The one who got away will be naked in his arms before the night is over. . . she just doesn’t know it yet.

Run – don’t walk – to get your copy today of these friends to lovers!

Oh my Gawd this book was fiya!!

-Amazon reviewer Toni

“You are a professional,” Cassie reminded herself, wheeling her computer through the MetroGen ER. The wee morning hours of Thursday night shifts in the minor care pod were supposed to be slow.

The bars didn’t have extended hours. No major concerts. The light drizzle should have kept people in on a late July night.

Unless it was a full moon.

In which case—definitely the best time to google hangnails, calluses, splinters, and toothaches.

Lest anyone think she was joking, the minor care census included a hangnail, a cut lip, and a stubbed toe.

For the two ladies waiting for urine pregnancy tests, Cassie totally recommended the one-dollar pregnancy tests at Dollar Tree. Skip the three-hundred-dollar ER co-pay. It would take Cassie far longer to process their insurance in her job as the ER clerk than wait for the store to reopen in five hours.

The triage nurse at the front door was having a ball because her triage reasons became more outlandish as the night wore on.

Seriously, why were Fabio and Glen sharing a room? And what did ‘get checked out’ mean? They couldn’t be too sick if they were in the minor care pod and not one of the two standard care pods. At nineteen and twenty-eight years old, they shouldn’t have been taking a ton of meds.

Group STD testing, perhaps?

No, the triage nurse’d have written ‘personal concern w/testing’ on that.

Object in the butt? While everyone said ‘they fell on it,’ it usually appeared as ‘OITB.’

Sex accident? Ideally, they weren’t drunk. Drunk guys, gay, straight, or in between, were obnoxious when she had to file their insurance.

It made her long for the trauma pod. There, she worked with the charge nurse, fielding phone calls, test results, locating consults, specialists, and directing human traffic. Her main company here was an attending, a PA, and two custodians cleaning the floor for the fifth time after another visit from the Vomit Comet of Minor Care.

She opened the door to Room 78 and understood triage’s note.

There sat two shirtless firefighters ‘getting checked out.’ Even better, she recognized one of them, who had been similarly naked during their last conversation.