The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous Series) (4 page)

Chapter Five

“'Pull on my pubes' and 'handcuff my balls' are never useful instructions from a physician attempting to run a code.”

Right now, my life feels like it's probably at an all-time low. Take my current situation for example: I'm sitting in the ER breakroom, attempting to eat shitty hospital cafeteria food, while having flashbacks of my ex-fiancé banging it out with loose lips Vagina—I mean Veronica. Ha!

And now I'm even laughing at my own jokes, but seriously... That's a little funny, right?

Shirley rushes into the breakroom looking visibly frantic. "Where have you been?! We've got a code in bed three and I need you there!"

So much for sitting down for a few minutes...

"Obviously I was under the very wrong impression that hospital employees get lunch breaks around here."

"I don't need the attitude today, Elle,” Nurse Ratchet replied with a raise of her unibrow.

Deep breaths, Elle. Deep breaths.

I get out of my chair, throw my crappy food away, and head for the god damn code that's interrupting the only five minute break I've had since clocking in ten hours ago.

"Excuse me, nurse. Someone needs to pay for my cab ride back to my house. I called an
amalance
to get here, because I don't got a car." This demand is coming from a guy who is updating his
Facebook
status on his brand-new iPhone.

I briskly walk around that idiot without even acknowledging him. I do this for several reasons. One, I obviously need to get to this code, and two, I probably would have said some things that would have been deemed highly inappropriate by Human Resources.

I know I'm a little jaded, but you trying working in an ER for over seven years and then tell me if your view of the world has changed. I continue to quickly rush to bed three while silently repeating my mantra in my head.

I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.

I get into the room and can already tell this is going to be a complete clusterfuck, because the new ER physician is attempting to run this code. Dr. Bill Simon is a thirty-five-year-old physician who is a few inches shy of five foot five and as skinny as Olive Oil, and he also happens to have Tourette's.

Now, don't start judging me. I really don't have anything against people with Tourette's Syndrome, but it can become quite hard to ignore when an ER doctor's Tourette's is more pronounced under stressful situations. That's right—
stressful situations
make this man's Tourette's go haywire. And yes, he actually chose Emergency Medicine as his specialty.

Some things just can't be explained.

So here I am, watching shit hit the fan while good ol' Doctor Bill attempts to run a code despite his ill-timed outbursts. Oh, did I forget to mention that Bill's Tourette's cause him to yell out sexually explicit comments?

Sometimes it really is the little things in life.

"So what do we have here?” I ask Amy.

"He's a forty-five-year-old truck driver who was brought in by squad after being found nonresponsive at a truck stop. No known medical or surgical history. Next of kin has yet to be contacted," Amy responds as she continues chest compressions. The girl couldn't look ugly even if she tried. She's standing there pounding on some guy's chest and still managing to look like she's just walked off a fucking runaway. If she wasn't my best friend, she'd be one of those girls I'd love to hate for always looking so damn gorgeous. Her big brown eyes framed with thick, black lashes, her long brunette hair, and her adorably curvy body that can even be seen in loose scrubs. Yeah, she's kind of a bitch that way.

“What's… PICKLE PISS! What's our rhythm?" Dr. Bill yells out.

"He's still in V-fib, Dr. Simon," I tell him as I take over chest compressions to give Amy a break.

"Okay, okay. Go ahead and intubate. Let's continue CPR and prepare to…SWEET MOMMA'S PUSSY…BIG-LIPPED VAGINAS…prepare to defibrillate…PULL ON MY PUBES!" Dr. Bill sputters a little too loudly while making it quite obvious he is pretty worked up and extremely nervous.

I don't know how long I can hold back laughter if he keeps demanding someone pulls on his pubes. I look over at Amy, raise my eyebrow, and slightly shake my head while I continue chest compressions on this poor truck driver. She looks back at me, indicating that she agrees that this code is going to be a shit show.

I am just thankful this man didn't have any family with him. There is nothing about a doctor yelling about "big-lipped vaginas" that will make you feel like your loved one is in good hands. Unless, of course, your loved one has a problem with their big-lipped vagina; then you know you came to the right place and might think, “Boy, this doctor is passionate about his practice.”

Unfortunately, that isn't the case here.

Amy starts to draw up epinephrine, already anticipating what actually needs to be done. Amy and I have been running our own codes for so long now that it's old hat, but Dr. Simon needs some practice. So here we are, attempting to defibrillate a man out of V-fib (irregular, life-threatening heart rhythm) while becoming more uncomfortable by the minute because Dr. Simon is shouting about “momma's pussy.”

Don't let your thoughts wander with that scenario or else you will end up some place extremely disturbing. Don't do it! Save yourself! Think about happy things, like Ryan Gosling's abs…

"Let's attempt to defibrillate him out of…TITS…out of BIG TITTIES…out of V-fib. All clear. Hands off the patient," Dr. Simon hollers as he attempts to shock this patient into some type of life-sustaining rhythm.

"'Defibrillate him out of big titties'? Didn't know they added that to one of the ACLS Algorithms," a husky voice whispers into my ear.

ACLS Algorithms are basically standard protocols that we follow when faced with code situations. I smirk and laugh quietly to myself before I look up to see where that voice came from. I see the most striking blue eyes staring back at me. Eyes that nearly take my breath away and make me forget my name.

This man is extremely muscular, well over six foot, and looking like absolute sin in a pair of simple navy scrubs. His blue eyes are even more pronounced under his thick, black lashes and messy, jet-black hair. His badge reads Dr. Trent Hamilton.

God, even his name is sexy.

I look over at Amy and see that she notices this hot piece of eye candy standing near me. She's looking at me with a huge grin on her face. I give her the 'holy shit, this guy is hot!' look and she discreetly nods her head. Then, in true Amy fashion, she proceeds to stroke her epinephrine syringe while she bites on her bottom lip.

I swear I can't take her anywhere.

My eyes widen a little in a desperate endeavor to get Amy to stop showing off her hand-job techniques in the middle of a code. She just continues to fondle her syringe to satisfaction, and this leaves my best friend with two options: either she knocks it off
or
I'll give her a swift cunt punch after work. I'm being completely serious here, too. Just ask Amy about the infamous Slackers vs. Mallrats argument. After numerous shots of tequila and being thrown out of Murphy's Pub, she found out that getting punched in the vagina really does hurt like a motherfucker.

After giving Amy several 'I'm going to donkey-punch your taint' looks, she decides it's in her best interest to stop the stroking. I notice that Dr. Beautiful continues to stand back and watch Dr. Simon run an extremely attention-grabbing code.

I have a suspicion that he came to observe the notorious Dr. Simon for his own amusement, because word tends to spread like wildfire around this hospital. Luckily, we are able to defibrillate the truck driver out of V-fib and get him stable enough to be transferred to the ICU vented and in critical condition.

Drugs that include cocaine, meth, and barbiturates were found in the trucker's system. The man most likely had a massive heart attack and honestly is damn lucky to be alive at this point. I'm just thankful we were able to get through that code with only hearing a few more inappropriate comments from Dr. Simon. “Whip me," "handcuff my balls," and "vibrating anal beads" were a few of my favorites. My guess is that he's probably a Fifty Shades of Grey
fan.

Chapter Six

“The first step in fixing a problem starts with admitting you have a problem. My name is Ellen and my traitor nipples have an addiction to sexy physicians.”

As I'm sitting at the nurses' station, updating some patient charts, I look up to see Dr. Hamilton leaning over my computer screen, smiling. “Uh, can I help you with something?” I say, sounding a little irritated.

He shakes his head slightly while still grinning at me and then mumbles quietly to himself. The only thing I managed to hear was “doesn't remember.” My eyebrows turn in as I contemplate the notion that this hot doctor might be a little crazy.

After an awkward silence, he introduces himself. "Hi, I'm Trent Hamilton, the new trauma surgeon that's temporarily taking over Dr. Grey's practice. You must be the infamous Ellen James?"

Infamous? What the hell? Is that like a code word for 'I hear you're a good fuck'?

He puts his hand out towards me and I hesitantly place my hand in his; the warmth of his palm makes my nipples tighten immediately.

Jesus, Elle, you're at work! Calm your tits!

I'm in complete shock over my body's reaction to a simple handshake. I quickly compose myself and remove my hand from his scorching, muscular grip.

"Infamous, huh? Well I'm not sure why, but hopefully it's for good reason. It's a pleasure, Dr. Hamilton."

"Yes, Ellen, the pleasure is all mine, and please, call me Trent," he replies with a smirk.

Damn, sexy, smirking, too-hot-for-my-own-good doctor. And of course he's a surgeon! After John, I already promised myself…NO MORE DOCTORS! This guy is going to make that promise very hard to keep.

I'm already mentally taking pictures of him for my spank bank. Don't judge me. Everyone has a spank bank. Your go-to mental pictures that you keep stored away for when it's time to finger-bang yourself.

Diddle your skittle. Flick your bean. Fluff your muff. Double-click your mouse
…

Anyone who denies the need for a spank bank is an uptight prude who could use a good double plow. See what I did there with the yoga sexual innuendo?

"Okay,
Trent,
" I retort with a tight smile. A tight smile because my nipples and snatch have betrayed me and seem to find Trent Hamilton worthy of hot, dirty sex.

"So, is it just Ellen, or do you go by anything else?”

"Yes, it's Ellen, but I also go by Ellie—I mean Elle. I also go by Elle.”

What? Why did I say Ellie first? Freudian slip?

The only man who has ever called me Ellie is John.

"Well, I look forward to working with you. Would you mind showing me around the department?” He asks expectantly while continuing to hold my gaze with his beautiful blue eyes. I reluctantly pull away from his stare and glance over at Tony. I'm trying to find a way out of this scenario, because I really don't trust my sexually frustrated body near this man.

"I've actually got a few patients to see, but I'm sure Tony would love to. Right, Tony?” I say to Tony, who is sitting at the computer next me.

”Sorry, Elle, I'm a little busy here," Tony responds without even looking up from his computer screen.

I can tell he's furiously attempting to catch up on charting. Obviously, he waited until the end of his shift to chart for all of his patients, because he's a procrastinating asshole with horrible timing and no sense of how his procrastination MAY AFFECT MY LIFE! Ugh!

Damn you, Tony, and your shitty, shitty time management skills!

“All right, well I guess I can take a few minutes to show you around, Dr. Hamilton." I get out of my chair and motion for him to follow me. "Let's head back towards our supplies and work our way out."

"Sounds like a plan," Dr. Hamilton—or should I say Dr. Beautiful—answers with a voice that does things to me I am not even ready to admit. My muff, on the other hand… Well, she is practically wetting herself right now.

We walk into the supply room, and this man has me so on edge that I jump a little as the door closes shut behind us.

"So this is the supply room. Pretty much everything you could possibly need is back here. I doubt you'll be spending much time here though. That's what nurses are for, right,
Doctor
?" I ask sarcastically.

I turn away from him and attempt to point out some specific supplies, but warm breath on the back of my neck makes me forget my train of thought.

What is with this man?

He's already got me fantasizing about all kinds of kinky sex positions with him: Double plow, triple plow… Hell, any kind of plow as long as
he
is plowing
me
!

I slowly turn around, and my breath catches when I find myself face to face with Trent Hamilton. Without giving me any time to think or protest, he roughly pulls my hips flush to his then proceeds to place his lips on mine. I weakly attempt to pull away, but his hand is in my hair, holding me in place.

His tongue slowly licks my bottom lip and begs entrance into my mouth. I can't help the moan that escapes me, and then he's in my mouth, exploring me, kissing me with more passion than I've ever felt in my entire twenty-eight years.

My body melts into his and I'm completely lost in this kiss—this amazing, sexy, passionate kiss. I'm kissing a man I just today maybe spoke a total of ten minutes to and will be working with on a daily basis.
Clearly I've lost my ever-loving mind!
But my mind has left for lunch. The only one running the show at this point is my vagina, and boy oh boy, is she loving her some Trent Hamilton right now.

His hand slowly slides up under my scrub top and grazes my thin cotton bra. My nipple hardens as the pad of his thumb rubs against it. His tongue stroking inside my mouth and hand firmly grabbing my breast have me so turned on that I think I might spontaneously combust. I have no self-control left and I find myself putting my hands all over his hard, muscular body.