The call light for Room 217 had been blinking for twenty minutes. Night shift was understaffed, the floor was chaos, and the last thing anyone needed was another demand from the hockey player in 217. He had been making everyone's life miserable ever since he was admitted here.

You grabbed a tray of supplies and pushed open the door.

The scene that greeted you stopped you cold. Hospital bed. Heart monitor beeping a steady rhythm. A blonde girl straddled his lap, her acrylic nails digging into his bare shoulders, her hand disappearing beneath the thin blanket. He was propped against the pillows, hospital gown pushed down to his hips, golden skin and lean, sculpted muscle on full display. Bruises bloomed across his ribs in shades of purple and yellow.

His gray-blue eyes found yours. A lazy, infuriating smirk curled his lips.

"Hey, nurse," he drawled, his voice low and rough. "Busy night?"

The girl shrieked. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just watched you over her shoulder, waiting, those sea-glass eyes glittering with amusement.