Such a cliché.

And since I’m feeling extra salty this morning, I lick her hand. She pulls it away with a grimace.

Gross, Becca. Gross.

Dude, I grew up with four brothers. Licking someone’s hand doesn’t even show up on the list of the grossest shit I’ve done.

I’d be willing to bet that list has more stuff on it from your dating life than from growing up with brothers, she replies with a smirk.

I grin widely, never one to waste an opportunity to shock my oh-so-proper BFF.

"I said ‘gross,’ not ‘kinky.’ That’s a whole other list." I give her a wink and she rolls her eyes, pushing her dark blond ponytail back behind her shoulders.

And that’s my cue to head to the morning meeting, she replies, rising from the nurses’ station desk.

I chuckle softly as I follow her. It’s fun watching her squirm, so I never explain to her that none of my dating-related lists are actually all that long. Hers are just that short. Okay, well, maybe mine are a little long.

As we walk into the room, she lights up at the sight of her man across the room. And I have to remind myself her lists are probably not as short as they used to be. And mine aren’t getting any longer.

He gives her a look that leaves nothing to the imagination. Well, to my imagination. Damn, this dry spell is killing me.

It takes all my strength to focus on the meeting. The chief of our unit, Dr. MacDougall — or Dr. MacBoring, as I like to call him — does his best impression of Charlie Brown’s parents at the front of the room, and it’s all I can do to stay awake.

Make sure your chart notes properly reflect … blah, blah, blah, and make sure you read the revised policy documentation on … Snore.

Why do I bother attending, you ask? Besides it being mandatory, even for medical assistants, as soon as it’s over, it’s open season for the latest gossip and the only time of the day where all the nurses and MAs are in one place.

As the meeting breaks up, I’m not disappointed when Avery Carter, a fellow MA, tugs at my wrist.

I heard something you might be interested in, she says in a low voice.

I narrow my eyes, knowing Avery is rarely one to give up a juicy piece of gossip without expecting something in return.

Yeah?

Oh, yeah. About that new orderly over in intensive care who you’ve been crushing on.

My eyebrows shoot up. Who says I’m crushing on him? Dude’s taken. I don’t mess with guys with girlfriends.

Avery scoffs. "I prefer women and I’m crushing on him. The guy is hot as hell."

I shrug, feigning indifference. Even though she’s not wrong. I spent the better part of last month uncharacteristically bummed when I found out the dude was taken. Because da-yum. Hot as hell doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But then I remembered that it’s always the best-looking guys who are the worst in bed. They’ve never had to work for pussy a day in their lives. You’d think with how much they get, they’d be better between the sheets. But why work on pleasing a woman when she’s so eager to please you? No, I’m better off staying away from him. Besides, he screams bad boy, and everybody knows that bad boys don’t make good boyfriends.

Not that I’m exactly looking for a boyfriend. Four horny older brothers with loose lips and seemingly little respect for women have shown me exactly what’s going on in a man’s brain. And it isn’t pretty.

Sure, he’s nice to look at. But I honestly don’t care enough to cough up whatever you think you’re going to get from me for you to spill the beans.

This is a game we play a lot. One that I usually win.

Nina told us he’s single, Harper Hughes, another MA, pipes up as she joins us.

Avery shoots her a dirty look, at which Harper just shrugs.

He broke up with his girlfriend? I ask.

No, Nina was talking to Cindy, who was the one who said he had a girlfriend in the first place. Turns out she made that up to keep the vultures away, Harper explains. Avery throws her hands up and walks away. Harper chuckles. She wanted you to cover her shift this Sunday.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen, I reply drily. Does that mean Cindy struck out?

Harper grins. Big time. He wouldn’t even talk to her about anything nonwork related. Apparently, it was hilarious. Almost makes me wish I worked in intensive care so I could’ve watched. Almost.

I huff a short laugh. Most people don’t want to work in intensive care or emergency. The cardiac unit here at Rutherford Hospital may have its challenges, but it’s not nearly as demanding or stressful. It takes a special kind of person to deal with all that craziness.

Besides, one of the things I enjoy the most about my job is being able to leisurely talk with patients as I prep them for the nurses and doctors. Since we see mostly elderly patients who love nothing more than a good chat, I have all kinds of fun with the old coots. Most of them have been across multiple units for various health issues and have loads of good stories. They’re fantastic sources of gossip and entertainment.

So what do you want for this? I ask curiously.

Harper blushes. Nothing. Figured I owed you for … well, you know. All the trouble I caused with Sasha and all.

I give her a look. Then you should be doing Sasha favors, not me. Not that I super mind.

I would if she’d let me, but you know her. Harper shrugs.

Yeah, she’s pretty self-sufficient, that one, I agree. Anyway, thanks. If for nothing else than putting Avery in her place for a minute.

Anytime, Harper assures me with a smile as we head our separate ways.

As I go about my morning duties, my mind wanders more than usual. Dude is single. But apparently rejected Cindy, who is really pretty. Tall, thin, big blue eyes, corn silk blond hair, and a quiet, waifish quality about her that I think most guys dig. Nothing like my thick, curvy hips that are barely contained by our standard-issue hospital scrubs, the unruly dark brown curls that I keep coiled in a bun at the nape of my neck, and an attitude the size of California. I’m the J. Lo to her Taylor Swift. But maybe it had nothing to do with looks. Maybe dude’s too good for everyone? Guys that hot usually think they are.

I’m still thinking about it that afternoon when Sasha finds me back at the nurses’ station.

You okay? she asks. I look up to find her staring at me with a furrowed brow, hands on hips.

Why wouldn’t I be?

Because you typed the letter ‘u’ about six hundred times, she replies, pointing at the screen.

I totally meant to do that, I reply with mock indignation. It’s a passive-aggressive rebuttal to MacDougall’s incessant chart notes lecture.

Sasha smirks as she settles into the workstation next to me.

Yeah, okay. Who is he?

I heave a sigh, not even wanting to pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about.

Vincent DeMarco, I admit.

Who? she asks, brows scrunched together.

The hot orderly, I explain.

Ah. He has a name.

I give her a look. Of course he has a name. But apparently what he doesn’t have is a girlfriend.

And that’s a bad thing? she asks, looking confused.

No. I’d just put him in the ‘has a girlfriend’ box in my head, I reply.

So are you going to go for it then? she asks. That would sound casual to someone who didn’t know her, but I can hear the undertone of excitement. I shoot her a dirty look.

Why bother? Been there, done that. Her mouth drops open, and I hold up a hand. "Before you can take that the wrong way, I haven’t done him. But I’ve been with enough guys like him to know it’s just not worth it."

I don’t understand. You were super into the guy before you thought he had a girlfriend, she objects.

Yeah, that was before I remembered that guys that hot are all talk. It’s all, ‘Ooh, baby, I’m gonna do things to you you’ve never even dreamed of before’ and ‘Damn, girl, I could hit that all night.’ Then five minutes later, a little rubbing, and they’ve come in their pants before you even got to see them naked, much less get off yourself. Nah, not worth it.

Sasha looks nervously down both directions of the hall we’re on, checking to see if anyone heard my little diatribe.

That was … wow.

I shrug. Just the truth. He’ll remain good eye candy. I’ll find someone else to have fun with. No biggie.

If you say so, I just … Sasha chews on her lower lip nervously.

What? I prompt.

She sighs heavily. I just wish you could have what I have. I know you’re not really looking for a relationship or anything, but neither was I. And it’s … I mean, I feel like an idiot gushing, but I want that for you too.

I lay a hand over hers. You want me to be happy, I say, reaffirming the message I know she’s trying to send. She nods. "I appreciate that. I am happy. Do you remember that time in the sterilization room you lectured me about being happily single? Well, that’s where I’m at. I like my life the way it is."

Sasha sucks her lips into her mouth in a way that I know means she has something to say she thinks I won’t like. I give her my best just say it look and patiently wait for her to spit it out.

"I thought I did too. That’s all. I don’t mean to belittle what you said. I just … I didn’t know I could be this happy."

I shake my head and give her a dim smile, trying not to be annoyed. I’m glad you’re happy, Sash. You know I am. Maybe I’ll have that someday. Maybe I won’t. But I’m cool. I can get my oxytocin rush with some random guy, or a vibrator, or whatever, in the meantime. It’s cool. Really.

Do you really believe that? Because when you say something is ‘cool’ twice, it’s probably not. Just sayin’. She rises and grabs a stack of patient files. I’ll be back.

I stare after her, trying not to be annoyed. I kind of have to admit to myself that she might have a point. Maybe I do want that on some level. But I really don’t want all the other bullshit that comes with it. Because you have to kiss a lot of fucking frogs to find a man worth keeping around.

2

"T ell me again why we’re doing Friday night happy hour here ?" Jules asks loudly over the music.

"Because there’s more to San Diego night life than hoity-toity bars that cater to hospital staff and college students. And after this week, I need to dance," I explain loudly, adjusting my black crop top and shaking my shoulders to the beat. It’s just a bar with deejay night and a tiny place to shake your thang, but it’ll do.

Sasha shoots a nervous glance at Jules, who simply raises her hands in defeat. At least she knows it’s pointless to argue with me. With a grin, I grab Sasha by the hands and pull her onto the dance floor behind us.

Dance like you don’t have a man, I shout to her, working my body to the music.

Sasha glances over my shoulder and points at the door. How about like our coworkers aren’t watching? she shouts back.

I twist my hips and swing around to see Harper and Avery enter. Harper is still in scrubs but, like me, Avery has changed into more casual clothes.

I spin back around and shrug, continuing to let loose while Sasha nervously shuffles from one foot to the other in a horrible imitation of dancing.

Why do you care so much? C’mon, girl, I grab her hands in mine and make her shimmy along with me. Soon, she’s laughing and actually dancing. The girls join us, with even Jules finding her way onto the dance floor and bobbing her head to the music. I shake my head and laugh, pulling at Jules to get her moving.

I’m too old for this, she shouts while laughing, her gorgeous dark-red hair swinging around her tall, lean frame.

You’re thirty-four, not ninety-four, I say back with a laugh. Just because she’s one of our most experienced nurse practitioners doesn’t mean she’s too old to party. In fact, it means she probably needs to more than any of us. I put my hands over my head and bump her with a hip, causing her hips to sway away from me. Catching on, she sways back and bumps me in time to the music. That’s right, you got this.

She grins at my encouragement. Old dog, she says, pointing at herself.

New trick, I tease back, pointing at myself with a wink. Now we just need to get down and dirty with some boys. Hey, Sash! I grab Sasha and turn her toward me.

What? she shouts.

Tell your man to get his fine ass over here and bring some of our male coworkers with him. Time to get scandalous up in here.

I already took care of that, Harper pipes up, pointing toward the tables.

I turn around to see so many bodies in scrubs crowded around the tables we’d been at that it takes me a minute to catch all the faces. Dr. Thompson — Cal — is already making his way over to Sasha with a grin on that fine face of his, while Dr. Franklin stands at the tables making small talk with Zoe and Ethan, two of the cardiac unit nurses. A third cardiac unit nurse — Mark — hangs at the table next to them with two other guys and a girl. The girl I recognize as Nina, the MA from intensive care that Harper is friends with, but I can’t see either of the guys that well as they’re both on the far side of the crowd. But my gut tells me Harper is up to something.

I pull on Harper’s arm until my mouth is at her ear. What did you do? I demand.

She shoots me a guilty look. I just … invited some people I thought you might want to get to know, she responds lamely.

A setup? Seriously? This isn’t fucking high school, Harper.

She blushes bright red. Sorry, she says, then leans in so only I can hear her. "I actually like his friend. I