Page 18 of Let Me Love You
“Come inside me, Theo,” I beg.
With a low groan, he comes, his body frozen as he jerks inside my core. When he collapses on top of me, his weight presses me into the mattress, and a laugh slips out of me. I try catching my breath, no matter how impossible it feels when I’m being squashed under a massive hockey player. But I love this too. The comfort his weight brings. The familiarity of it. It’s like home.
I don’t need an apartment with him or a house or anything else. I only need Theo. And moments like this prove it. None of it is a competition. Because nothing else matters. No one else matters.
Only me and Teddy.
Not gonna lie. He’s kind of stuck with me.
6
MIA
“Miss Rutherford,” an older woman addresses me. Her wrinkled lips thin as she looks me up and down, her attention pausing for the briefest of seconds on the tattoo peeking out from beneath my long-sleeved blouse. Bet she’d have a heart attack if I dared to wear a tank top and let my tattoo sleeve make a full appearance.
And here I thought the piercings covering my ear would be the final blow to my resume.
Lucky me.
Honestly, I should be impressed. It’s been, what? Three seconds? And she’s already decided she doesn’t like me. This might be a record.
If that doesn’t mean this interview is already in the toilet, I don’t know what does.
Pushing to my feet, I give her a smile while ignoring her iciness no matter how impossible it feels. “Hello,” I greet her.
“Come inside.” She waits by the office door, and I slip past her. The office has one window, a yellow lacquered desk looking like it’s from the nineties, and a filing cabinet with a sad, almost dead plant resting on top. A plaque with the name Ms. Desiree Foster is printed in brass and placed front and center on the desk, along with a single chair set up directly in front of it, looking less than comfortable.
I turn around and face her again. “I want to thank you for meeting—”
“Take a seat,” she orders.
Oof.Someone’s got a stick up her ass this morning.
Spine straight, I sit on the edge of the metal chair as Ms. Foster rounds the desk littered with papers and sits down, shuffling a few stacks around as if to look busy. When she finds what she’s looking for, her beady eyes scan the single sheet of paper in front of her. When they shift to me, they are cold. Calculating. Which is weird, considering she looks like Mrs. Claus with a round belly, snow-white hair pinned into an updo, and red, rosy cheeks.
“So. You would like to work at Lockwood Heights Medical,” she announces. “Why?”
“Well, for starters, it’s a great hospital,” I reply. “One of the top-rated in the state. The other nurses, doctors, and staff all rave about the environment online, and it’s close to my home, which is also a great perk.”
“And why do you think you’d be a good fit?”
“I’m friendly. A hard worker. Patient. Smart. Quick on my feet.” I ramble on and on, repeating the same lame answers from my previous interviews as I watch her eyes narrow from behind her wire-rimmed glasses.
Surprisingly, she isn’t bored.
She’s pissed.
And I can’t figure out why.
“Are you aware of our anti-fraternization policy?” she interrupts.
I pause, taken aback. “Uh, I assume it’s like most anti-fraternization policies. Am I correct?”
“And do you know what an anti-fraternization policy means?”
Does she think I’m an idiot?
I clear my throat and answer, “No romantic relationships between coworkers.”