Page 23 of The Triple Threat

“It was Joella’s turn, but as usual she’s been too busy fluttering her eyelashes at Dr. Hotpants.”

I laughed and opened up the cabinet where we kept the coffee. “He’ll hear you call him that one day.”

“No, he won’t.” Davis sighed. “He doesn’t even know I exist. I could faint at his feet and he’d step over me.”

“Unlike Joella, who would trample all over you to get to Dr. Andrews.”

“Exactly. You totally understand.”

Davis had had a huge crush on Dr. Andrews since the doctor had first joined us six months previously, but he was right, he barely glanced Davis’s way.

“I think he’s scared of me,” Davis added. “I mean I’m so openly gay I could hold my own Pride event. I think old Hotpants is worried that I’m going to roofie him or something and take him into the store closet and have my way with him.”

At the mention of the store closet, I thought about the last couple I’d found in there – Jefferson and Miss. Watkins. That reminded me not only of Dominic and his smug face, but also that Hunter and I needed to put our plan into action. Which also reminded me of the fact that he’d agreed to take part in the hospital fundraiser.

“I have some news which will cheer you up,” I said to Davis who took the coffee from me to get the jug on – he always said I made it too strong.

“What’s that?”

“Hunter Delaney is going to take part in the calendar this year.”

Davis’ hand went to his heart and he took an exaggerated step back. “Tell me you’re not joking.”

“I’m not joking.” I grinned at him and pulled two mugs from the cupboard.

“How the hell did you manage that?” He began to fan himself. “You’ve asked him for the last two years and he’s said no each time. What did you do to persuade him?”

I shrugged. “I kind of tricked him into it. I told Bronte he was going to do it before he’d said yes, and then I guess he didn’t feel he could say no”

It wasn’t exactly true, but I didn’t want to tell Davis about my plan. He had a mouth bigger than that on the Mississippi and would no doubt tell Bronte next time she tinted his eyelashes when he went into the small beauty salon that she owned.

The truth was we’d only been trying to hide our plan from Bronte, but it had been the first thing I’d thought of when she’d asked what we were talking about. I’d never once thought Hunter would go along with it, so when he texted me after our night at Stars & Stripes to say he was in on the plan and the fundraiser I was more than surprised. I read the text at least five times to be sure I’d read it right.

“I want in on the photoshoot that day,” Davis squealed. “I need to see that cowboy’s hot bod with those beautiful tattoos.”

“How do you know he has a hot bod and that his tattoos are beautiful?”

I turned to get the creamer from the refrigerator, mainly because I didn’t want Davis to see my pink cheeks. I’d seen Hunter without a shirt, and he was right, his bod was hot, and his tattoos were beautiful; my favorite being the edgy and cool, zombie cowboy on his left, tight, tanned pectoral.

“Ellie what the hell are you doing?” Davis asked and clicked his fingers in front of my face.

“W-what?” I stammered, pulling my scrubs away from my chest and wafting it to create some breeze around my girls.

Davis let out a roar of laughter. “You were pushing your thighs together girl and circling your damn nipple.”

“I was not!” I gasped and punched Davis’ arm. “You, big fat liar.”

He held his hands up, palms forward as if I might be about to shoot him. “Swear on the life of RuPaul, honey. You were having naughty thoughts about Hunter Delaney, weren’t you?”

“No.” I pushed a mug toward him. “Coffee now. I only have ten minutes of my break left.”

“Please would help.”

“Please.” I gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “Circling my nipple, as if,” I muttered.

“Swear to God, and like I said, on the life of Our Lord RuPaul.”

I cleared my throat as heat prickled over my chest and back. Okay, Hunter was a good-looking guy, he was sexy if you liked that tattooed cowboy thing that he had going on. If you could even call him a cowboy, he didn’t even wear a Stetson, instead favoring a ball cap, often flipped around with the peak at the back and a tuft of his hair poking out the front and a pair of shades hooked in the front of his shirt. And, more often than not he drove a truck, only riding his horse to round up the herd.