Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
It’s my job to determine the why and the how. And while it won’t bring them back, sometimes it gives the family a sense of closure.
“The Chief ME, Dr. Cornwell, recruited me. He made me feel special and needed. He knew I could do what a lot of other doctors can’t do. So no, I didn’t dream of becoming a medical examiner. I don’t think most people end up taking the path they dreamed of as a child. Did you?”
“Yes.” Paul gives me a serious face for a few seconds before grinning. “It’s true. I’m a purebred nerd. I’ve dreamed of being a chemist since I got my first chemistry set for Christmas when I was eight. But …” He nods. “You’re right. It’s probably the exception not the norm that someone actually becomes what they dream about as a child. That probably makes me boring and tragically predictable.”
It really does. I bite my bottom lip, and he leans into me, stopping just before our mouths meet. I grin, so elated that he knows the truth and it’s no big deal. I’m so glad I called Paul. I should have done it sooner.
We kiss, letting the need build. He slides his hand from my leg to my waist, from my waist to my breast. I hum into the kiss. My hands reach for the button to his jeans, and I push him back onto the sofa, straddling his waist.
My shirt comes off. His shirt follows.
My hands work the zipper to his jeans. He grips my hips.
I smile. He … cringes. Winces. Something not sexy.
His gaze goes right to my hands. “Is it weird for you…” he grabs my wrists to stop my hands from doing anything else “…to separate what you do at work from your personal life?”
My gaze narrows. “Uh …” I shake my head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean … you use these hands to cut open dead bodies. But now you’re using them to touch me. I bet you’ve done things to a man’s…” he nods toward his erection “…part that’s not exactly sexy. Is it weird for you? Do you think about it when you’re not at work?”
My hands, the same ones I use in my job, rub my face as I chuckle because it’s better than what I really want to do—cry. “No. I don’t think about work when I’m with you like this—the way male OBGYNs don’t think about their patients’ vaginas while making love to their wives.” I drop my hands from my face and rest them on my legs to keep from touching him since it seems to make him uneasy. “At least, most male OBGYNs probably don’t think about work when they’re having sex.”
“But you’ve seen a lot of naked men.”
Oh my god. This isn’t happening. “It’s an occupational hazard. It’s not a perk. And can I just say that a lot of doctors who work on living people see them naked. Surgeons cut into people. They hold their organs in their hands. They put them together and sew them back up. But for whatever reason, it’s much easier for surgeons to get laid than forensic pathologists.” As my words escalate in volume, I climb off his lap and pull on my shirt.
“I’m sorry.” He sits up. “I know how ridiculous it is. And you’re a great person …”
Here we go. I refrain from rolling my eyes, but it’s not easy.
“But I can’t shut off my brain now. All I can think about is you opening dead bodies like it’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal, Paul. It’s someone’s son or daughter. Someone’s friend. Someone’s significant other. Someone’s parent. I don’t ever take that for granted. And while I’m not saving their life, I’m finding answers to questions that might help give the family closure or comfort if they know their loved one didn’t suffer. And you know … sometimes I do save lives. Sometimes I discover a hereditary condition that the family can use as knowledge for early prevention. I help the police solve murder mysteries, and I help put dangerous people in prison. There’s nothing about my job that I don’t take seriously. There’s never a day that I don’t feel like I’m making a difference in someone’s life. I never make a cut and think it’s no big deal.”
He tucks in his shirt as he stands, head bowed. “I’m so sorry. I’m a bastard. And this is one hundred percent me, not—”
“Me, not you. Yeah. Yeah. I’ve heard it a million times. Get the fuck out.”
Paul’s head snaps up, lips set into an O of shock. “Josie—”
“It’s Dr. Watts to you. Get out. And pray you never show up on my table, or you will be the exception to my high level of professionalism as I gut you like a fish.”