Read After Hours for Free Online Page B

gray, like the patients? Isn’t it confusing?”
    “Sure, but the free benzo jabs are a decent trade-off.”
    “Why, really?”
    He shrugged. “I think it’s helpful for some residents, seeing me in their colors.
     It’s my job to restrain them, and I’m good at it. It’s easy for me to be the enemy,
     when it’s my role to physically dominate them. Just a way to say, ‘Hey, I’m on your
     side. Trust me.’ Because I know I don’t look like the most sympathetic guy.”
    No, he didn’t. He’d been born with a cruel face, just as my little sister had been
     born with a deceptively wide-eyed, innocent one. Both their faces said things to men—in
     Kelly’s case,
Don’t even fucking try me
, and in Amber’s,
Lead me astray
. If only my sister’s choices more often contradicted the invitation.
    For a while we sipped our drinks without speaking. The bar was warm, and Kelly shed
     his jacket. He’d swapped his gray tee for a black one, and the scars and bruises decorating
     his arms looked like blurry tattoos in the dim light. I could have studied them for
     an hour, but I forced my gaze onto the muted TV behind the bar and pretended to read
     the news headlines.
Those arms are spoken for,
I reminded myself.
And you wouldn’t know what to do with them if you got the chance.
    Kelly leaned over me to grab a napkin from a nearby stack, his bare forearm brushing
     the clothed one I had propped on the bar. The wine commandeered my lips to announce,
     “You don’t look like a Kelly.”
    One of his brows twitched. “No? What do I look like?”
    A Lance, maybe a Butch. Brutus. Killer.
“I dunno. Just not a Kelly.”
    He sipped his drink. “It was my grandfather’s name.”
    “What does your wife do?” the wine blurted.
    “I’m not married.”
    “Oh.” Something different in my middle squirmed, some troublemaking attraction embryo
     wriggling, kicking aside the anger that had been pacing there. “You still wear your
     ring. Has it been a long time?” Since his divorce, or maybe since she’d died, who
     knew? I’d let him fill that in as he wished.
    He shook his head. “I’ve never been married.”
    “Well, your ring is misleading. Is it to keep female patients at bay?” I teased.
    He teased right back, the shadows of a smile playing about his lips as he leaned closer.
     “Female patients and half-drunk nurses.”
    I rolled my eyes, but a hot flush crept up my neck. “Work Kelly” had clearly clocked
     out, and I wasn’t sure who this man was. “I’m not even a quarter drunk.”
    He straightened, looking at his hand. “It was my grandfather’s ring. Same one I’m
     named after. My mom gave it to me when he died. That’s the finger it fit on, and I
     was wearing it around for a while after I got it, thinking I’d buy a chain to put
     it on or something. Then I wound up in a grapple with a resident and got my hand slammed
     against a metal door. Finger swelled up, haven’t been able to get it off since.” He
     presented the finger in question as if he were flipping me a lesser bird. I gave it
     a tug, but his thick knuckle kept it from so much as budging, corroborating his story.
    “Ouch.”
    “It’s either keep it on or have it cut off. And I haven’t been able to bring myself
     to get it clipped.”
    “Understandable. Though it’s a liability. Safety-wise
and
romance-wise,” I said, instantly regretting it. But I’d gone there. May as well commit.
     “Have you had any girlfriends take issue with it?”
Had or currently have . . . ?
Oh God, who was this woman in my head who even cared?
    “The sorts of issues I offer women tend to overshadow concerns about misleading jewelry.”
    I frowned at his cryptic answer. “You mean like ordering them drinks without even
     asking what they like?”
    He eyed my glass. “All women love white wine. White wine and salads with cut-up chicken
     on them.”
    I scoffed. “That’s so sexist.”
    “If it offends you, get your fellow females