I had skied Northstar hard all weekend, and then Monday had an insane shift because of a massive pileup on 80. I was exhausted and had drifted into the breakroom to try to grab a quick nap on the couch. I was pissed to see that Greenberg had beat me to the couch, though he was sitting up peering at his phone. For some reason, we both seemed to always wind up working on the same schedule, and we pretty much detested each other.
"I'm lying down, watch yourself," I declared and flung myself down, kicking off my clogs and putting my feet in his lap.
"Excuse you" he said mildly.
I mumbled a "fuck you" in reply and tried to doze.
After a moment I asked, "You the one who de-iced my windshield last Friday morning? "
"Uh, yeah," he said hesitantly, as though he was going to get reprimanded. "Umm, how'd you guess it was me?"
"Well, your Ford jalapeno was alongside when I parked, but it was gone in the morning..."
"It's a Porsche Cayenne!"
"Whatever. Guy spends that much on a car that isn't even lifted and 4WD, makes me figure he's compensating for some deficiency..."
"OK I admit it, I have a small penis, you happy now?"
"Dude. I give Zero fucks. You're way too pretty for me anyway. And besides, I have no tits. Luck of the draw. If my knees ever blow out and I'm in a fucking wheelchair I'll buy a fat pair from Titties R Us down on McCarran...sit around and admire my profile all day...What I WAS going to say was 'Thanks for clearing my windshield,' but forget it you thin-skinned little bitch."
"Thin skinned, I'm thin skinned? You are the prickliest asshole in this whole fucking hospital.
"Ohhh," I crooned, "You noticed."
I flopped onto my back, inadvertently kicking him in the process.
"Fuck! It's hot as balls in here. I had to wear fucking thermals in the OR, but it's like Panama in here," I whined.
"Well, peel off some layers, dummy. I shed mine before coming here. Go ahead, I won't look."
Sitting up and turning my back to him, I gave him a "Yeah, right" look over my shoulder as I pulled my scrub top off over my head, and then reached down to peel off my base layer.
"Stop trying to see my tits, asshole. I see looking you in the TV screen."
"I don't care about your tits, I'm a doctor. I see tits all day long."
"But hold up", he said, touching my back, indicating that he wanted me to leave my top off for a moment.
"What, I said, genuinely curious, "Melanoma? Skin tag?"
"Two questions? How do you have tan lines on your back in fucking February, in Reno, Nevada?"
He was lightly tracing the outline left by the racerback sports bra that I often wore climbing.
His touch, just that ghosting feather immediately gave me goose bumps. He continued to touch me, sliding up my spine to the slope of my traps, mentally inventorying each of the muscle groups. And how do you have so many muscles on your back, Jesus! Climbing? Swimming? Yoga?"
"I have the same number of muscles as anyone. If you ever got below 10 % body fat, you would look the same. And that's more than 2 questions."
He was continuing to list activities: "Hang gliding? Scuba? BMX? Anal?"
"Fuck you. Last guys to fuck my ass had to eat with a straw for 2 months."
"Guys as in plural. "
"Yeah, as in two. Two guys but they needed three. Soon as contestant one nutted, he backed off so my legs were freed, and I fucking nailed him: BAM. Heel strike, side of the head. That shocked # 2 enough that I was able to wriggle my hands free and just CRUSH his ball sack. Oh, it was awesome. He vomited and passed out, like SNAP."
"I hate anal," I emphasized.