Fragments of Hope

Aminat Shehu pointed the needle up and tapped the syringe. She was a nurse, and today, she had a new patient.

Oh, he was a big man, and his type made her blood thrum and her heart swoon, but she was working, and Mr. Tall, Dark, and ill was about to be pricked. “What are you doing?” The patient blinked, his once arrogant grin tightening into a grimace.

“Making sure there are no air bubbles. Wouldn’t want one in your vein, would you?” He jerked his arm back. “Wait, what happens if I get an air bubble in my vein?”

“You'd get an embolism, light-headedness, shortness of breath, pass out and die. Nothing to worry about.” She said nonchalantly as she latched on to his forearm. “Hold still.”

Snickers came from the other nurses beyond the privacy curtain. The man leaned forward, winking at her with sultry eyes. He flexed his bicep. “Bet I can break that tiny needle of yours.”

“And get it embedded in those precious muscles? She scoffed, I don’t think so. Chance of infection, septic shock—” She shook her head slowly. “Possible amputation.”

He closed his chocolate eyes and turned toward the curtain. “You win, little nurse.”

Arrogant wuss. The bigger they came, the harder they fell.

Aminat might be a petite nurse, but she held the advantage and the needle. She jabbed it in the skin of his muscular upper arms. He winced, the playful glint in his slanted eyes dimming a little. A chiseled jaw, straight nose with a slight flair over full fleshy lips, and slightly long hair that was made for hands to be run through them.

She rubbed his arm with alcohol—his body heat and a hint of brut body spray inviting her to linger. Probably a player. Bet he flirts with all the nurses.She picked up the second vial, of tetanus injection. “How many am I getting?” Mr. sexy-and-scared asked.

“Two. Since you’re new, then we will see you in six weeks and after that, you will be at maintenance dose, which is every ten years.”

He trained dark-chocolate eyes on her. “Guess I’ll be seeing you in six weeks then?”

Aminat steadied her breathing and stuck the second needle deeper. “Depends on the rooster and who is on call. You might get Chizzy or Temi”

“Ow! I have a basketball meet coming up. Is my arm going to be sore?”

She dabbed the tiny spots of blood with a tissue. “No, but you might experience massive swelling, itching, vomiting and an anaphylactic reaction.”

“Ana what? Aminat kept a straight face. “Don’t worry. We observe you for forty-five minutes before letting you leave.” “I hate needles. Did you have to poke so hard?”

Aminat waved the syringe she just used, teasing. “I like poking you.”

He caught her wrist. His long elegant fingers stroked the back of her hand. “Not fair when I can’t poke back.”

Her hand warmed under his grip, and her willpower wavered. Ever since she tried and swore off sex, she’d been tempted by a host of hot guys. And Ismail Abubakar, by the information on his chart, was an smoking hot—six foot four inches, a hundred eighty two pounds, a triathlete, blood pressure one hundred five over seventy-five, resting heart rate in the fifties. Her gaze raked his bare chest dotted with sprinkles of tight curls. Would they feel soft, silky or coarse?

She tamped down her hormones as she pressd down on the injection site.

“Wayooo! Kai! That was very painful. What did you do that for?” His deep voice vibrated close to her ear.

Because I’m not gonna let you fool me. Aminat handed him a tissue. “I’ll call you in forty-five minutes.”

She couldn’t fall off the wagon this quickly, not with the bet she had with her bestie, Chizzy. Whoever held out the longest against pre-marital sex and received a marriage proposal would win a spa weekend. Aminat and Chizzy have constantly been getting into the wrong sort of relationships, both of them have been childhood friends and devout Christians. Recently due to their bad luck in the love department they decided to ask Aminat’s foster father for advice and what men really want. He introduced them to Islam and asked them to try the abstinence and dua exercise, where they observed the 5 daily prayers as per Islam and also avoid pre-marital sex in any relationship they embark on. At twenty-seven, Aminat was tired of being burned, and the man in front of her was volcanic hot. She suppressed a sigh as Ismail pulled on a tight Naija football jersey.

“What?” His gaze moved to her chest before resting on her eyes. “Hasn’t the pleasure of pain and torture been enough? My arm is tingling and buzzing. I might pass out any minute, a drop my blood pressure and die, and you don’t even care?”

She disposed of the used needles in the disposal container and closed his chart. “I’m on break now.”

“Wonderful. Let’s grab lunch together then.” He pulled aside the privacy curtain and swept his hand in an after-you gesture.

Her pride would have been hurt had he not hit on her, she knew she was an attractive woman and she made sure to take care of herself and strived to keep herself healthy, but she’d show him she was not to be trifled with. She took her purse from under the table and opened the door to the waiting room.

“Mr. Abubakar.” Aminat put on her most professional tone. “The waiver you signed says Solace care is not responsible for you if you don’t follow the policies. Someone has to watch you in case you have a reaction to the shots.”

He opened the door for her. “I’ll be okay since I’m with you. Come on, let’s go get lunch.”

The swell of his full lower lip spread, triggering fantasies of more than a mere bite.

She flicked her shoulder-length hair at him. “Follow me if you want, but I’m not giving you mouth-to-mouth.”

He was definitely handsome, with a smooth baritone voice guaranteed to melt any woman into a puddle. He caught her eye and winked. Her face heating, she quickened her pace through the clinic doors. He stumbled after her and collapsed, grabbing his throat and coughing.

“Mr. Abubakar. Oh, Jesus!” Aminat poured out the contents of her purse. “My EpiPen injection, where is it?”

She fumbled in her purse while bystanders formed a circle, peppering the air with excited exclamations. Ismail’s body jerked with spasms. She had to do something, so she took a deep breath and plastered her mouth over his. His chest tightened and thrashed under her. He was having a seizure, going into shock, choking from lack of oxygen.

Beads of sweat prickled her forehead, and she blew again. A hand caressed the back of her neck, and the lips underneath hers puckered. A light breath fanned from his nostrils and… What the? A velvety tongue swept her mouth with tantalizing grace, and the air was sucked from her lungs. Her head swirled, and her lips responded hungrily, unable to pull away from his minty, refreshing taste.

Cheers and applause rang from the crowd.

“She saved his life.”

“Woo hoo! Hot! I got it on video.”

“Mommy, that man’s faking,” a child’s voice piped in.

Aminat covered her mouth and gaped at the audience while Ismail rolled on the ground holding his stomach. A gale of laughter erupted from his chest. Idiot! Fool! Even worse, she had kissed him back and she liked it.

A security guard helped her up. “Everything okay? Man having a seizure or what?”

“No, he’s fine.” But I’m not. Head down, Aminat gathered her belongings and wove through the dispersing crowd.

Did everyone think she enjoyed it?

She was a professional, but at the same time, how could she not?

He was dreamy, and the kiss was hotter than she’d thought possible. Still, he was a patient, and she had better stick to the “life-saving” story, no matter how fake it was or sounded to her.

The next morning, Aminat ducked into the clinic and opened the curtains to the waiting room. Mr. pretender better not be hanging around and embarrassing her. She might have been easy pickings a couple of months ago, but after taking stock of her life and the nowhere road she was going on, as well as all the stuff she was learning about Islam, no more.

She’d be respectable and desirable for marriage. No more selling herself short.

She sensed trouble as soon as she walked by the receptionist’s desk. A colorful mixed bouquet sat on the counter.

“Who left these here?” Aminat asked the patients. “We’re not supposed to have flowers in the allergy clinic.”

No one replied. The note card was addressed to “Nurse.” Real bright, not! They were probably for Chizzy. Petite and beautiful, she had a string of suitors, although none of them were the marrying type. Her last boyfriend ended up in prison for kidnapping, human trafficking and possession and use of hard drugs.

Aminat was busy bringing up her charts when a commotion caught her attention.

“Nurse, nurse. We need some help here,” a patient said.

She rushed into the waiting room and found a young woman coughing and hunching over with her hands on her knees.

“Can you walk?” She helped the patient stagger into the clinic and announced, “Patient having an asthma attack.”