Selena Kitt - A Baumgartner Christmas

Almost as good.

That was enough.

Wasn’t it?

* * * *

“Hewwo?” Carrie’s tongue felt too big for her mouth as she grabbed for and answered the phone, head throbbing. She closed her eyes against the brightness of the sun slanting through the blinds, turning toward the wall and taking the phone with her.

“Carrie? Is that you?”

She tried to gather saliva in her mouth so she could speak more clearly. “Hi Nan.”

It was her mother-in-law.

Of course it was.

“Are you sick, dear?”

Ah, the perfect excuse. “Just a little bug.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought noon would be late enough to call.”

“It’s fine, I was just napping.” Sleeping like the dead was more like it, but why quibble?

Doc snored beside her and she nudged him, shushing his groan as he opened his eyes.

“Your mother,” she mouthed.

“I was just calling about Christmas,” Nan went on.

“Mmm-hmm.” It was safer not to try and use any vowels.

“Chuck and I sent you tickets. I just want to make sure they don’t get lost in the mail. I overnighted them.”

“Oh.” Carrie rubbed her aching eyes. They had talked about Key West, but they hadn’t made any decisions. Apparently, Nan had made the decision for them.

“Is Stephen there?” Nan was the only one who ever called Doc by his given name. Even his father called him “Doc.”

“Hold on.” It was far easier to hand Nan over to her son.

He tried to push the phone away, but Carrie wouldn’t let him, forcing it to his ear.

“Hi, Mom.” His voice was far clearer than her own. “What’s up?”

Carrie pulled her pillow over her head, listening to him “mm-hmm” his mother until the end of the conversation.

“Okay, Mom, sounds good. Love you too. Bye.” Doc dropped the phone on the bed with a groan and Carrie scrambled for it, hanging it up before her mother-in-law could listen in on their conversation. She loved Nan, but she knew better than to share everything with her. Hangovers didn’t go over too well with parents, even when the children were technically adults.

“Let me guess.” Carrie shoved her head back under her pillow. “We’re going to Key West?”

“Don’t you want to go?”

She sighed. “Oh I don’t know…”

“I think it will be good for us.” Doc’s hand moved over his wife’s lower back, massaging.

She poked her head out, opening one eye. “Do you?”

“We need a vacation.” He smiled, sliding his hand over the curve of her behind. “Maybe we can recharge our batteries.”

“Are yours so weak?” she teased.

“Let’s find out.” He slipped his hand between her legs, seeking heat.

She scissored her legs closed, groaning. “Oh god, no, I can’t even think about it. My head is swimming.”

Doc chuckled. “You can thank the tequila.”

“I’m going to stay in bed all day.” She grabbed for the comforter, curling onto her side and settling in.

“Can’t,” Doc said regretfully. “We promised Wilson we would go get a tattoo with him today, remember?”

“Today!” She covered her eyes with her hand, shaking her head, which was a mistake, because her brain rattled around inside her skull, sending sharp pains down her neck.

He laughed, getting out of bed. “Well I didn’t know you were going to be hung over, or I’d have rescheduled.”

“Oh god, Doc, I can’t possibly.” She peeked out at him, pleading.

“I’ll make you my hangover special.” He sat next to her on the edge and kissed her cheek.

“It will make me puke.”

“Yep.” He grinned. “You’ll either puke or be cured. Either way, you’ll feel better.”

* * * *

“Chicken.” Doc poked Carrie in the ribs but she shook her head stubbornly, crossing her arms and watching as Wilson’s left bicep bloomed with blood and ink. The image was taking form, a serpent wrapping around his arm, over his shoulder, and across his back. He’d had work done on it before and this was the final visit.

“So I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative, isn’t it?”

She sat on one of the stools, too tired to keep standing. Her head had finally cleared, after Doc made her drink a horrible concoction-whiskey, coffee, Tabasco sauce, a raw egg and cracked pepper, mixed in a glass of orange juice-and as she’d predicted, she had thrown it up. But then she’d felt a little better, especially after four Advil and about a gallon of water. But she still had that residual kind of haze in her head, like it was wrapped in gauze.

“You said you were gonna get my name tattooed over your heart.” Doc poked her again, this time in the chest, and Carrie stuck her tongue out at him.

“A tattoo is forever,” Wilson reminded them, smiling at their banter.

“Which is why it’s not such a good idea to get anyone’s name tattooed anywhere.” The tattoo artist had clearly gone against his own advice-he had three names in a connecting heart on his forearm. But he explained that away almost immediately. “Unless it’s your kids, of course.” He pointed to his arm. “Three girls.”

“Well I know I’ll be yours forever.” Doc wrapped his arms around Carrie’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I have no qualms about getting your name tattooed on my body.”

“You could get it tattooed on your dick,” Wilson joked. “Then no one would ever see it but Carrie. In theory, anyway.”

Her eyes widened as she glanced back at her husband. “I’d better be the only one to see it!”

“I’ve done cock tattoos,” the tattoo artist said, smiling up at her. His name was Brad and he was far more tattooed than Wilson, tendrils of black tribal marks snaking up his neck under his black t-shirt. At least you couldn’t see Wilson’s when he had street clothes on.

Carrie stared at him, a little shocked. “But… don’t they have to… you know… have an erection…?”

“At the beginning, yeah.” Brad winked at her, rubbing his chin with the back of his gloved hand. “We put a stencil on when it’s erect and then we can stretch the skin after that. Although the closer we get to the head of the cock, the more likely a guy is to stay hard.”

She blinked at him, his meaning finally dawning on her. “It feels… good?”

“Yeah.” Wilson nodded, agreeing. “It hurts soooo good.”

“You’re kidding me.” Carrie turned to him, her mouth agape.

Doc laughed. “You’ve got a tattoo on your dick?”

“What is it of?” Carrie couldn’t help asking.

“You wanna see?” Wilson reached for his belt buckle.

“Whoa there!” Doc punched him lightly on the shoulder. “We just crossed the line into too much information.”

Wilson settled back in his chair and Brad went back to work, but Carrie couldn’t help sneaking glances down at the zipper on his jeans, far too curious for her own good.

“So what are you gonna get, Doc?” Wilson looked back over his shoulder at the job the tattoo artist was doing.

“I don’t know for sure.” Doc shrugged, glancing at her. “I was thinking about-”

Carrie made a face when his beeper went off. That was never a good thing, never.

Doc swore, checking the number. He looked at her regretfully. “Babe…”

She sighed. “When is the emergency rotation over again?”

“After Christmas.”

“You should be on-call like I am for the OB rotation.” Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s actually worse. I spent seventy-two hours at the hospital last week, and I think I slept about three of those.”

Doc nodded. “That’s next semester.”

“Great,” Carrie remarked sarcastically. “Something to look forward to.”