King of the Perverts by Steve Lowe Page A

companions she’ll catch up with them in a little bit.
    “What are you doing here?” she says to me.
    “Um, I’m not sure.”
    She looks at the bandage on my head. “Oh my gosh, are you OK? What happened?”
    “Again, not really sure. I guess I took a tumble and hit my head last night. I honestly can’t really remember.”
    “Jesus, do you have a concussion or anything?”
    “Not according to the sleep-deprived kid who just released me.”
    She shakes her head and pulls at my arm. “You have to watch out for those residents sometimes.”
    “What are you doing here?” I look her up and down. “Are you a nurse or something?”
    She shakes her head again. “No, I’m a radiology tech.”
    “Oh. I thought you were still in school.”
    “I graduated last May. This is my first job.” She pulls me toward a café on the far side of the hospital lobby. “You look like you could use some coffee, and I have a few minutes before my shift begins. Come on.”
    •
    After ten minutes of talking to Tricia, I’ve forgotten about my head. I’ve pretty much forgotten about everything. I’m kind of lost in her right now. I love hearing her talk. Her voice soothes my aching body and mind. Hearing about her life takes me away from what mine has become.
    “I’m sorry,” she says. “I haven’t stopped talking since we sat down.”
    I smile and wave a hand at her. “No, I don’t want you to stop. It makes my head feel better.”
    She looks concerned, her eyebrows knitting together in the cutest way when she looks at my bandaged noggin. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK?”
    “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I don’t sound very convincing. I suck at lying.
    Tricia sets her cup down and looks at her phone. “Shit, my shift starts in two minutes.” She stands and shoulders her purse. She looks me over again, her concern turning to consternation. “Is there something going on with you that I should know?”
    There’s not enough time in the day to answer that question properly. And I don’t have the energy to try and lie. “Maybe we can get together again to talk some time when you don’t have to go into work and I’m not recovering from a recent head injury.”
    That brings out a smile, but it’s a small one, like my suggestion is not enough to ease her mind. “I think we should. There’s a lot about you that I don’t know yet.”
    “And you want to actually find it out?”
    She pauses as though truly contemplating that question and I think I fall a little bit in love with her right there. “Yes,” she says. “I think I do want to find out. There’s something about you that I find … intriguing. Something in your eyes that’s compelling, like you have a really long and interesting story to tell and you’re dying to unload it. When will you call me?”
    I don’t know what to say. I can’t exactly be going out on dates with this girl while I’m trying to lure bar tramps back to the rape cave to pull stupid stunts on them in bed. But I also have no clue how much longer this fucking show is going to go on. At last check I was halfway to the end, but it seems I’ve only gotten this far on my own dumb luck. How much longer would that luck last? And why am I even still in this thing anyway?
    Stupid question. There’s a million reasons why. So far my moral debasement has not been enough to top that pile of cash waiting for me if I win. But what about now? What about this girl across from me? She’s clearly interested, and she gives me that magic bubbles feeling in the pit of my stomach. I really want to get to know her. But if I make her wait for a week, three weeks, two months, what will happen?
    Is she enough to make me walk away from a million dollars?
    I tell her, “Soon. I’ll call you real soon.”
    She seems to accept this, but the worry is still etched in her face. She knows something is up. I stand and step around the table and she leans in for a quick, unexpected hug. God, she smells so