«

»

Jun 15

Song Prompt: “Pinch Me” by the Barenaked Ladies

flash fiction

I admit, I got giddy when I saw that this month’s song prompt was “Pinch Me.” It’s a song I’ve sang to more than a few times and the “I just made you say ‘underwear’” part makes me giggle every time I listen to it. But this time, when I started the song for inspiration, it wasn’t the words that started my muse. It was the title and the overall thought of “Pinch me, because there’s no way that actually happened” that stuck in my head.

I’ve been talking about writing this book for about a year now, and I talk to Chris Allen-Riley (AKA Bronwyn Green) about it on an almost daily basis. She’s trying to convince me to write this book RIGHT NOW because I’m a little bit obsessed with the storyline. Apparently, she’s right because this little song fic turned into 1500 words when I normally only write around 500.

Here’s the song. The prompt (which is basically the first part of my doctor book) follows.

No. Fucking. Way.

I stood frozen to the spot at the door to the Starbucks across from the street from the hospital I worked at and stared at the table at the other side of the room. A group of men in white lab coats chatted amongst themselves, completely oblivious to my sudden inability to move. Maybe if I turned to leave quietly, they’d never realize I’d been there to begin with.

Someone pushed their way around me, muttering at my rudeness before taking their place in the unusually long line for this time of morning. Of course, that was when my klutz gene decided to rear its ugly head and I stumbled into a display of bagged coffee that’d been in the same freaking place since I started going there a year and a half before. The crash of coffee and cardboard display was spectacular and everyone in the store, including the very person who’d made me forget how to walk in the first place, turned to stare at me.

Nope. Don’t need coffee this morning. I’ll just grab some from the radiologist’s office. I did a quick about-face and scurried out the door, my bag flinging against my leg and nearly knocking me over yet again in my haste.

My face burned with embarrassment and would undoubtedly be red for the rest of the day. My Irish heritage was never more evident than when I made an ass out of myself, and literally falling over myself in front of Dr. HottiePants himself definitely made the top ten of most idiotic moments. That week.

I’d started working at Mercy General two years ago and didn’t run into Dr. HottiePants until about six months later. It was toward the end of the day and I’d just finished xraying a rather… shall we say robust gentleman in the cardiac ICU. The nurses had disappeared the minute they heard my portable xray machine come off the elevator, so I had to do the exam on my own. Which, let’s face it, wasn’t entirely unusual, but I was so tired that it took me an extra ten minutes to take the damn picture.

The largest of the elevators opened up and I silently thanked God that it wasn’t the elevator on the opposite wall. I’d already been stuck in that fucker three times in six months and I’d vowed never to take that one again—no matter how big a rush I was in or how exhausted I felt. No amount of time saved was worth the risk.

Trudging in with my thousand plus pound machine, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, heaving a long sigh.

“They really should put a cot in this thing,” a deep masculine voice said from across the elevator.

I jerked upright, nearly smacking my head on one of the framed information boards posted in all the elevators, but everyone ignored. “What?”

My heart nearly fell out of my chest when I saw the man that belonged to the voice.

Dark hair that curled just past his ears, deep brown eyes, full kissable lips, scruffy five o’clock shadow… pretty much everything I’d dreamed about since I first discovered the wonder that was the male species—including the doctor’s lab coat on the tall frame. Okay, (roughly) six foot might not be considered “tall” by everyone’s standards, but at five-four, he basically towered over me.

And he was standing there, staring at me and waiting for some kind of response while I ogled him like an idiot.

“If there were cots in here, I’d probably never leave,” I giggled like a fucking twelve year old and mentally slapped myself. “They’d have to install a TV in here. Or maybe a bookcase.”

He grinned and my ovaries exploded. “I’d definitely never leave, in that case. It’s probably best that this stay the Life Flight elevator, then. We can’t have all the staff moving in. Think of all the overtime!”

God, the accent. It sent tingles directly to my naughty bits and made me weak in the knees.

A ding let us know that we’d reached his floor and I wanted to make up an excuse to go with him. But the second floor was for surgery, and the machine I had definitely wasn’t allowed on the sterile unit. Even if he were brand new at the hospital, everyone knew we kept dedicated machines on the surgical floor so that we didn’t contaminate everything with the rest of the hospital’s germs.

He turned and gave me a smile that melted my panties right off my body. “Nice to meet you.”

When the doors closed, I realized that I’d forgotten to ask his name or look at his ID. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What if I never saw him again?

But I saw him plenty after that day. It seemed any time I’d go to a unit for the day, he was there. Cardiac, in-patients who were stable enough to be on the regular floor, ICU, even the ER. I used to joke with him on the rare occasion that I remembered how to speak that he was stalking me. He just laughed and said it was possible before darting into a patient’s room.

Today was the first time I’d seen him at the Starbucks I visited every morning for my caffeine injection, and I wasn’t sure if I should be happy that I’d caught a glimpse of him or worried that I’d have to find a new coffee spot.

I stood on the corner of Main and University, waiting for the traffic to stop long enough so I could dart across the street. Yeah, I was jaywalking, but the crosswalk lights were notoriously unreliable. I didn’t fancy standing there for another fifteen minutes waiting for the correct signal that may never actually come.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder, “Hey.”

Spinning around, I came face-to-face with Dr. HottiePants, himself. Well, that was what I called him until I learned his real name. It wasn’t easy to remember English when he was around, much less to have the presence of mind to look for a name tag when you were too busy tripping over your tongue.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Marcos Gutierrez, one of the top cardiothoracic surgeons in the state and current star of every fantasy that kept me awake at night, stood in front of me with a smile on his face and a tall cup of steaming Starbucks coffee in his hands.

I nodded and looked away, pretending to check my watch as though I were going to be late. Even if he hadn’t known me for a year, the day shift in radiology didn’t start until seven—which was forty five minutes from then. “I’m good. Just forgot I had feet there for a second. But I need to get in to work. I’m on the early shift.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

He held out the cup before I could tuck tail and run, “Here. I figured you might need this today.”

Raising an eyebrow, I took the cup from him and immediately smelled my usual black coffee with a dash of cinnamon. Either he’d been coming into Starbucks every day and paid far more attention to me (highly unlikely since I’d never seen him in there before), or Michelle—my usual barista—had blabbed my order. I’d bet five bucks it was the latter. Michelle was a fantastic coffee slinger, but she was a hopeless romantic and incredibly perceptive. Tripping over myself at the sight of Dr. Gutierrez wasn’t exactly the most subtle of signs, but still.

“Um… thanks? I’ll have to pay you back another time. All I have is my Starbucks app and I really do need to get going.” So I don’t make a bigger ass of myself in front of you… good Lord, you smell good today. Shit! He’s talking! Pay attention Calleigh!

“Maybe you can get my coffee tomorrow morning? Say… around six? I’m coming in for rounds a little earlier than usual and if you’re on the early shift this week, I don’t want to make you late.”

I nodded dumbly and wondered if someone was playing a cruel joke on me. “Sure. I’ll, um, page you or something if I’m going to be late.”

He handed me a crisp white business card, “My cell is written on the back. I don’t carry my pager with me unless I’m at the hospital. Text me your number when you get to work. I don’t want to make you late.”

As he shot me one last grin, he walked back into the coffee shop to sit back down at the table full of doctors who were pretending that they hadn’t just been gawking at the exchange.

“Ow…Ow, fuck!” Hot coffee scalded my wrist when I jumped after pinching my arm a little too hard.

Well, fuck me. That just happened.

 

Want to see what my blog sisters wrote? Click the links below!

Jess || Kris || Bronwyn

6 comments

1 ping

Skip to comment form

  1. Bronwyn Green

    You FINALLY started it!

    GOOD JOB!

    Now…KEEP WRITING!

    (You may now refer to me as Bossypants.)

    1. Paige Prince

      I couldn’t help it. I had to write it! This damn story has been eating my brain for EVERRRRRRR.

      I’ll totally refer to you as Bossypants. Among other things. ;)

  2. Kris Norris

    Yay you. This was great. I agree. Keep going. Faster.

    1. Paige Prince

      Yes ma’am!

  3. Jess Jarman

    I’m going to echo the sentiment…KEEP WRITING.
    I need to know what happens, dammit. Get to work, woman!

    1. Paige Prince

      I could tell you what happens if you’re that impatient. Although… I have to figure it out, myself. LOL. I keep changing my mind. >_<

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

CommentLuv badge

Social Media Auto Publish Powered By : XYZScripts.com